They finished their workout, and Maluck wiped the sweat off his forehead. “You did a great job,” he said, trying to sound like the motivational coach he definitely wasn’t. “Let me take you to dinner. It’s the least I can do after all this torture.”
‘That’s more like it!’ Chloe thought, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.
Chloe raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting to something playful. “Sure, no problem, boss. Let’s go somewhere fancy. Maybe a place with candles on the table and waiters who look like they’re judging us for not knowing which fork to use.”
Maluck grinned. “Sounds good. Let me just toss my stuff in my room and change real quick. You can pick the place. I’m all about the experience—just don’t make me wear a tie.”
“Promise nothing,” Chloe said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “But I’m choosing the most upscale, overpriced joint in town. Get ready for a whole new level of pretentiousness.”
Maluck rolled his eyes but chuckled. “As long as there’s steak involved, I’m in.”
“Sounds great,” Chloe said. “I need a shower too.”
Maluck shrugged. “Well, if you want a shower, why don’t you just use mine? It’s better than the gym one.”
Chloe shot him a look. “Ohhh, and let me guess—you’re also gonna suggest that you just happen to need a shower at the same time?”
Maluck immediately raised his hands like a man caught in the middle of a very suspicious situation. “I can go after. Besides, the bathroom has a lock. And unlike you, I’m not a master thief who can pick it.”
Chloe smirked. “You better not try anything,” she said as they headed up to his room.
After putting away his gym bag and grabbing some fresh clothes, Maluck heard a knock at the door. Weird. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He opened it to find the hotel manager standing there, looking deeply uncomfortable.
“Uh… what’s up?” Maluck asked.
The manager rubbed the back of his neck. “This is going to sound crazy Mr. Tychandros, but is that young lady you were with earlier still here?”
Maluck definitely wasn’t expecting that question. He glanced toward the bathroom. The shower was still running.
“…Yeah?” he said slowly.
The manager exhaled like he was about to ask for something wild. “Look, I don’t know why this keeps happening today, but…” He hesitated. “A, uh… very important guest in the penthouse has lost the key to his personal wine cellar—”
Maluck blinked. “—I’m sorry, his what?”
The manager looked even more exhausted. “His wine cellar.”
Maluck crossed his arms. “You’re telling me there’s some rich dude upstairs, throwing a tantrum because he locked himself out of his booze vault?”
“Yes,” the manager said, exasperated. “And he’s currently screaming at the concierge because he needs—and I quote—his exquisite, irreplaceable bottle of 1947 Chateau Cheval Rouge for a business deal.”
Maluck let out a low whistle. “I feel like a dude who hoards wine in a hotel room doesn’t actually have business deals. Just very expensive drinking habits.”
“Be that as it may,” the manager sighed, “he’s making a scene, and we cannot get into the cellar. Maintenance is taking forever, and our locksmith is stuck in traffic.” He looked even more awkward. “So… that young lady with you—uh, she’s… rather skilled at opening locked things, yes?”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Maluck narrowed his eyes. “Are you seriously asking me to loan out my friend—” (he emphasized that part), “—so she can break into some millionaire’s secret booze stash?”
The manager had the decency to look guilty. “I mean… yes?”
Maluck let out a long sigh and knocked on the bathroom door.
KNOCK
KNOCK
“Hey, Chloe?”
“What?” she called over the running water.
“Change of plans.”
A pause.
Then, over the sound of the shower shutting off: He filled her in on the situation.
“You ok with helping out?”
“Depends. How fancy is this restaurant you’re taking me to after?”
Maluck smirked. “Crack the safe, and we’re eating somewhere stupidly expensive.”
The bathroom door cracked open just enough for her to peek out, towel wrapped around her.
“…I expect super fancy,” she said.
“You got it.”
“Steak…covered in lobster…with caviar,,,”
“Fine.”
With that, Chloe shut the door again, and Maluck turned back to the manager.
“Give her five minutes,” he said. “Then we’ll go get your guy’s fancy booze.”
