Text copyright © 2017, 2018 by Leopold Borstinski
Published by Sobriety Press
Cover design by Sobriety Press copyright © 2017
Cover photo: Alessio Lin
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The right of Leopold Borstinski to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. Published by Sobriety Press. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. For information regarding permission, contact [email protected].
ISBN 978 1 9997705 0 1 ASIN B072JSKXJS Kindle Edition
ISBN 978 1 9997705 1 8 Paperback Edition
Second Edition 2018. First published 2017
For more information please visit LeopoldBorstinski.com
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The Heist
by
Leopold Borstinski
AUGUST 1967
1
Frank was out the can two minutes and already he knew he wanted money. A lot of money. So much money he knew he wasn’t getting it from the recruitment pages of the local paper. He wanted dirty money. Money you can only get if you mix with the kind of guys who’ve got ideas. The kind of guys Frank was stuck in a cell with. The kind of guys who’ve got connections. Real connections with real guys. Frank was hungry for greenbacks.
Like many of us, Frank had dreams, big dreams. Big dreams of a big life. Fast cars, faster girls and a fancy suit or two. The kind of life he’d seen on a million TV shows. Only Frank thought it was real. Thought he really could have one of those TV lives.
There’s nothing wrong with dreams. Unless they catch you full in the chest and knock you for seven. Then there can be something wrong with dreams. But Frank’s problem wasn’t his dreams. It was his wallet and his wallet was empty. So he needed to find a way to fill it. To plug his gap.
People say that being in the joint is like going to a criminal university and Frank had passed his final exam with flying colors. He’d spent his two years of incarceration keeping his head down, so he’d get paroled early. And he listened and learned from the men around him. How to pick a good location, how to find someone on the inside you can leverage. All the little details that turn a half-baked plan into a complete apple pie.
So when Frank walked through the gates of the Baltimore penitentiary, he knew exactly what he was going to do. Knew exactly how to get that pot of money he had spent two long years dreaming about.
Of course, there was something else he’d been dreaming about too. Or rather, trying not to dream about. Because some dreams just leave you weak, not able to concentrate on the matter at hand. And in the joint that kind of concentration can get you killed.
When the last gate clanged shut and Frank was standing on free soil and breathing in free air, there was the other thing of his dreams. Mary Lou’s tight-fitting pants and all that was hidden beneath them.
There she stood, with one hand on her hip and the other holding a bottle of tequila in a brown paper bag, nice and legal like. A denim shirt with the ends tied on one side to show off that flat stomach and the tattoo of a rose three inches below her belly button, just peeping out from her jeans and a thick brown belt.
Frank smiled and Mary Lou ran towards him, teetering on her high white plastic heels until she reached him and flung her arms round his neck and planted her lips on his. She sure was pleased to see him. And how has it been these last few days since my last visit? And do you think my hair looks good as I got it cut special for you, Frank? And this and that and the other. And all Frank wanted to do was to lie down with that bottle of tequila and fuck Mary Lou’s brains out.
◆◆◆
Like so many prisons, the penitentiary was built in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by flat, grassy fields. And as Mary Lou didn’t own an automobile, they waited thirty-five minutes for the next bus back to Halethorpe.
Frank stood, back straight, with his left arm draped over Mary Lou’s shoulder while his right hand clung to the tequila. Occasionally he’d stroke the back of her neck with his thumb, more to show interest than out of any genuine sense of affection. His mind was split between his dreams, the tequila and her bush. And every few seconds, he would flit from one thought to the next. By the time the bus showed up, Frank figured his dreams could wait until the morning, provided he got a serious dose of tequila and ass tonight.
The bus journey took over an hour, by the time it had made the long stretch into town and zigzagged its way from downtown to midtown to a block away from Mary Lou’s apartment. A rented, brownstone affair with peeling paint in the hall and a bare lightbulb in front of her door, 3F.
The first thing Frank did when they got inside was to strip to the waist, throwing his shirt onto the floor.
“We’ll get you some fresh clothes tomorrow, honey.”
And then he sat down in front of the TV, switched it on and started flipping through the channels until he found something familiar.
He didn’t notice his chair was less than one arm’s stretch from the double bed and the kitchenette was only slightly further away on the other side. Mary Lou hadn’t wasted any bucks on this boutique accommodation. And no-one would care about who came and went.
Half a bottle of tequila later and Frank was ready to focus his attention on Mary Lou. He pushed her roughly down on the bed and, at the same time, she undid the zipper on her jeans. He pulled them off, one leg at a time. And stood there, swaying, as he stared at her white frilly panties and the tattooed rose peeking out from the top of them. Then, with one more swig of tequila, he staggered and fell backwards, landing back on the armchair. Snored loudly, drunk-asleep.
