by Ice-T
“Already done, my man.”
“Cool, I’m turning down your street and backing in now.”
Casey hung up the phone and backed in while Champa pulled his Aston Martin forward and blocked the small, two-way street so no traffic could get through. Stationed near the entrance of the garage was Shin’s G-Wagen. Casey braked and unlocked the doors; Hans jogged out with a large duffel bag that looked heavy. He swung open the back door and tossed the bag on the backseat of the Escalade. Casey slowly pulled out of the garage and followed Shin back to the office with Champa right behind him. Casey checked the clock on the dash, 5:22 P.M. He was making good time, but it would still take forty-five minutes to an hour to get to the office. He could see Champa behind him as the cars crept through traffic; things sped up when they hit the West Side Highway. As soon as they pulled up to the office, Shin got out and took the elevator up to make sure everything was clear. Champa and Casey kept the cars running and stayed inside till Shin gave the signal. Once Champa got the okay from Shin, he got out and hit the elevator button, which opened immediately. Champa pulled his piece and held it out of view, and Casey got out of his Escalade and bailed in with the loot. On the ride up, both guys had their pieces out, ready for shit to go down. The doors opened and the guys got out. Shin had his Glock out and was holding the door. Casey walked by him through the door and went straight back to his office. Shin stayed by the elevator, and Champa stayed by Casey’s office door to keep a lookout.
Casey put the black bag on the leather couch and unzipped it. He glanced at the screens and saw the guys all keeping watch. Inside were a lot of stacks with purple bands. Casey grabbed four of them and went to his desk. He selected four bills, one from each stack, and checked to make sure each was legit. They were. Casey zipped up the duffel and tossed it in the cabinet behind his desk. On the elevator ride down, he checked his watch, 6:35 P.M. Downstairs, he laid out the plan to the guys.
“Champa, you’re gonna roll with me. Shin, I want you to grab a table, and if shit goes south, then start bustin’. I’ma take one of Al’s phones and have Jacob patch it in the audio to you so you can listen in on everything.”
“Do I need to call more guys?” Shin asked.
“Nah, if we do that, it will bring too much attention and tension. Petrosian ain’t gonna try shit: he knows there’d be a full-scale war if he did, and he ain’t prepared for that.”
And with that, the guys got in their cars and headed for Marat’s. They got there a little after seven, as did Petrosian. Casey was already at the secluded corner table, with his back against the wall, when Petrosian rolled up with one of his guys. Casey immediately recognized Petrosian’s partner. It was the same guy with the scar that he’d seen at the parole office. Casey was too caught up in the moment to do the math, but he knew it would come to him.
Casey could tell that Petrosian was annoyed by the presence of Champa, and waited for him to speak on it. All the men sat down as a plump waitress wearing an outfit two sizes too small came over to take their order. Petrosian cut her off in midsentence and told her something in Armenian that made her disappear so fast, it was like she’d never even been there. He looked at Casey and Champa and in a low voice started what would be an eventful evening.
“Who the fuck’s this guy, and what’s he doing here?”
Casey stayed calm—that dramatic shit might work with some people, but it didn’t do shit to him. He purposefully took a slow drink of his water and asked, “You mean you don’t know?”
Petrosian didn’t take the bait. Casey could have asked him the same question about the other guy, but he didn’t, because it didn’t matter. Everyone at the table was supposed to be there, and to start asking questions now would be stupid. Petrosian composed himself and sat back. Casey introduced everyone to Champa. And Petrosian introduced his man.
“This is Vladik, he’s my go-to guy. Champa, you don’t know him, but Casey does.”
“In a manner of speaking, I do. We have mutual acquaintances,” Casey said as he stared at Vladik’s smug face.
There was a lot of tension in the air as the men all sized each other up. Casey hoped that Champa had his temper in check and wondered what the story was with Vladik. Obviously he’d been in the joint, and fate had paired him up with Lomax and him.
