by Ice-T
“So how do I get at him?”
Hans thought for a second. “As it so happens, I am doing a car for him now, an S-Class Mercedes. It is going to be ready later today. Could you come back at five P.M.?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, come by a few minutes early, and we can arrange it like you just happened to be here at the same time as him.”
“Thanks, Hans, I appreciate that.”
“Of course.” The dapper German’s cell chimed, and he glanced at it. “Unfortunately, I am afraid I have another appointment in a few minutes.”
“No worries, man.”
Hans rose. “Come on, I will walk you out.”
They took his private elevator and walked through the showroom to the garage in the back, where Casey spied his SUV with brand-new twenty-three-inch rims on it. Hans held out his fist for a dap, which Casey enthusiastically pounded. “Consider it a welcome-home present, my friend. You have been missed.”
“Shit, that looks tight, man, thank you.”
“You got it. I also had them smoke out all the lights as well.”
“I can see that, it all looks dope.”
Hans was pleased with his crew’s quick work, nodding at them with a smile. “So, when you return this evening, just park in this garage, not on the street. I will see you a little before five P.M., right?”
Casey nodded, said good-bye, and rolled out to the Urban Victory offices. On the way, his phone chimed with a call from Sean E Sean. “Whassup, playa? I’m reaching out to see if you got a minute to chop it up?”
“Yeah, no sweat, where you at?”
“I’m on the water on my boat at the Stanton Marina, just south of Pelham Bay Park.”
“Boat?”
“Yeah, man, you wanna come by and see my new shit?”
“Fo sho. Text me the address, and I’ll see you in an hour or less.”
Casey got the address, punched it into his GPS, and headed out to the marina. He’d been friends with Sean since elementary school. Casey actually stayed with Sean and his family for a few days after his father had been killed. Sean’s mother was desperate to adopt Casey, but the family was living hand to mouth as it was, and his pops wouldn’t hear of it. When Casey went to juvie, the two boys had lost touch, but when he got out, they’d picked up where they left off and got into business. By that time, Sean was a master thief who could boost anything from machine guns to microchips. When Casey had checked into Attica, 99 percent of the shit in his apartment, even the sharks in his fish tank, was hot thanks to his man. Sean E Sean had done a couple of bids himself, but nothing too serious. He was also one of the very few guys who’d written to Casey in the joint, and those lifelines and occasional care packages meant a lot to a brotha.
Exiting off the freeway, Casey drove through the sleepy residential area to the marina and parked next to Sean’s white Panamera Turbo sedan. The marina was pretty small, only about a hundred boats, but Casey knew instantly which boat was Sean’s: It was a dark blue fifty-two-footer that had FLYLIFE4EVER on the back. Casey walked the dock maze until he reached the boat and hollered for Sean. He came topside wearing a gray Powered by Hate sweatshirt, blue jeans, and a black Seattle Mariners cap.
“What’s up, man, come aboard.”
“Man, this is some pimpin’ right here. Da-yamn!”
Sean was very proud of his new toy and toured Casey around the zesty Sea Ray 520 Sedan Bridge. It was very plush, with a full kitchen, three bedrooms, and a living room with a forty-two-inch LED flat screen. Casey was more a car guy than a boat guy, but being on board and seeing Sean’s new float was givin’ him the itch to get one himself.
“How much you drop on this, man?”
Sean smiled and said, “New, you looking at one-point-three, but I only paid … nothin’!”
“You boosted this thing, nigga? Da-yamn!”
Sean had a shit-eatin’ grin on his face. “Nah, man, believe it or not, I own it clean. But there’s a story behind it.”
“Of course!” said Casey, laughing.
