Read The Pineville Heist Online
Authors: Lee Chambers
The Pineville Heist
L E E C H A M B E R S
AARON LOOKED STERNLY at himself, his reflection staring back at him. His dark hair was wispy, and his handsome, sharp features were accentuated by his smart designer clothing. He straightened up, relaxed his arm, shook his wrist to release the tightness, and then brought the open book in front of his eyes again. He glanced briefly at the page, inhaled a deep breath and then lowered the book to his side, so he could face the floor-length mirror attached to the back of his closet door.
“
But to my mind, although I am a native here, and to the manner born, it is a custom. More honored in the… in the…
Shit.” Aaron crumpled shut his eyes in frustration and sighed, releasing the remaining air from his lungs, deflating in front of the mirror. He raised the book, a copy of Shakespeare's 'Hamlet', and scanned the sea of words for the correct line.
Just as Aaron found his place on the page, he heard the familiar creak of the staircase. His father's weight made that type of creak. Without knocking and much to Aaron's chagrin, Derek Stevens, Aaron's dad, swung open the bedroom door and waltzed inside.
“Didn't you hear the intercom, Aaron?”
Aaron simply glanced at the reflection of his father, without turning away from the mirror. Dressed in a shark-skin suit and a slick black tie, Derek was stone-faced, as usual, with slightly
receding hair and deeply-set eyes. Even with the same sharp features and clean cut appearance as his son, the similarities ended there; the fifty-year-old man couldn't remember, or perhaps didn't care to, what it was like to be seventeen. Yet, just like Aaron, Derek's clothes were all designer labels; his hair styled as slick as his wardrobe. And both of them, father and son, looked sullen and utterly unimpressed with the other.
“I'm leaving now. Let's go!” Derek barked, marching out of Aaron's bedroom in a huff. Aaron closed his eyes in frustration and opened them slowly, sharing a knowing look of annoyance with his reflection. Then he turned on his heels and scuffed the shag carpet as he crossed the massive room to his even more massive desk. Picking up a red binder lying next to his top-of-the-line computer system, Aaron dragged himself away, passed the various shiny, pretty objects in a room filled with high-end toys and gadgets, stereo equipment, exercise gear, a big screen TV, and shelves lined with Blu-Ray and Playstation game cases.
From the exterior, it appeared like Aaron had everything a kid could ever want. But, Aaron had learned to be jaded by the materialism of his father's lavish estate, gifts and clothing. Growing up surrounded by luxury tended to make the rest of the world seem shitty and unforgiving. While growing up in Pineville, population 3902 confirmed it.
Aaron hurried down the sweeping marble staircase to the front doors, a massive set of double doors. Made of solid oak inset with elaborate geometric windows, the doors together totaled ten feet high and eight feet across. They lead out to a marble porch, which was decorated with elaborate potted plants, trees really. As Aaron hurried down the slate walkway lined with an impeccably maintained and elaborate bed of bright flowers, he glanced over his shoulder for a glimpse of the colossal mansion he hated, an imposing structure similar to
the homes featured in architectural magazines. In the distance, the smokestacks of an old mill loomed over the main street of a quintessential small town.
The town was settled nicely next to rocky cliffs and featured tree lined streets and fresh air; a haven for bringing up a family. Wire flower pots lined with moss and brimming with flowers and vines hung from every other lamp post, and blue banners that featured the upcoming town centennial floated gently in the breeze on the other lamp posts. This quiet place, which was once rich with an industry on the move, was now a simple town with many closed storefronts. Only the basic amenities of a grocery store, a fire station, a bank, a travel agency and several other essential community staples remained.
“Took your sweet time,” Derek snipped as Aaron slid into the backseat of an idling limo, its door already open. The limo immediately pulled away from the palatial Stevens residence and rolled down a meandering driveway, through a pair of wrought-iron gates surrounded by perfectly-trimmed, thick, green hedges, and into the outside world.
