Holy Heist

By Peter Andriet

Derek Revson is back in town after leaving several years ago. He misses his long-lost friends who, at this point in time, are all maturing in life's important categories.

Derek still revels in old habits, living life faithless and lonely, a choice he feels a nudge to somehow change.

In a divinely appointed moment, his group of friends reunite on a yachting venture out to an island to celebrate an engagement and he joins in.

Derek smiles for the first time in a long time while enjoying the lavish weekend getaway. But in all its fun and camaraderie, a plan is devised and lives will change.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685176471

Peter Andriet

Peter Andriet was born and raised in Canada and attended high school in Sao Paulo, Brazil. After graduating from TCU in Texas, he landed in Southern California, where he currently lives with his wife and three children and works creating entrepreneurial adventures.

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Holy Heist

Peter Andriet

Copyright © 2022 by Peter Andriet

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

I would like to thank the Lord, my wife, children, family and friends for being in my life.

Chapter 1

The peaceful curving road might have been copied directly from a Van Gogh painting. Embellished by bright colors which cut through the thick morning haze, it was breathtaking. Still damp with moisture from the morning fog, dark asphalt reflected the dim sunlight brilliantly as it cut through the surrounding greenery.

Bright green fields transitioned seamlessly into lush green forests, and everything was covered by an endless sea of wildflowers. As was typical for British Columbia, the air was thick with moisture, which only made the already vivid colors even more brilliant. In the distance, a powerful river weaved through the woods, rushing over the same smooth rocks it had for years, creating a gurgling background noise that calmed even the most restless soul.

Out here, only the birds and crickets were on a busy schedule. The only slight disruption to the peace was a busy city, bustling away in the distance. From way out here, one could almost make out where the land stopped and the ocean began, but from this distance, even the massive shipyards that surrounded Vancouver were rendered silent.

Only an hour outside the city, Wayside Coffee felt like the only sign of human life aside from the highway that conveniently wound customers right past its front door. It sat unpredictably roadside amidst the winding hills and temperate rainforests, as if it had missed the memo that most buildings belonged to the city. The place was worn down but had a rustic look which worked for now. One day soon, Wayside would need a renovation. A beautiful young girl worked in the uninterrupted silence, slinging espresso shots for the odd customer and reveling in the fact that her job was never truly stressful anymore.

Leaving the Starbucks in Gastown was the smartest decision I ever made, Grace thought to herself and smiled. Suddenly, a deep green Pontiac Firebird 400 screeched around the nearest bend, pushing 130 kilometers per hour and setting a distraught flock of birds off in the distance. Muffled old-time rock and roll music escaped from the older vehicle as it drew near, bringing all the stress of the city with it.

As the dust settled and the car approached, Grace braced herself for an encounter with another unpredictable Vancouverite. Wayside was a popular place for just about anyone looking to escape the concrete jungle that day, often en route to Squamish or Whistler, so there was never any predicting who might roll in. As the car window rolled down, she forced her face into her best customer service smile, preparing to feign friendliness if need be. Instead, she was greeted by a handsome stranger with crystal-clear blue eyes. Immediately, her disposition softened.

Coffee, black, were the only words out of his mouth, but as Grace disappeared to the back of the shop, she found herself fixating on the mystery man’s appearance. She pegged him in his late thirties, but the unsettled, restless nature about him reminded her more of someone in their midtwenties. Despite looking like he could really use a good night’s sleep, he was indisputably handsome without trying.

He had tousled black hair in need of a cut and a lingering five o’clock shadow. His eyes were what did it, though; they were the brightest blue she had ever seen. Despite being encircled with dark bags, those eyes pulled her in. Grace thought they seemed very lonely. She returned with the coffee quickly, only to find the man restlessly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. In their short encounter, his eyes barely made contact with her. Instead, he squinted straight ahead, fixated on the faint skyline.

You live in the city? she questioned hopefully. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Grace hoped the man would stick around and chat a while longer at her drive-thru window. Resting her hand on her chin, she blinked her big brown eyes expectantly and waited.

Used to live there. Years ago, though. No eye contact from the stranger; it was easy to tell that he wasn’t in the mood to talk. In fact, Grace got the distinct impression that he rarely ever was.

It wasn’t until he reached out to hand her a crumpled ten-dollar bill that his eyes actually landed on the young barista. She was beautiful; that was certain. But he was no stranger to pretty girls fawning over him. Grace smiled, hoping to get another look at those deep blue eyes but quickly faltered. The man was finally staring back at her, but he wasn’t staring at her face. His eyes were locked on her name tag, and a thousand emotions were dancing across his handsome face. In an instant, something switched in him; he seemed entirely lost in whatever memories her name conjured up. Before Grace could even move to reach for his change, the man and his Firebird had sped off, stirring up dust along with a million memories.