Sean poured two tumblers of OG XO for them, and the two men sat on the rear deck as Casey got filled in. “So, ’bout three years ago, I’m at Jon Jon the Jeweler’s one day, and this fat-cat stockbroker walks in—he’s worth a whole shitloada chedda, at least fifty mil easy. He says he’s got some diamonds to sell and pulls out a little bag with about twenty-five stones that are two to three carats apiece. Jon Jon asks him where he got the rocks, and the dude’s like ‘none of your business,’ and they go back and forth for about forty minutes. Finally, Jon Jon says, ‘I ain’t touchin’ it, I don’t know you, blah blah, blah,’ you know how he gets, right, super-paranoid. Anyway, I peep the stones and they’re pretty decent quality, so I figure the retail for each one is thirty to sixty grand. So I tell him he can sell the stones to me and I’ll give him two hundred fifty K. He whines and moans, and I say, ‘Okay, fuck it—three hundred, take it or leave it.’ We do the deal, I unload ’em a week later for five hundred K. A few months later, I get another call from the dude, same situation. This guy ends up calling me every few months with stones, and we become cool. One day, we meet up and he gets tipsy and spills that he’s givin’ inside stock tips to a couple of guys and to keep his trail clean, he gets paid with diamonds.”
“Man, that white-collar crime shit is something, but where’s the boat come into it?” Casey asked.
“Aha, that’s where it goes from white-collar crime to the shit we do. ’Bout a month and a half ago, he calls me up all panicked and tells me he needs to meet with me right away. I’m thinking, This nigga got his ass busted and he’s gonna try and take me down with him, so I say, ‘Nice knowin’ ya, see ya.’ He then calls me nonstop day and night till finally I say fuck it and go meet him. When I meet him, he tells me that he and his wife are getting a divorce—I guess she found out he was fuckin’ some other broad, whatever—and he wants me to boost his art collection that’s worth about nine mil or sumthin’. So I’m thinking it’s like fifty paintings, but it turns out that it’s only three! I’m like, ‘Okay, I can manage that.’ The plan was I go in, snatch the paintings, take them to this boat, drive it to another marina, and then a week later when shit is calm, I get the final payment. So he offers me five hundred K to do the job, I’m like, What! This is going to be a helluva pay day! Anyway, I get him up to a mil, and we make the deal and he gets me fifty percent up front.”
Casey laughed as he heard this story; only Sean E Sean would be involved in a crazy deal like this. “Hold up, hold up—since when do you know shit about boats? Also, wouldn’t his wife be suspicious and have the cops check this ride out?”
“His wife didn’t even know he had a boat! This was his lay-up spot that he bought with some of the diamond money. Anyway, when I knew I was gonna do this, I went and took lessons for a week on how to drive this monster. This shit’s actually easier than driving a car, but it does take some practice. So this is what happened: He tells me what alarm he has and I reach out to Zell—you remember crazy Zell, right?”
“Yeah, short brotha with a bad eye.”
“Exactly, so I do a deal with Zell to disable it and help me out. So fast-forward a week later, Zell and I go up there, ski masks on, wearing all black and shit. We go straight to the alarm box, Zell does his magic, and it’s all good. I break the glass on the back door, no alarm sounds off. So far, so good. We run to the rooms where the paintings are and start bagging ’em up. We’re about to leave, and Zell’s like, ‘Yo, man—let’s go check out the other rooms upstairs.’ I tell him, ‘No, we got what we want, we gotta bounce.’ The muthafucka starts arguing with me right then and there, ‘You ain’t the boss of me’ type a shit. I swear to God, I wanted to shoot him on the spot.”
Casey nodded, totally into the whole scene—he loved hearing good crime stories, and few were better than Sean at telling them.
“So Zell finally relaxes and tells me, ‘Okay, but at least let’s check out the other rooms downstairs, we don’t have
to go upstairs.’ Stupidly, I said, ‘Okay, fine.’ I take the paintings to the back door and we walk around. This place is fucking huge, like a goddamn castle and shit. We walk around, just checkin’ out the rooms, and are about to leave when Zell says, ‘Hold up, what’s this?’ and opens a door. The biggest fucking dog I ever saw in my life comes straight for me, jumps on my ass, and sinks his teeth into my leg. I’m screamin’ my ass off, tryin’ to wrestle this beast off me while Zell has his piece out, trying to aim and get a shot off … in the fucking dark! I’m screamin’, ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!’ so Zell comes up and smacks the dog in the head with his piece and knocks the fucker out. I’m lying there, bleedin’ all over the place, I get up and hobble to the back door, and we get out. My leg’s killin’ me, so we stop and get that taken care of by the doc Big Rich always uses. He gives me twelve stitches, then I leave solo to get to the boat, high as a muthafuckin’ kite on painkillers. I woke up the next A.M. with my leg on fuckin’ fire, go topside, and realize I’m in the other marina. Now, trip off this: I don’t even remember driving the boat there, that’s how fucked up I was, dude.”