Mary Lou sighed, put her hand inside her panties and fingered herself until she came. Twice. “Not tonight, Frank. Tonight’s just not your night.” Mary Lou fell asleep a short while after, half-content with the flickering thought rattling around her pretty young skull: whether her Frank was ever going to make her truly happy.
◆◆◆
At some point during the night - and neither of them had a clue quite when - Frank woke up just long enough to stand up, undo his pants, walk out of them and lie on the bed next to Mary Lou.
Some crappy time well before nine in the morning a bus wheezed past, waking Frank up with a start. Mary Lou had been living there long enough not be bothered by this municipal alarm clock anymore. He rolled over and eyed Mary Lou’s body up and down. First her head, then her neck. Then her tits which were peeking through her bra. Then her belly, her panties and her legs. He finished with her feet, toes curled in sleepy repose.
He put his hand under her bra on her nearest tit, squeezing the nipple until Mary Lou groaned and half opened her eyes. She smiled slightly and shut her eyes again. Then she arched her back and undid the white bra so that Frank wouldn’t have to try too hard. He squeezed her nipple more and then covered her breast with his whole palm, massaging and squeezing it until Mary Lou groaned again.
She put her hand on
his dick and brushed her thumb through the material of his shorts. At that moment, Frank came. After all, he’d been jerking off for the best part of two years and wasn’t really ready for anything much more than that.
Mary Lou understood and started kissing him on the stomach, moving downwards and pulled his shorts to his knees. She licked his limp dick until it got hard again and sucked him off. It was the least she could do under the circumstances.
An hour or two later, when they were sat in a nearby diner having eggs, toast and coffee for breakfast, Frank told Mary Lou of his dreams and the next job he had cooked up in jail.
He had learned a lot from the last caper he was on. This time, he’d run the gang and not rely on some other guy to look after the little details: like making sure they had a wiring diagram of the joint so’s they could cut off all alarms to the cops. And it would need to be a bank because robbing supermarkets and gas stations would only make them chump change and that was no good. Frank wanted a big enough haul so they could head out west to Vegas or even California, maybe. Somewhere you could live like a king on a small fortune and no-one’s going to ask too many questions about how you came into the money in the first place.
A couple of miles down the road was Lansdowne, a town big enough for more than one bank, so they could take their pick of whichever one had the richest take. They would spend the next few days checking them out and decide which one to go for. Then the plan would be for Mary Lou to get to know someone on the inside so’s they could get hold of plans and have a real good look inside without anyone getting suspicious. And then she’d fade away from the scene months before the job itself was done so no-one would suspect a thing. It would be like taking candy from a baby.
That night, Frank came inside Mary Lou for the first time in twenty-five months. After he’d fallen asleep, Mary Lou fingered herself again and came twice. Only this time she wasn’t wearing any panties.
2
Mary Lou woke up feeling refreshed, for the first time since she could remember. “Maybe you should lay off the tequila more often, Mary Lou Belle,” she told herself. She rolled over and saw the hulk of a man lying next to her. Could feel the hairs of his legs touching hers. She spooned him while he slept, smelling his back and resting her head near his neck. Cocooned in a cuddle that felt like it lasted forever. Immersed in a calm state of comfort with a man who cared for her and cared about her. She stroked his side and felt down his right leg until her arm couldn’t reach any further. Slid her hand back up his thigh and rested her hand on his balls and dick, cupping them in her fingers. Gently stroking them until he opened an eye, muttered something under his sleepy breath and took her hand so that all her fingers were wrapped around his now quite hard penis. The corners of his mouth rose up in a half smile.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hi. You like that?” she whispered in his ear and then grabbed his earlobe between her lips.
“Not as much as if you sit on me.”
He rolled over, facing upwards and Mary Lou put one of her legs over his and pushed herself on top of his body. Then she used her arms to get her torso upright and she bent her legs so their pubes touched and she was balanced nicely with enough room to make her pelvic floor thrusts count for something.
“Oh Carter, I do love it when you’re horny in the mornings,” she giggled. And they carried on until she had come twice, the second time when he’d gone down on her while his dick was still dripping, licking the tattooed rose until he found her bush, following the tattooed stem downwards until his tongue was inside her.
Afterwards, they cuddled more and dozed until the sun stopped shining through the Lansdowne apartment window. Carter had paid a month’s rent in advance. Cash, no questions asked. A perfect arrangement for a trysting place.
◆◆◆
The first time Mary Lou met Carter she’d gone into the bank to find out about savings accounts because Frank thought that would be an easy in. She planned to wander round the bank, ask for a flyer, check out any security guards and cameras, and then get out quick.
But instead, Carter caught her eye, sat at his desk with a photo of his wife and his wedding ring clearly on his finger. His hair was greased back to reveal a high crown and widow’s peak beneath a shock of black hair, obviously dyed as the roots were beginning to show.
