by Nova Rain
“Donny’s smashing those pipes!” He cries, revealing the canisters as he drags a sack of magnesium across the floor.
“Grab the other one!” I urge, bending down to wrap my fingers around the handle. I spin around and rush back out into the hall. Gas is shooting out of the pipes on the walls, Donny swinging an axe to break them. I unscrew the lid of my canister, and start pouring gas over one of the counters. Little by little, Bryan and I are showering the whole place. I don’t spare the reactors, either. As soon as I reach them, I lift the canister up over my head and bathe in gasoline, the flammable liquid rolling off its edges and down its sides. With gas clouding my vision more and more by the second, I leave the empty canister between the counter and one of those bowls. Turning around, I run back towards the staircase, Donny burys the axe into the sidewall. Our heavy footsteps make the staircase steps clang like bells. The noise of the alarm is making me think that my ears are just seconds away from bleeding. Reaching the top landing, I pull my lighter out of the pocket of my jeans and flick it on. I throw it down on the floor of the lab, my heart pounding against my ribcage. In a moment, fire roars across the hall, engulfing the counter, bowls, and sacks of chemicals in its wake. It shoots up towards the ceiling, the flames licking the railing of the stairway.
“Out!” I yell, rushing off towards the entrance. I turn right and out of the lab, still wondering why that damn alarm went off. We hadn’t set foot in the building yet, but it had been triggered regardless. When I find myself outside though, I realize that it was just a nuisance, something meant to annoy us, not to worry us. I’m expecting to hear sirens, but all I hear is the sound of car engines in the distance. We’re just twenty feet away from Bryan’s car, when a powerful explosion rips the iron door off its hinges, sending it across the hangar and onto one of the washers. The shockwave blasts us away, tossing our bodies up in the air with ease. I land on the concrete ground on my side, and roll over on my back first and then my chest. My crazy course stops just inches away from the edge of the curb. I let off a hard breath, shifting my attention to the building. The blast has torn through the roof, tall flames towering over the structure, black smoke rising up into the atmosphere. A large, well-shaped figure catches my eye. Donny is standing over me, wearing a smile of mischief.
“Come on,” he says, offering me his hand. I grab it and let him pull me up while Bryan curls his fingers into fists. “We just cost Santone about fifty million bucks.”
“Yes!” Bryan cheers, punching the air. “That’s what I call ‘payback.’”
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I suggest, tension quickening my voice, my breath still coming out fast. “This place will be crawling with cops in minutes.”
Once we’re back in the SUV, we can’t help but cheer some more. We haven’t even cleared the area yet, and we are high-fiving, patting each other on the back, laughing and pointing at the burnt-out building in the rearview mirror. Donny complains to Bryan for forgetting to tell him about the magnetic lock in the door that triggered the alarm, but that’s about it. We needed the win; we so much needed the win. The past few days had been threatening to break our spirit, and we all knew that if Eric could manage to do that, we’d become easy targets. After this though, he’d be squirming. The time when he felt invincible is over. From now on, he’d have something in common with the victims of the Santone family: He’d be looking over his shoulder, afraid for his precious little life.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Michelle
The three or so hours of Joe’s absence feel like three weeks. I check the clock on my cell phone every one or two minutes, pacing up and down his living room. I keep hoping and praying that he’s survived whatever he and his friends embarked upon tonight. And all the while, a terrible scenario fills my heart with dread, making me want to leave my hideout altogether and go out searching for him. My phone rings with an incoming call from a hospital. A deep, male voice notifies me of Joe’s injury or even his tragic death. A part of me wants to continue thinking positively. He’s seasoned at what he does. It would take someone much smarter and even more experienced to bring him down. However, I can’t deny the fact that Joe is once again gambling with his life, as he’s been doing since the day he met my biological father. This is his life; this is how he makes a living. Still, it’s another reality that twists my insides into knots, one that makes me question whether I can take more of this agony in the future. Tonight won’t be the last time he takes such a massive risk. More similar days and nights will follow. Can I handle this? Can I be with him, knowing in my heart that I might have to bury him in the near future? It’s impossible for me to answer these questions. I guess only time will tell.
Darkness is fading into dawn, my eyes so heavy that I struggle to keep them open. The noise of tires skidding across the dirt and a revving engine compel me to jump from my seat. I sprint across the living room and swing the door open, my knees beginning to tremble. Much to my relief, Joe and his friends are back in one piece. They have already exited the vehicle when I see them outside. My heart flutters in my chest as our eyes meet. His imposing figure is closing in towards me, the grin across his face reassuring me that everything went just fine. Predictably, his chest is swelling with pride. My initial thought is to jump into his arms. He’s triumphed over our enemy, and I’d like to demonstrate just how relieved I am to see him safe and sound. In the presence of his friends however, I change my mind, believing that such a gesture could embarrass him. But, before I know it, his arms are around my waist, lifting me off my feet. Joe holds me up a few inches above his level, his gentle eyes gazing up into mine. I curve my arms around his neck and lean in, letting off a short giggle.