“Before we get into the business at hand, why don’t you tug my coat about Lomax?” Out of the corner of his eye, Casey saw Shin sitting at a table on the other side of the restaurant, his Bluetooth glowing in his ear. Petrosian smiled, as did his partner. Alek turned around and snapped his fingers for the waitress, who came over quickly.
“Shall we order first?” Without waiting for an answer, Petrosian and his man ordered in Armenian.
Casey didn’t bother looking at the menu. “We’ll have the same.”
Petrosian chuckled at this and nodded his approval. When the waitress left, he got back to business. “Let’s just say the planets aligned in your favor and mine. That guy was a pain in the ass, not only to you, but to others as well. He had my man calling in a couple times a day, had him doing office visits every two days, and was doing curfew checks on a regular basis. I can’t run a business with one of my guys getting that much attention, and I’m sure he was making your life difficult as well.”
Casey frowned for a second. “Well, that wasn’t my experience. Sounds like he had a special interest in what your man did.”
“Yeah, well, he’s no longer a problem for either one of us.”
“You sure about that? Whoever you had handle it didn’t cross the finish line, ’cause he ain’t dead.”
Champa chimed in: “Maybe if the same person that dusted my man Luca Bagramian had handled the job, it wouldn’t have been fucked up.”
Petrosian’s face tightened, as did Vladik’s. Casey showed no emotion, but was pissed that Champa had made a dumb crack like that. He knew the brotha was a hothead and had a lot invested in this job, but he wasn’t helping things by talkin’ shit. Casey kept the conversation flowing, knowing the situation could quickly disintegrate further.
“Anyway, we got other things that need sortin’, seems like we both got our eyes on the same prize.”
“It would appear so. I’m prepared to offer you twenty percent of the deal, but that’s it,” Petrosian said as he reached for his drink.
Before Casey could get a word in, Champa was off like a rocket. He leaned in and through clenched teeth said, “Nigga, are you crazy? This is my job, and if anyone’s decidin’ who gets what, it’s us!”
Casey noticed Vladik slowly start to move his hands under the table and snapped, “Nigga, keep your hands on top of the table unless you intend to set shit off.”
Petrosian looked at Vladik and said something low in Armenian that cooled him out and then smiled as he addressed Casey. “It looks like we got a potentially explosive situation here, but it also has the potential to make some big paper.”
“Yeah, if we all keep our heads—” Casey shot a hard glance at Champa as he spoke. “—I think this can be worked out.”
“Agreed.”
“Our source tells us that the shipment is due to be unloaded at six A.M. this Thursday and then loaded onto two transports and taken to the Hamptons. We have all the logistics already worked out. My question is, do you have a buyer in place?”
Negotiations had always been a strong suit for Casey; he knew exactly how he was gonna maneuver Petrosian to get what he wanted. Now it was a battle of intellect. Petrosian’s ego would force him to answer.
“Yeah, I got three million on the table guaranteed,” the Armenian said confidently.
Casey hoped that Champa would stay still and not go renegade and start braggin’. At the same time, a new thought sprang into his head: Why would a drug dealer all of a sudden become a heist man? On top of that, why would he sell twelve million dollars’ worth of cars for only three million? Regardless, Casey would use this to his advantage.
“Okay, so after it’s all said and done, you
’re looking at a two-point-five-million-dollar take at best, right?” Not waiting for him to respond, Casey kept talking. “Now, given that we’re all subject to whatever deal is done, we want assurances. Has your buyer given you a deposit?”
The Armenian leaned back in his chair. “No, but I’m not concerned, he’s good for it.”
“And are these cars supposed to be delivered to him in the U.S.?”
“Yeah.”
Casey could tell that Petrosian was annoyed at being questioned, and was close to blowing his cool. If that happened, then everyone would lose. He was either lying about his deal, or he’d realized that he wasn’t as prepared as he should have been. The latter made the most sense to Casey, as Alek had asked him to look over the heist to begin with. Casey realized that the Armenian was on the verge of being embarrassed in front of his lieutenant, and he needed to finesse this situation.