Sean lifted his right pant leg and Casey could still see his leg had been mangled bad. Casey acknowledged his war wound with a nod. “Jesus, what a fucking nightmare.”
“Tell me about it. That’s what my dumb ass gets for not following the plan.”
“Yup, that shit looks like it was painful.”
“True dat. So, a week passes, I’m hobblin’ around like a goddamn cripple, and the dude shows up. He’s pissed about the dog—that’s not dead, by the way—and asks what the fuck happened. I tell him that somehow the dog got out and why the fuck didn’t he tell me about the fucking dog in the first goddamn place? I tell him I may never walk right again, which is total bullshit, and that I got a good mind to take his money and throw the damn paintings in the ocean. That calmed that nigga down quick and he hands over the briefcase with the five hundred K. I tell him I need compensation for my muthafuckin’ pain and suffering and shit. And then we go into negotiating mode. Meanwhile, he’s looking at my fucked-up leg while tryin’ to nickel-and-dime me. So I’m thinkin’, Goddamn, I want this boat. I been on it for a week, I took it out a few times, and I’m really liking it. He starts complaining, and I tell him I know the paintings are insured, so it’s not like he didn’t just make nine fuckin’ million to buy another goddamn boat, and he’s still got the paintings. That woke his ass up, and long story short, that’s how I got my boat.”
“Woooow, that’s straight comedy, dude. Incredible.”
“What can I say?” Sean smiled, held up his hands and went to the fridge, got a Heineken, and offered one to Casey, who accepted.
“This a pretty fly setup, though,” Casey said after a sip.
“Ain’t it, though? It keeps my hood close, but not too close, and in case I need to bail out, a muthafucka’s gotta get on a boat just to come get me.”
“That’s pretty smart.” Casey leaned back on the couch. “So, what’s on your mind? I know you didn’t call me down here just to see your floatin’ crib?”
Sean E Sean rolled a shoulder. “I wanted to see you, man. I mean, it’s been more than a minute. Last time we hung out, we were both much younger men.”
“Uh-huh, and…”
Sean smiled and let go of the pretense. “Straight up—why you doing all this, Crush? I mean, I know what you done told everyone and all, but really, what’s up? The Crush Casey I knew back in the day didn’t have partners, he had soldiers.”
Casey looked at his old friend for a minute. Time had changed both of them, but some things remained the same. Sean always could put words to what was unspoken.
“What I said at the meeting was the truth, but … it wasn’t the motivation or the complete picture. Not that it’s relevant to everyone, but that’s a fact.”
Sean nodded and waited.
“You remember when my mom and dad passed and your mom took me in? Well, at that point something happened to me. I realized I was alone, and I always would be, even if I had people around me. At that point, I stopped giving a fuck, went into overdrive, and hustled my ass off to pull together the Vice Kings. Then later, Antonio was born and I thought I could keep rollin’ the way I was without any ramifications, then I landed in the joint and…”
“… then Antonio died. I’m really sorry ’bout that man, I couldn’t believe it,” Sean said, spilling a little beer in honor of the boy.
“Yeah, well, I was pretty fucked up. I was a nigga in crisis, that’s for damn sure. Anyway, I got some direction in the joint from Mack D—”
“Triple OG, Mack D?”
“Yeah, he laced me with some good game, and I decided when I got out that I’d handle my business differently. I’d still hustle, but take out cats doin’ that foul shit.”
Sean studied Casey for a few seconds. “Interesting. What do you define as ‘foul’?”
“Slanging hard shit and sex slavery, stuff like that.”
Sean looked at Casey cockeyed. “So, by your definition, Mack would be on your takeout list?”
“That’s true, but between you and me, once this is all set up and working, he’s given me his word he’s gonna be out of that game.”
“If anyone could make that happen, it’d be you, but I’ll havta see it to believe it.”