“We nailed those bastards, baby,” he claims, sliding his hand across my lower back. “They never even saw us coming.”
“What exactly did you do?” I ask, my heartbeat escalating at the feat of his response.
“I thought you’d have read about it by now,” Joe states, easing me down on the ground.
“I’m sorry, but reading news blogs while waiting for you didn’t feel like a good idea.” I confess. “I was afraid of what might pop up on my screen.”
“Well, we set Santone’s meth lab alight,” he informs me, bloating with pride yet again. “I don’t imagine the news will mention anything about meth so soon, though. It will take the cops a day or two to find it under the rubble. That place was supposed to be a Laundromat.”
“He used that Laundromat as a cover,” I conclude, a sense of confusion striking me. “Excuse me, but if you guys knew about this, why didn’t you take that information to the police?”
I may be expecting a serious answer to my question, but just after I’ve finished posing it, I get something that puzzles me even more. Joe and his friends glance at each other, shaking their heads. Joe bites his lower lip, in a hopeless attempt to keep himself from bursting into laughter. Donny leans over the hood of the SUV, slamming his fist onto the aluminum, his chuckle growing to a flat-out roar of laughter.
“Michelle…” Joe gives a snort of amusement. “You’re a lawyer. Tell me, what will the cops do if a guy with a rap sheet a quarter-mile long reports such a thing? Do you think they’ll take him seriously? Even if they do go out to investigate it, Santone’s people wouldn’t let them in without a warrant. Warrants take days to issue. By the time the cops were ready, he’d have moved the lab.”
“You forgot the most important reason,” Bryan points out, sauntering towards him. “We wouldn’t rat him out to the cops. Not out of mercy, but because we’d lose face in the street. Everyone would turn their backs on us. Nobody likes a rat.”
“Oh, my God,” I sigh, bringing my palm up to my forehead while I shake my head in embarrassment. In my confusion, I had totally forgotten the law. Joe had made a valid point. He’s not a model citizen. The police would dismiss his story very fast indeed.
“Girl…” Joe says to me, his voice just a whisper as he tips my chin up. “Why don’t you g
o get some sleep? You look exhausted.”
“Right back at you,” I smile, catching the black circles under his eyes. “I promise to go to bed if you join me.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t,” He replies, tightening his tone.
“Why?” I roll my shoulders, leaning closer to him.
“There are some things I need to discuss with the boys,” Joe claims. “Trust me; we’ll bore you to death.”
“Here he is,” Bryan interjects, drawing his buddy’s attention as he gazes out into the downhill road. Joe doesn’t give me an answer this time. Instead, he whips his head around, curious about Bryan’s remark.
“Is that your cousin?” he asks, pointing over at an old, blue van.
“Yep,” Bryan affirms with a nod.
“What the hell is he doing up here so early?” Joe poses another question, his voice picking up volume and speed.
“Jimmy’s a total freak,” Bryan replies, a touch of mockery in his tone. “That kid doesn’t sleep more than three or four hours per day. Do you want to know what he said when I tried to give him directions on how to get here?”
“What?”
“You don’t have to,” Bryan continues with a giggle, admiration written all over his face. “I’ll triangulate the signal from your cell phone to establish your exact position.”
“Nice,” Joe whistles at the information. “Michelle, we’ve got work to do, and you need to rest.”
“Will you tell me what you’re up to this time?” I wonder, my voice bass-deep.
“I will when it’s over,” He assures me, his baritone coming out lazier than usual. Once again, he is keeping me out of the loop. This secrecy is starting to annoy me. What is he afraid will happen? That I will turn them in to the police? Whatever the reasons behind his attitude, I don’t force the issue. I’m relieved to have him back, and I can’t complain to him in the presence of three other men. This is a conversation that we need to have in private.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Joe
“Damn it, Jimmy; this could have waited until tonight.”
That simple thought crosses my mind as Bryan’s cousin shows up. I’m too tense even to consider going to bed, but I have another problem. The guy is about to give us details on how to pull off this heist and we’re all exhausted. The hit on Eric’s meth lab drained us. Donny dozed off in the backseat on our way back to Shandaken, and Bryan pumped up the volume on the radio, clearly afraid that he might fall asleep behind the wheel. We’re in no condition to hear technical stuff or potential routes. In fact, we’re in no condition to hear anything at all. Still, he’s just driven more than a hundred-and-thirty miles for us. I wouldn’t mind telling him to get the hell out of here, but I need him. Without him, we’ll need a miracle to rob that truck.
Jimmy is the typical nerd I expected. A little less than six feet tall, he’s scrawny and wearing large frame glasses. After a quick introduction, I pour us all some coffee and we sit at my kitchen table. The moment the light from his laptop monitor reflects on his glasses, a weird expression shoots across his face. He looks more like an eight-year old with a shiny new toy, than a man in his early twenties should.
“Alright, fellas,” he starts, puffing air out of his cheeks. “Bryan told me about your master plan the other day. Your idea is good, but, um…” he pauses. “It’s not doable, as far as Atlantic City is concerned.”
“Meaning?” I say, squinting down at him.