“I have a proposition I’d like you to consider. This job is quite complicated for a number of reasons. The first being that a lot of the cars are mostly one-of-a-kind, so selling them means finding a unique kind of buyer. This is only relevant if your buyer drops out. The second is there are GPS systems on the cargo trucks and cars. Those need to be quickly disabled, as this whole fleet will undoubtedly be tracked by the trucking company. This is no small feat. Those GPS systems work regardless if the truck is off or on. The third thing is delivery and payment.”
The blond-haired waitress interrupted the flow of conversation. She and a busboy had two trays of food that they put in the middle of the table. Casey grabbed one of the large serving spoons and started helping himself. As he served up what looked like some kind of noodle casserole in a spicy red sauce, he grinned at Petrosian. “This ain’t a Lomax special, is it?”
Petrosian cracked a smile and let out a chuckle. After the waitress split, Casey picked up where’d he left off. “I’m not saying you don’t know all this, I’m just bringing it up to let you know that we know it, too.”
“Okay, I still haven’t heard your proposition, Casey.”
“My proposition, Alek, is this: You get two-point-five million as your take from the cars, you don’t have to sweat the details, and you and two of your men do the job with us. As far as delivery goes, that’s my buyer’s problem; we just take them to a warehouse and walk away. And you’ll get paid within twenty-four hours after the cars are in the warehouse.”
Petrosian tried to act nonplussed as he kept eating his food. Vladik was not so good at masking his reaction, and was noticeably sour. There was no way that Petrosian had his shit as tight as Casey and his crew. He was also offering him a guaranteed payout with less headache and no expense! If he turned his nose up on this deal, then either he didn’t trust Casey, or there was something else going on.
Petrosian wiped his mouth and folded his napkin and responded to Casey. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t, and you know you never would. None of us here are Boy Scouts. Everything we do has a calculated risk. When shit went down and lead flew, we showed what type of men we were. Now we uppin’ the ante. This is a tight deal, and it can be the first of many. Now you know where my head’s at—I’m about business 24/7—so it’s time to break bread or fake dead.”
Petrosian cut into his bloody steak and shoved a piece in his mouth while he contemplated Casey’s words. “You talk a good game, Casey.”
“I’m being straight with you, Alek. When it comes to this shit, I don’t play games.”
Despite Vladik’s glower, Petrosian nodded. “Okay, I’m down. Now what?”
Anyone else might have relaxed once Petrosian had capitulated, but not Casey. He knew that the Armenian could flip the script at a moment’s notice. “All right, here’s how it’s gonna go down: We’ll all meet at five thirty A.M. Thursday at the warehouse where we gonna stash the cars. When we jack the transports, my two men’ll ride in the trucks with the drivers and keep their eyes open for drama. I want to make one thing clear—this is a heist, not a murder. I don’t want those drivers gettin’ killed or fucked up.”
Petrosian nodded again. “Understood. What next?”
“Next, you and I, riding together, follow the trucks to the warehouse. Once the cars are unloaded, your guys take the cabs and trailers to two different locations and stash them. My guys will shadow the transports and bring your men back here afterwards. Then all we gotta do is collect the delivery fee, and everyone gets their slice.”
Petrosian peppered Casey with a lot of question on the details, and seemed satisfied with the answers. Casey didn’t tell him he already had five million as a deposit or anything about the pickup; that would have been too much info for him to think on.
The men all got up, shook hands, and left the restaurant together; Casey saw Shin calling the waiter over for his bill. When they reached the street, Petrosian’s S600 was waiting for him. He turned to Casey and said, “I’m sure we’ll talk a lot in the next couple of days.”
“Believe that,” Casey replied.
Champa and Casey walked to his ride. Once they got in the Escalade, Crush turned to Champa. “I sure appreciate you not making a bad situation worse, nigga!”
“Yo, fuck that guy! I don’t know why you cut him in for a piece anyway!”
“Are you fuckin’ serious? You think he was gonna walk away from this job! If it wasn’t for my connection to him, you can be as sure as shit on Thursday morning there woulda been a blowup. And then what, Champa? Did you ever think or plan for someone else trying to boost these cars? And what happens if Hans’s Chinaman doesn’t come through with the back end? At least this way we got a potential second buyer. I mean, shit, Champa, you my nigga and all, but sometimes you don’t think before you talk, and this was a time when it really could have fucked us!”