Mary Lou teetered over to him and asked if she could sit down. “Sure thing miss,” he said, standing up and walking round to her side of the desk to pull the chair out and politely allow her to sit in it. As he went back, he adjusted his tie and absentmindedly touched himself. She knew then he was her mark. Nervous and aroused, just by seeing a young woman standing near him. He touched his wedding ring before finally sitting himself down, facing her.
She sat with her back straight just to make sure her breasts were as far forward as she could naturally get them. His eyes followed down her face and stopped at her chest. Mary Lou explained how she’d been putting some money aside - not much you understand, but it all mounts up if you work hard - and now wanted somewhere safer than her mattress to store it. And also a friend had told she could get interest on it if she gave it to a bank to look after. But she had no idea about any of that sort of thing, you understand, so wanted to know what her options were.
“Let me take down a few particulars before I can help you, Miss...?” Carter let the question hang in the air, drawing Mary Lou into conversation.
“And are you married or single?”
“I’m single, but if I were to meet the right man...” This time Mary Lou trailed her sentence off and started to play with a complimentary pen attached to a piece of string on a heavy blue stand on Carter’s desk. She stroked the end of it with her thumb, licked her lips slowly at him and smiled.
He smiled back and carried on with his form-filling questions. Having built up a shallow but discernible picture of her personal and financial circumstances, Carter started going through the various potential investment opportunities open to Mary Lou. She stopped listening and started thinking about how she could progress things away from municipal bonds and onto something far more interesting to her.
“I’m sorry, but I find all this talk far too complicated for a simple girl like me. And it’s taken all my nerve to come in here today, to be honest. I don’t mind telling you because I trust you. You have an honest face, but do you think we could meet in the coffee shop over on Third Avenue because I’d be a lot more comfortable there? This place creeps me out a bit.” And with that, Mary Lou waved her hand around the bank and rested it on Carter’s desk, leaning forward so he chest was puffed out again as far as it could go and her hand was only an inch away from his.
“Uh, sure. If it’d make you feel more comfortable. These things can appear to be quite tricky without someone to guide you through the financial maze. I’d love to do that.” And there was something about his intonation that caught Mary Lou’s attention. As though it was the first real moment that Carter had left his script behind and was talking like himself. Talking for himself.
They arranged a time a couple of days later and Mary Lou thanked him and stood up. Carter came round and pulled back her chair to help her stand up, like a real gentleman. He held out his hand and they shook, but Mary Lou made sure she held it a fraction longer than was right. She could tell he had noticed because he squeezed just a little too much in response. Then she giggled, took her hand back and sashayed out of the bank. She didn’t look back but she could feel his gaze staring at her hiney as she left the building, her white stiletto heels clipping on the marble floor.
Mary Lou slipped back from her first memory of Carter and nuzzled him some more. His back was hairy but somehow that worked for her. And he certainly knew how to keep her happy in the sack. And the man sure had prospects.
Frank had prospects too. And big dreams. She loved the idea of spending her days on a sun lounger in some fancy house in Santa Barbara or somewhere. With a couple of kids and a Dalmatian.
Carter started to lick he
r tattooed rose again and she knew she should lie back and give in to the moment and worry less about Dalmatians and babies. Frank never licked her rose.
3
Carter had problems of his own, stuck in a loveless, barren marriage and in hock to a local Shylock to the tune of six thousand dollars. With no place to escape and no money to make the debt good. Up shit creek without a paddle. And his problems weren’t going to go away anytime soon that he could see.
When you double up on your losses to such a point that your bookie won’t take another bet from you, there’s definitely a problem. And Carter had got to the point where he was put in touch with Frank Senior who’d taken over the debt. Now, Carter hadn’t heard of Frank Senior before but he knew he was in the mire, even though he couldn’t quite tell how deeply in it he was.
Carter had arranged to meet with Frank Senior at his repair shop and he knew he’d better have this week’s payment with him. He’d heard tales of people losing their fingers to Shylocks before and that was enough to focus his mind and ensure he’d got hold of the cash, no Benjamins, no consecutive serial numbers.
When Carter walked down the street and found the yard with two broken down limos, he figured he had found the right place. Walking to the door, trying to avoid the spilled oil, his breathing got shorter and shorter until he saw his hand knock on the door, grab the handle and his whole body entered the room.
As he glanced around, he caught sight of a couple of mechanics in dark blue boiler suits and another guy, leaning back on his wooden chair, chewing a matchstick. There were various bits of crumpled paper on the desk in front of him, but that didn’t appear to bother him and his chewing. Carter couldn’t tell who was Frank Senior as none of them looked in charge or appeared to be expecting him. But they certainly weren’t acting like car mechanics either. There was a general air of quiet smugness in the room.
The Heist Page 1