As Derek Revson shifted into fourth gear and floored the gas, he shook his head, desperately trying to clear it. He hadn’t planned on thinking about Grace or Mark Barry or any of his old friends for that matter, but now the memories wouldn’t stop. And all because of that Wayside Coffee name tag! Grace, the first and only girl he had ever truly loved. If he were being honest, he still loved her, even to this day. Exasperated, he pulled over to the side of the road, put the car in park, and rubbed his hands slowly over his tired face, willing the memories to stop.

He climbed out of the car and leaned against the door, taking in the breathtaking Vancouver skyline, only now just visible through the dense midmorning fog. It was still just as stunning as when he left almost a decade ago. He should have known he couldn’t take a job in the city without stepping back into his past. It seemed that this was the only place on earth he was able to make a consistent living despite the fact that Derek had tried almost everywhere else. It was time to start figuring things out and acting like an adult, for real this time. At least that’s what Derek had told himself after his last job in Puerto Rico fell through again.

Derek shook his head and had sworn to himself he wouldn’t dwell on that right now. It would be the same as everything else in his life: figure it out as you go. He slowly sipped on his black coffee and sighed. The memories were fighting to surface now more than ever, and he was too exhausted to keep them at bay. His eyes bounced from the sea to the mountains surrounding him, settling in on the foothills he couldn’t help but associate with Mark. It all started with Mark Barry, after all—Mark and that logging helicopter. He took another long sip and allowed himself, just for a moment, to forget his current situation and become entirely engrossed in his past. Back to a time with his oldest, now estranged friends. Back to a time with a girl who loved him.

*****

Many years ago

Nineteen-year-old Mark was constantly moving, fiddling, or getting into some sort of trouble. His brain jumped quickly from idea to idea, occasionally lingering on one a little longer than the previous. If the idea stuck, that was what Mark decided to do. Truthfully, that was part of what Derek had always admired about him and probably what had drawn them together in the first place.

Their equal love for mischief and spontaneity kept them stuck like glue ever since elementary school. Mark also had movie-star good looks and the charisma to match, so more often than not, the boy’s childhood mischief went unpunished. Of course once summertime hit, the shenanigans only increased both in number and daring since the lingering sunsets at ten o’clock offered some extra coveted time for the boys to stir up fun, usually with just a splash of mischief.

The helicopter hangar, the site of the Barry family business, also doubled as the boy’s clubhouse of sorts. Mark’s father owned two industrial-sized logging helicopters. His choppers carried massive bundles of cut trees from logging forests before dropping them into the waterways that flowed to the mills—a thriving industry in British Columbia.

Mr. Barry was a respected businessman around town. Everyone knew a man like him growing up: He regularly attended church, made a point of giving generously to charities, and to top it off, he always set a good work ethic example while providing a very comfortable life for his wife and sons. From the outside looking in, the Barrys had it all.

Derek smiled as he glanced over at Mark, who was fiddling with some ball-bearing parts at his father’s large workbench, a look of concentration furrowing lines into his young dark brow. Despite the vast differences in their upbringings, Derek was never made to feel pitied or out of place in the Barry home. In fact, most of his best childhood memories were thanks to Mr. Barry and his wife. They always looked out for him—taking him out to dinners when his own father had blown all the money on booze again or letting his sleepovers stretch from one night to five when his mom needed some time to get back on her feet.

Most memorably, in the fourth grade, Mr. Barry had graciously acted as if it was the plan all along when Derek’s family got evicted on short notice and his weekend overnighter extended for an entire month. Ever since then, they had treated Derek like family, no questions asked. Derek squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. On early evenings like tonight, when the Barrys went into town, presumably to attend their Bible study, the boys often went looking for some kind of trouble before nightfall. It rarely bothered him; but occasionally, he felt a twang of guilt, almost as if he were taking advantage of their kindness. Derek always managed to brush off his feelings of unease. It never seemed to bother Mark, so why should it bother him? No moral compass with these teenagers at times.

Derek looked out from his perch on the old burgundy couch the boys had dragged into the hangar a couple summers ago. His blue eyes drank in the view: the sloping green lawn, outdoor pool, and the faint Whistler mountain peaks in the distance. Mark’s older brother Luke was playing with their golden lab, wrestling him to the ground before sprinting after him. That dog never ran out of energy; he would endlessly spring back up, barking like a puppy and nipping playfully at Luke’s heels.

Luke was the only one of the Barry clan who seemed to take any issue with Derek. He was four years older than Mark and Derek, and he never let them forget it. He often razzed Derek, typical older-brother-type stuff, but lately, Luke’s digs felt a little more personal. A ringing telephone snapped Derek out of his self-reflection, and he glanced up to see Mark with the work phone already cradled in his neck, eyes dancing with excitement.

"Sandy, hey babe! Glad you called. Nah. D, Luke, and I are just chilling at home, bored stiff.