“Okay, okay, okay, I hear what ya sayin’! I know you got shit locked down on all fronts, but fucking two-point-five million! Jesus Christ, man, you couldn’t have offered the nigga one and a half and worked up from there?”
“Offering anything less would have made it a negotiation, and we supposed to be running this job in basically two days. I needed a quick yes on my terms. We don’t have time to waste.”
Champa had his arms folded across his chest. Through his window, Casey saw Shin outside, waiting to be waved in; he was smart enough to recognize that Champa and him were having words.
“So, how we splittin’ this pie anyway?” Champa asked.
“Well, after Petrosian’s take, we looking at seven mil ’cause we got Hans getting five hundred K. On top of that, Al P., Jacob, and other miscellaneous expenses is around a hundred K, so at the end of the day, that’s six-point-nine mil. If we give Big Rich, Sean E Sean, Mick, and the Garcia boys a mil each, that takes us to two-point-nine. Then there’s just Shin, you, and me left.”
“So, what you thinking as far as Shin goes?”
“Well, he ain’t a boss like the other guys, but he is in the inner circle and he’s valuable. So, you tell me, Champa.”
Champa chewed on his toothpick as he looked straight out the front window and then turned to Casey and said, “Shit, I’d say three hundred K. That’s a lot of cheese for a cat that doesn’t have the headaches we got.”
“I think that’s fair—then you and I both get one-point-three mil each.”
Casey knew that was the way the splits had to be. His crew had to get equal shares for the plan to work, and Champa’s extra piece was fair because he’d found the job and did most of the setup. “So we cool, nigga?”
“Yeah, we cool, man.”
Casey held out his fist and Champa smiled and gave him a pound. “I can tell you spendin’ that money in your head already.”
Casey rolled down the window and told him Shin would take him back to the office. “I need to make curfew, so I got to hustle back to my crib. Call the guys, except for Rich, and have them meet up tomorrow.”
“What about Rich?” Champa asked.
“He’s gonna be under surveillance,
and I don’t need the pigs makin’ the connection. Before the meet, you can go brief him on what’s up.”
“Okay, bet.”
Casey made it home that night at 9:30 P.M. He didn’t see any cops, so it was safe to assume he wouldn’t be catchin’ shit for being late. Getting thrown back in the joint for something as dumb as breakin’ curfew was not a good look. Now that he had a new PO, he’d have to be a lot more careful.
In his darkened bedroom, Casey thought about the insanity of the current situation. Who was he to be Superman, cleaning up the streets? Drug dealin’ and sex slavery were never gonna go away, and it was just a matter of time before he caught a bullet with his righteous bullshit. As far as Petrosian went, he knew that sooner or later that would come to a bloody conclusion that would result in him putting one more man in the dirt. That really didn’t bother him. Casey knew his ticket was taking him to hell for all the shit he’d done or caused. It was the fate of Petrosian’s kid that gnawed at him. Casey would be responsible for another kid growing up solo, no parents, no family. Another kid going into the system to get fucked around by bullshit foster parents, with the end result being another gangster on the street.
Casey sat up in bed and turned on the light. He reached for his phone to call Carla, but then just set it down. Talking to her would just confuse him more. After this job, he was gonna have to reevaluate things. With the money he’d stashed and his take from this job, he’d have about three and a half mil. That was enough money to get lost and square up. He picked up his phone and sent a text to Carla and asked if she wanted to get breakfast at eight the next morning at the usual spot next to his building. She responded with only a smiley face. Casey stared at the glowing reply in the darkness.
What’d I do to deserve you, baby?
* * *
He didn’t sleep much that night. There were tactics and logistics that he wanted to double- and triple-check. And like a seasoned chess player, he looked five moves ahead and strategized how to handle every possible scenario. When he was in the joint planning his revenge on Rono, he’d learned from Mack D the value of marrying tactics with a strategy.