On The Whole, I'd Rather Be In Philadelphia

It was a gorgeous day, sun shining brightly on the ornamental gardens of the forty story condo building, I could hear the murmur of traffic passing on the street in front of the place. Eschewing the doorman at the front entrance, I pulled the rented pickup around to the service entrance and parked. I adjusted the visor on my cap, the one with the Cold Comfort Refrigeration logo on it.

The logo matched the lettering on the side of the truck. Amazing what a few bucks at one of these custom sign makers can do. I thought it looked pretty professional, if I did say so myself, especially since the company was a figment of my imagination.

I used to pass myself off as a cable repairman on these kind of jobs, but lately people are so pissed at cable companies I've given that up. I just didn't need the grief about how high the cable prices had gone. Besides, it was far more likely that they would remember my face and be able to tell the cops what I looked like after haranguing me for five or ten minutes.

And why should that matter, you might ask? It mattered a good deal since I was there to burgle one of the condos. Unlike my favorite fictional burglar, Lawrence Block's Bernie Rhodenbarr, I've found that the middle of the day is a great time to to be on the job. After all, everybody knows that burglars operate in the dark of night.

Not that there wasn't an element of darkness involved, but it was the Dark Web. After having spent some considerable time there, I was pretty sure that Miss Amelia Pittard kept a substantial cash reserve in her condo. I figured I would be happy with only a small fraction of her millions.

She also wasn't at home. Having hacked into the building's security system, I had studied the pleasantly unoccupied images of the rooms in her condo on my burner phone before I had exited. Modern security technology is certainly a boon to the modern burglar if he is tech savvy enough.

Or she, wouldn't want to be sexist here.

With my toolbox in one hand and my aluminum clipboard in the other I approached the door and presented the laser-printed work order to the dude half asleep at the door. Wishing him a good day, I entered the elevator and ascended to the thirty-fifth floor, where I followed the MO of Bernie the Burglar by donning a pair of rubber gloves with palms cut out. You get to sweating in those things, but you don't leave fingerprints.

Having ascertained the door code via the security software - why do people insist on putting their security system on the Web? - I punched in the code and entered.

Much like my fictional hero, I truly enjoyed the feeling of entering someone else's domain. I know its a moral failing, but several years in Afghanistan had permanently excised any sense of morality, courtesy of the United States military. They might boast that you can 'be all you can be,' but in practice it was 'be all you can get away with.'

I couldn't help but compare the feeling of entering a door in the good old U S of A with one in that benighted country. Here, if everything went to hell I could look forward to several years in a room that wouldn't even rate one star from the Michelin folks. Over there, if everything went to hell my buddies could look forward to scraping up what pieces of me remained and putting them in a garbage bag.

On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia, even if that witticism never did end up on W. C. Field's gravestone.

Having paused to appreciate that larcenous feeling, I proceeded to give the place a quick inspection. My hero Bernie had a penchant for finding bodies as he burgled, so I had made this quick inspection a sine qua non of my own burglaries. The place was blessedly empty until I came to the master bedroom.

That's where I found the body.

The Medic

It appears I had drawn a mistaken conclusion. There certainly was a body on the bed, a rather buxom brunette in a virginal white dress, but it wasn't a dead body. As I stood there in shock I noticed that bosom was moving. Slowly, but moving.

Drawing closer, I saw an empty vial of pills and an empty glass on the nightstand. Looking at the label I knew just what it was. I was a medic in Afghanistan, it wasn't the first time I had run into a suicide attempt with this drug, but I'm not going to say what it was. Nor will I say what I did about it, I've learned that there are just too many stupid people in this world who would take anything I say as an instruction manual.

What I can say is that it is a remarkably ineffective way to off yourself. Even if I wasn't there the woman would probably have woken up in a few hours and felt perfectly awful, but alive.

I guess it was just my lucky day.