“Yeah, well, it all speaks to my grand plan. The cats that I went to first were dudes that knew me from back in the day and are ballin’.”
“I hear ya, it’s a goddamn good crew.”
* * *
Champa was waiting for Casey when he got back. They went into the office and sat down.
“I saw Hans today at his new spot,” Casey said.
“Off the hook, right?”
“Crazy, he came up big-time. Anyway, he asked me about a conversation you guys had recently.”
“Right, he tipped me to a potential heist I been investigatin’.”
“Is that the same one you’d mentioned a couple days ago?”
“Yeah, it’s a shipment of twelve high-end cars coming in from Italy worth about ten mil.”
Casey whistled. “Damn, why so much? Who they belong to?”
“An Italian billionaire, Salvatore Mariano. A lot of the cars are collectibles, so they ain’t your average whips.”
“Okay, what’s your idea on how to pull it off?”
“The cars land here in two weeks. I was thinking we hijack the transport trucks once shipment’s been offloaded and has left the docks.”
“How many transports we talkin’ ’bout?”
“Probably two, maybe three—my man at the docks is finding out for me.”
Casey rubbed his chin. It was a big job that would involve a lot of coordination and risk. “Whatchu know ’bout the owner?”
“He’s made most of his money in the last ten years in natural gas. He dropped fifty-five million for a big-ass, nine-acre crib in the Hamptons that’s gonna be his vacation spot when he comes Stateside.”
Casey leaned back in his chair, thinking it over. Something about the job didn’t seem right. Why bring all your whips to a place you only gonna be at for a short period of time? A guy worth that much money gets ripped off, there’s bound to be a lotta heat. He could tell by Champa’s face that he was amped about the job, though. “Okay, when’ll you have all the details ready on this?”
“I’ll have complete shipping company info as well as the transport times and all other details in the next couple days.”
“If this comes off, it’ll be good for the crew. Any ideas on how we move these cars? We won’t be able to ship ’em anywhere, and since they’re unique, they’ll be extremely high profile.”
“Hans already has a buyer lined up—a Chinese Internet mogul. All we gotta do is deliver the cars to him somewhere in the U.S., then it’s on him how he gets ’em home.”
“How’s the money handled?”
“Cash money, brotha!”
“Damn, nigga, this sounds a lit
tle too good to be true.”
“I’m goin’ off Hans on this one, I guess he knows this guy through his wife’s family and you know they straight ballin’ over there.”
“Okay, what’s he want from this?”
“Five percent, he says he doesn’t wanna get in the middle, he’ll give me the cat’s info and when it’s all done, we give him his taste.”
Casey looked at his watch. He needed to bounce back to Hans’s spot to “bump” into Petrosian. “Looks like you got it under control. Get that info in hand, and let’s build on this later.”
* * *
Casey hit the streets to connect with Hans. Having him drop this car job in his lap was a good look, but it was also very risky. Still, Hans was his man, and Crush knew the German would never go left on him.
Traffic was always a bitch at this time of day, so Casey was glad he’d allowed plenty of time to get there. He pulled into the garage around back and headed to Hans’s office. As he walked down the hallway, he heard a stranger with a thick accent talking. Shit, dude’s in there now—fuck it.
Casey whipped out his cell and walked in, pretending like he was talking into it. He looked at the two guys and said, “Oh, sorry,” then turned to walk back out the door.
Hans was quick enough to realize his cue. “Hey, Crush, it’s cool, come on in.”
Casey gave Hans a dap while he was introduced to Petrosian. The Armenian was dressed like he’d just come from a board meeting. He wore a three-piece slate gray Zegna suit, a diamond pavéed Rolex Daytona, and sported a lone emerald ring on his manicured hands. His goons weren’t with him, but Casey could tell from the cut of his suit that he was strapped with a shoulder holster as well.
“Alek, this is a friend of mine—”
“Crush Casey, I know who you are.”
Casey gave him a look and paused before replying. “How’s that?”
Before Alek could answer, Hans nodded at an employee at the doorway before interrupting them. “Pardon me, gentlemen, there is a small matter I must attend to,” he said, and left.