“Well, you need small, tight roads to hit that truck, and there’s virtually none on the routes they take from New Jersey to New York,” he declares, his face hardening. “I mean, look at this,” He urges, pointing up at the screen. “Garden State Parkway, I-95, NJ-495, Lincoln Tunnel… Those are all high traffic roads, not to mention they’re crawling with cops. You can’t go anywhere near an armored truck without drawing too much attention. No wonder all Atlantic City casinos use the same route every day. It’s just too safe.”
“What are you suggesting?” I ask, suspecting his answer while I tap my fingers on the table in impatience.
“Las Vegas,” he responds sharply, confirming my suspicion. “Trucks take days to get to New York, and villages and towns are on their itinerary at least once a week. Now, I’ve been able to dig up some of next week’s itineraries. And…” he presses the “enter” button on his laptop. “I’ve singled this one out,” At that point, a long, twisty route from Vegas to New York pops up on the screen. “It’s the ‘Red Rock Casino’ truck. Trucks depart twice per week, on Tuesdays and Fridays, at 7am local time. That’s why I drove up her so early today. If you guys want to intercept it, you have to move fast,” Finishing his statement, he scrolls up, zooming in on an area on the map. The image clears, revealing a very green and unpopulated spot. “This is Highland Park, Dallas. It may be four miles away from the city, but it’s full of quiet roads. There’s just one catch: Once you do your thing, you have to drive north, because it’s bordered on the south, east, and west by Dallas. I’m guessing none of you wants to get into the city with a stolen armored truck.”
“That’s true,” I admit with a nod. “Just how big are those deliveries?”
“Well…” Jimmy snorts. “They don’t put that information up on their webpage, because they don’t have it yet, but I can tell you what they carried last Tuesday.”
Three keystrokes later, the amount that flashes on the screen in red font makes my jaw drop.
“$25,827,981.57.”
“Holy shit…” I whisper in disbelief, unable to take my eyes off that huge figure.
“That’s what I call ‘the score of a lifetime.’” Donny says, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“It’s un-fucking-believable,” Bryan comments, his mouth staying partially open.
“How long does that truck take to get to Dallas?” I ask, tension creeping into my tone.
“About twenty-two hours,” Jimmy mutters, turning his head right to face me. “It’s one heavy machine. I estimate it will be outside Dallas on Wednesday, 5am local time. We’ve got to cover more than sixteen hundred miles in less than three days.”
“I get it, but we can’t leave yet,” I tell him, clenching my jaw. “We haven’t slept in twenty-four hours.”
“We still haven’t discussed how we’ll handle the security personnel,” Bryan speaks out. “I say we drop them. We can’t leave any witnesses.”
“No, man,” I disagree, shifting my gaze over to him. “We don’t shoot anybody unless they give us no choice.”
“Tell me you’re kidding,” he insists, furrowing his brow. “This has to be perfect, Joe. Leaving witnesses is just sloppy. They’ll go straight to the cops; they’ll give them the number plate to our car; they’ll tell them everything.”
“Don’t worry about the number plates,” Jimmy says, preventing me from giving Bryan an angry rebuttal. “We’re using my van. I had a friend of mine create a couple of fake, Nevada plates, before I got up here.”
“The kid’s thorough,” I praise, flashing him a bright-eyed look. “We’ll discuss that security personnel thing along the way. I’m off to get some sleep. We meet back here in five hours.”
I turn my back on them, struggling to maintain my composure. Bryan was right; this had to be executed to perfection, but shooting a couple of innocent people who are just trying to make a living is a bit too much for me. I love stealing from fat cats. Yet, executing their employees so that I can make it big is unnecessary. Besides, we’ll be wearing the same masks we wore last night. No one will recognize us. And I doubt anybody will think that three thugs from New York City will have decided to cross six states to pull off such an incredible stunt.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Joe
“We’re going where?”
I can understand Michelle’s squeak and her shock. She wasn’t expecting to hear anything like that from me. Hell, I’d be surprised if someone said to me that we had to drive halfway across the country, and on such short notice. My instinct wa
nts me to come clean with her, my heart wants the same, but my mind is screaming “no,” It’s not a matter of trust. I know that she will keep my secret. It’s a matter of deniability. Prior knowledge of what I’m about to do will make her an accomplice. She could go to jail for a long time, for a crime she had no idea would be committed. I mean to keep her safe, sound, and free, not locked up. A decent woman like her doesn’t deserve spending a single second behind bars. So, I don’t reveal my plans to her, but I do mention the fact that Santone can’t reach us where we’re going. Sure, he is one of the richest Don’s in the state, but Texas is more than fifteen hundred miles away. Other mobsters are in charge down there, and they wouldn’t appreciate it if an outsider decided to operate within their turf. Eric would risk a war with them, a war that he can’t afford after we destroyed his meth lab. But, there was another, more important reason for him not to want to go after us in unfamiliar territory. To do that, he would have to ask a favor from a local Don. Their men would have to work with each other to flush us out. Eric hates owing favors, especially to people he knows just by reputation.