***
Maluck followed the manager down the hallway with Chloe trailing behind, her arms crossed as she silently judged whatever nonsense they were about to walk into. When they reached the penthouse, the manager knocked politely before leading them inside.
The moment Maluck stepped in, he immediately had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. The guest wasn’t just rich—he was the obnoxious kind of rich. He lounged in an absurdly luxurious robe, the type you don’t get for free from the hotel. This one was custom-made, embroidered with the initials JRA on the chest. Maluck immediately decided that stood for Just Another Rich Asshole.
Finally, you’re here,” the guest huffed, barely sparing them a glance as he adjusted his silk sleeve.
“Ah, Mr. Alroquette,” the manager said, putting on his best customer service voice. “We’ve found an excellent locksmith. She should be able to open that safe for you right away.”
Alroquette finally turned his full attention to them, eyeing Chloe with obvious skepticism. “Good, good. You have no idea how important this deal is,” he said, as if the fate of nations depended on the contents of his precious vault. “I need this bottle. Otherwise, they’re all going to laugh at me, because I promised to bring it. And you know how those rich people can be.”
Maluck had to physically bite his tongue to keep from saying, Buddy, you are literally describing yourself.
The manager, ever the professional, nodded in faux sympathy. “Oh yes, of course, sir. Not everyone is as reasonable as you are.”
“That is so true,” Alroquette agreed, completely missing the sarcasm dripping from the man’s tone.
Meanwhile, Chloe was standing there, mentally retching at the sheer pretentiousness of this guy. The only thing keeping her from walking out was the mental image of a thick, juicy steak with lobster tail, drenched in butter and covered in caviar. That, and the fact that she really wanted to see what was in this ridiculous safe.
***
Chloe stared at the safe, then leaned in and whispered, “Maluck… I’ve never actually done this before, you know.”
Maluck gave her a confident nod. “I believe in you.”
She exhaled. “Well, the power of friendship is great and all, but I’m gonna need some tools.”
“What do you need?”
She rattled off a list she had seen was needed from those ViewTube videos, and Maluck immediately got to work. Thankfully, Improvisation: Excellent (Can MacGyver a solution out of duct tape and sheer willpower) meant he could turn a luxury hotel suite into a fully stocked criminal starter pack.
First, he grabbed his phone and flicked on the flashlight. Basic, but effective. If people could use these things to scan QR menus, they could damn sure be used for safecracking.
For listening in on the tumblers, he snatched a wine glass from the counter. If it was an old-school dial safe, Chloe could press the thin glass against the door and listen for the tumblers clicking into place. If it shattered? Well, that was just more bad luck points burned off.
A fridge magnet strip was next. The mini-fridge in the room had a magnetic seal, and with some “gentle persuasion” (a firm yank), he peeled off a strip. If that wasn’t strong enough, maybe he could “borrow” an elevator key card—assuming he could get one from housekeeping.
For actual lockpicking, he eyed Chloe’s hair. “You got more bobby pins in your hair?”
She blinked. “You think I always have them?”
“Well, I dunno, you are goth.”
“…Fair.”
She pulled one out. If that wasn’t enough, Maluck figured he could grab some paper clips from the front desk or, in a pinch, try using an old hotel key card to slide any latch mechanisms.
For a last resort, he needed something for brute force. The hotel provided a basic grooming kit, which included a metal nail file—close enough to a mini pry bar. If they needed more leverage, he could “borrow” a butter knife from room service or, if things got really dire, swipe a maintenance kit from a cleaning cart.
Just to cover all bases, he snagged a tube of lip balm from the bathroom. If any mechanisms were too tight, a little lubrication wouldn’t hurt.
Satisfied with his collection of random junk, Maluck returned and dumped everything onto the floor. “There. Your five-star black-market toolkit.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow, picking up the fridge magnet. “You yanked this off a mini-fridge?”
Maluck shrugged. “They won’t care. Probably.”
She sighed and cracked her knuckles. “Alright. Let’s open this rich idiot’s wine vault.”
***