Derek was busy typing on his smartphone, while Aaron opened his red binder, where he had tucked the well-thumbed Hamlet book. He started mouthing lines to himself, drifting away from the frosty tension in the limo and immersing himself into a completely different reality. “By the way, I can't make it Monday,” Derek murmured off the cuff, killing the silence.
Breaking his concentration, Aaron's wide hazel eyes shifted to his father before he slapped the book shut. “Your play,” Derek continued, nodding at the book. “I'm going to be tied up all day finalizing the mill situation. Anyway, you'll survive, right?”
“I did for all the others,” Aaron replied, nonchalantly. He stared at his father for a moment, feigning the nonchalance he had voiced.
An irritating shrill ringtone permeated the limo as Derek's phone illuminated in his hand. Derek brusquely snapped it open and, while intensely staring into Aaron's eyes in a contest of wills, barked, “This better be good news, Phil.”
Aaron turned to look out the tinted window, disappointment brimming in his eyes, cutting a frown on his forehead. He watched as the town began to stream by his window. Suddenly, Derek's comment was followed by a loud crack, as he ploughed his fist into the door panel.
Drawing back his knuckles, Derek looked disapprovingly at the blood that had risen to the surface of his skin. “I've already deposited the five million. What more do they want?” he said, suddenly calmer. “The mill's not worth it, Phil. I'd rather mothball the place than accept that…” Derek paused, noticing that Aaron was watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Look, I'll call you back,” he concluded the call abruptly.
“What's that about?” Aaron asked, with a hint of concern in his voice. It wasn't like his father to raise his voice and show anger.
“It's just business.” Derek then deftly deflected the conversation as he always did. “Maybe if you took some classes on how the real world works instead of learning how to prance around in leotards, you'd understand a little more about what it is I do.”
Aaron rolled his eyes at the typical remark. “You mean sitting in your office pissing off the whole town while you get richer and richer?”
He had a point; pretty much everyone in Pineville worked at the mill, making money for the Stevens family, money truly taken off their own backs. The mill was a processing plant that
turned the nearby woods into practical requirements for the home as well as into works of art.
The success of the mill was all thanks to Derek Stevens; he invested in the mill in the mid 80's before the boom and benefited from it greatly. Derek was a savvy investor who went to New York with his inheritance when he was young and made a killing on Wall Street before returning to his family's roots back in Pineville.
In the beginning, Derek was a local hero. He was respected and liked. Admired for his kindness. The town existed because of the mill. For if there was no mill, there was no Pineville. Off the beaten track a bit, Pineville had no other options for growth; no options to sustain itself. Tourism maybe. But, other than being a pretty town, it had no drawing features. The town needed the mill and, for years, it prospered.
Nowadays, however, Pineville was finding it tough as the market of finished wood products was changing. The Chinese were largely to blame. Even though Pineville's products were better, the Chinese hustled in on the market by cutting corners, paying low wages and undercutting on prices. Everyone wanted a deal and suddenly the boom of the 80's and 90's disappeared and customers moved away from Pineville quality to cheap flat-pack, easy to assemble stuff. No one wanted to cough up for quality anymore. Times were getting tough, hard to survive.
The once respected Stevens' name was now a curse. While the mill faltered and bordered on collapse, the man most closely associated with the business, Derek Stevens, still enjoyed his vast wealth. Angry that the recession wasn't affecting the town equally, many of Pineville's residents, and mill workers, were turning on the Stevens family. The town was on the verge of bankruptcy and they needed someone to blame.
For most, the writing was on the wall. As majority stakeholder, rumor had it that Derek was about to make the harsh decision to shut down the mill. The announcement would be a blow. People feared for their future. There were many that were downright mad and outraged that Stevens seemed too interested in protecting his personal wealth.
Recently, the signs were going up. For sale. For rent. Foreclosed. Homes began flooding the market. All at once. Everyone was trying to sell, but no one was about to buy into what may soon become a ghost town. A blip on the map. Thanks for visiting Pineville. Gone.