The pickup was right where Jimar said it would be. It was a silver, tricked-out, Ford 350 with a shiny tool box cozied up in the bed next to the rear-view window. Bonus, that’d be full of tools we could hock. I walked by in tennis shoes and shorts, like a jogger on the street. When I got to the truck, I pretended to trip and fall into it. No alarm. I bounced it to make sure. Nothing. Good sign, I thought. I jimmied the lock and slipped inside. Had the thing running in no time. Drove away with ...