So why didn't I just get the hell out of there? As much as I hated the Army, as much as I hated the goddamn politicians who used that Army for their own aggrandizement, as much as I hated society in general, I could not leave another human being alone in that condition. Even though I was there because I intended to rob the rich bitch blind. I guess I haven't completely lost my ethical sense, even if my morals have long deserted me.

It took some time, but Amelia - at least I thought it was Amelia - started to come around. She had a serious case of the thousand yard stare, then it appeared she had a serious case of the goddamn that hurts! She managed to focus on me after a while.

"Wh… Who are you?"

Before I could answer she got an entirely different look on her face, one I knew far too well as she puked all over her nice white dress. Having accomplished that much, she passed out again. Sliding to the floor and grinding the puke into the rug at the side of the bed.

With a sigh I went into the en-suite and started running water in the tub. I was pleased to find a hand shower as part of the fancy fixtures in the place. Returning to the bedroom I picked her up. She was a hefty woman, but far lighter than some of the Sgt Rock types I had dragged to safety on the battlefield. I maneuvered her into the tub and started decontamination procedures. Thank heavens there was a really good exhaust fan in the place.

With the worst taken care of, the embarrassing part was yet to be done. Yes, I have stripped a woman or two under emergency conditions, but female soldiers know that that sort of thing is a possibility when you're fighting a war. This lady, suicidal or not, had no reason to believe some stranger was going to come into her bedroom and disrobe her, but leaving her unconscious in a bathtub with soaking wet garments was not an option.

I unzipped the back zipper and slid the white dress down her shoulders, then worked her arms free. I bent her forward and undid the hooks on her bra, but the last thing I expected was having her breasts fall off her and land in the tub.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

Well Whiskey Tango Foxtrot - that's WTF in Armyspeak. I didn't see that coming. I was sure I didn't want to see what was coming next, but I was committed. Maybe I should be committed for being in this situation. All I wanted to do is steal a few bucks - make that a lot of bucks - and go home. The goddam politicians are really great about thanking me for my service, but when I need a job?

Yeah right.

But back to the story. I worked the bra off her and sprayed her upper body clean. Look, I know there are people out there who are going to get all incensed about referring to a crossdresser as a 'her,' but the handy-dandy instant medic training I received included sensitivity training. If the body in the bathtub wanted to dress as a woman then the least I could do is use 'her' in referring to said body.

With some effort I managed to remove the rest of her sodden clothes, confirming she did indeed possess a penis. At that point I had a naked body and no place to put it. Leaving her in the tub I stripped the bed, removed the rug and put the offending linens in the laundry room. I told you this was a luxury condo - it had everything, including a linen closet that took some searching to find.

Maid service complete, I searched the drawers of the dresser. Not a stitch of male clothing in any of them, Amelia must be transitioning. I eventually found several nightgowns. What the hell, I chose the pink one with some rather nice embroidery - may as well let her have the nice one when she wakes up.

I hefted her out of the tub and set her on the toilet. She was showing signs of coming around and I was able to let go of her for a few moments so I could put the nightgown over her head, then work the arms into the armholes.

How the hell did this burglar become a lady's maid anyhow?

I guided my groggy charge to her bed and tucked her in, telling her she was safe and she should sleep. It didn't need much encouragement for her to enter the Land of Nod.

To Wait Or Not To Wait

Ethical dilemma time again. I couldn't just leave a failed suicide alone to sleep it off, but I didn't really want to stay here either. Face it, I had just committed a felony to get into the place, I really didn't want to be explaining to any cops or doctors just why I had called them.

First things first. I called the truck rental place and extended my rental. I had only rented it for six hours, which were almost up. Even though I used a pretty good fake ID, I didn't want anyone wondering what that truck was doing in the parking lot of this building when the repo man came around.

OK, I had some breathing room - now what did I do while I was waiting? Easy, hack into Amelia's computer and see what I could learn about the situation. This proved to be damn simple because her password was stuck to the monitor. Even without the note, amElia1234 is a password so simple to crack it almost made me cry. People never learn.

What I did learn in the next couple of hours almost had me crying. I figured since I had seen her naked I couldn't invade her privacy much more than I already had. Her diary was right there, unencrypted, on her desktop.

She was a damned good writer, very expressive, and by the time I had sampled a goodly portion of her writing I completely understood why she tried to kill herself. I had given up playing soldier, but by the time I had gotten to know some of what Amelia had gone through I was ready to lead a sortie against some of the bastards that had driven her to suicide.

I was interrupted when I heard the toilet flush. I quickly headed to the master bedroom and found Amelia standing by her bed looking confused.

"I… Am I dreaming?" she asked.

"Nope, sorry as it is, this is reality. You are still alive and going to recover."

"How…"

"Service call," I lied. "I found you and did what was necessary. Good thing you picked a lousy way to off yourself."

"Shit!"

A little life seemed to be flowing back into her.

"No, you puked. It was a pain in the ass to get you cleaned up. With all your dough there has to be a better way to cope with being a girl. Are you seeing a therapist?"

"Did you…"

She vaguely waved at her nightgown.

"Yeah, I did. Gave me a bad moment when your boobs fell out of your bra."

"Oh jeez…"

"Don't sweat it. I was an army medic, I've seen a whole lot worse. At least there were no blood or guts involved."

"Why did you do it? I didn't want to wake up."

"Look Amelia, I've been there. After the shit I saw overseas I tried to check out myself. Would have done it if my buddy didn't decide I was taking too long to come down for dinner. Got me kicked out of the service, but kicked me back into life. I don't want anyone else to have to go through that crap."

"Too late for me."

"What the hell? You obviously have the big bucks. You can afford all the therapy you need. Shit, people don't like the way you dress then just tell them to go fuck themselves."

"Nobody listens. My parents are dead. My brother is trying to put me in the loony bin because I'm mentally defective for thinking I'm a woman. My therapist won't put me on hormones. My so-called partner dissolved the company when I came out. My life isn't worth living."

"Bullshit! Amelia, have you ever had to watch a kid bleed to death while you held him in your arms? Ever looked at a pile of blood and guts that used to be the guy you shared your cookies from home with? Did you ever have to wonder if the little kid that's walking toward you is going to whip out a bomb or a gun and try to kill you?"

I paused to let myself get a little more under control.

"I know you've had a hard time. Look, I read your diary and you certainly have gotten more shit piled on you than anyone deserves but killing yourself isn't the answer."

"Then what the hell is the answer?"

"Stand up, shove those fake boobs in the bastard's faces and tell them to go fuck off! How you live your life is none of their business. If your therapist isn't helping, fire his sorry ass. I had to dump two of them before I found the right woman. Spend some of your money on a lawyer to sue the crap out of your brother. If your partner screwed you then sue his pants off and beat his naked butt. I know you're worth a few million bucks, so use the money and don't let anyone tromp all over your dreams."

"Easy for you to say."

"Sure as shit is. But I'm telling you this from experience. I told the Army to fuck themselves for kicking me out and made it stick. I found a therapist to put me back together again. I found a way of life that suits me just fine, but there are damn few people who would agree with me. Buddy, I've done it and you can too.

"Pick up that goddamn phone and call the suicide hotline. Start talking and don't stop. The number is 800-273-8255. I'm going to stand right here until you get someone and then you are going to talk and keep talking until you end up walking out your front door as the woman you want to be."

"Really?"

"Dial, Amelia!"

She did. I waited until she was engaged with whoever was on the other end of the line and quietly left the room, mentally wishing her good luck.

On the way out I stopped by the freezer and took out a pint of Häagen-Dazs Bourbon Praline Pecan ice cream. Funny how people think keeping cash in their freezer will keep it safe. I figured that ten grand for saving her life and giving her some therapy was a good deal. After all, I do make my living as a burglar.
 

Author's note: This one was inspired by Larry Niven's Death by Ecstasy.