The Heist

by Leopold Borstinski

  “Why thank you, Luigi. And what was that message that the Wheels has left me?” Lagotti knew Luigi was the slowest in the race but as a reliable son-of-a-bitch as you could find in the Northern hemisphere. So he knew patience was the key to extracting information out of this Rottweiler.

  Luigi thought for a moment, not wanting to let his boss down and knowing he had heard the phrase not once, but twice at least, just a few seconds ago.

  “He said the game was on for tomorrow.”

  Lagotti smiled.

  “Did he say: Game on tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, those was the self-same words he used!”

  “Good news then. Well done, Luigi.”

  “Thank yous.”

  “Now I’ve got a job for you and it must be done today. Without fail, you understand?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. L.”

  “I want you to pay a visit to that bank teller, Carter Reinfeldt before he gets home from the Bank of Baltimore tonight. You tell him you’ll be back again tomorrow evening to collect the case he should have got for me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell him Tuesday night is when you will get the case from him. Got it?”

  “Do you want me to do this alone or can I bring Paul?”

  “Whichever you prefer, Luigi. The man won’t give you any bother, but if you’d like some company on the ride over, that’s fine by me.”

  Lagotti knew Luigi didn’t need chaperoning and he didn’t need the company, but he did need someone who could remember a couple of basic facts for more than ten minutes without having to read it in a notebook. And Paul was far brighter than Luigi, but not nearly as fearless - mainly because he was far brighter and understood what risk was. But they both had their uses and could handle themselves well if it came to that.

  Luigi left Lagotti, still with his feet up on the desk, and went to find out where Paul had gotten to.

  ◆◆◆

  Lagotti put his magazine onto his lap and smiled to himself. This was as close to a win-win situation he had ever conjured up. Heads he won, tails he won. The only way to lose would be if the coin landed on its side and even if that somehow happened, he still wouldn’t lose: he’d still have the bank adviser by the balls and his step nephew would still want to rob another bank for him. Thinking a bit further, Lagotti realized there was only one scenario that could play out where he actually did lose - if Reinfeldt was killed in the robbery and couldn’t pay him back. The chances were slim because Frank may be a vengeful man, but he was a professional and wouldn’t let the chance to kill the guy, who’d been fucking his girl for best part of a year, get in the way of grabbing some bags of cash.

  Talking of which, Lagotti decided now matters were finalized with the job, he should sort out the cash transfer agent - or money laundering as it is usually known.

  The basic idea behind money laundering is to swap out any cash that can be identified with other cash that is clean. A smooth running capitalist system operated in this murky world: every person along the chain between dirty and clean money needed to create a profit for themselves, so there was an essential mismatch between the amount of dirty money provided and the amount of clean money handed back at the so-called retail end of this chain.

  Specifically, in our example, the total profit across the entire supply chain was sixty per cent as Frank was only going to get forty cents on the dollar which was a shockingly good rate. This was achieved mainly because Lagotti didn’t believe he would need to accommodate it as he thought Carter give him all the cash and Lagotti could afford to wait months before shifting it and he’d get a wholesale rate, anyway.

  The first step for Lagotti was to line up Jimmy the German, a Baltimore based gentleman of European heritage, who could take in amounts of half a million plus and perform magic on the cash within a period of about two or three days. The magic came at a price which was fifty cents on the dollar so it was well within Lagotti’s profit margin.

  After the transaction was complete, Lagotti would need to get the clean money over to Frank and the boys so they could finally split the spoils and part their merry ways.

  Were it to happen, this would be the most dangerous part of the escapade because there would be clean money - a lot of it - and many people with access to firearms. Dangerous indeed. And one of the basic courtesies, when you are returning less than half the money a gang has given you, is to turn up in person with their loot. Otherwise you look like you’re robbing them blind yourself, which you are - hence why you don’t want it to appear to be the case.

  Lagotti would need to be standing next to the clean dough when it was handed over to the guys and that made him nervous, genuinely nervous. It was why he paid Paul and Luigi to stand around looking mean near him because they were the kind of guys more likely to spill blood than ask questions.

  And depending who showed up at that point, at the back of Lagotti’s mind, was the thought that maybe Paul and Luigi could deal with the remnants of the group if everything at the bank had turned messy. After all, this entire scenario was predicated on the teller not walking out with the money as some bad shit has to go down when you rob a bank with an empty vault.

  Lagotti put the call through to Jimmy the German to prepare him for some financial Spring cleaning. Then he left the repair shop to meet his step nephew in their favorite derelict factory.

  37

  To kill time as much as anything else, Frank drove into Baltimore to find somewhere to eat and tried a little Italian on the corner of West Lexington and Park, which was half full - a good sign given this was a Monday lunchtime. As ever, even here, he took a table at the back - although there was no reason for him not to be in Baltimore having lunch.

  Frank ordered some linguini with a simple Neapolitan sauce and a basket of bread and olives were delivered to his table while he was waiting.

  The pasta was fine but the sauce was no great shakes; Mary Lou’s was better. He knew that for a fact, but he was able to spend a bit of time somewhere different and somewhere quite relaxed, given the tension and mayhem to engulf him as soon as he woke up tomorrow. This made Frank feel better about himself even though the sauce wasn’t worth the gas to travel here.

  He had a good crew even though he still had his doubts about Frankie’s choice of Pete. They were tough enough to get through the next twenty-four hours, but they had sufficient brains between them to improvise when his plan inevitably hit the skids.

  Frank’s final thought at the table was for Mary Lou. She had been through so much over the past year with him, Carter and Frank Senior. And still she was there, double checking the vault was full to brimming with that bank’s money.

  He paid the check and headed out. Just before he did, Frank turned round and asked the waiter to direct him to the pay phone.

  ◆◆◆

  “Thanks for taking my call.”

  “No problem. You have an assignment for me?”

  “Yes, yes I do.”

  “Good. Who is it?”

  “Frank Lagotti Senior.”

  Beat.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not for me. When?”

  “In a week’s time?”

  “It’s short notice. Any flexibility on the timing?”

  “For sure. Just no sooner than a week. Can be a week, two weeks, a month. Whatever works for you. I just want him dead.”

  “Okay. Leave half the money in the place we discussed a day before the hit and deliver the second half to the same place the day after the assignment is completed.”

  “Understood.”

  “Bye.”

  “Goodbye.”

  ◆◆◆

  After yet another trip down the I-95, Frank arrived at the factory. His uncle’s car was nowhere to be seen, so Frank parked round the back and made his way to the usual ramshackle room, filled with rubble and a solitary chair.

  Frank sat down on three breeze blocks he built into a seat, just so he could let Frank Senior see the chair had been lef
t just for him, to show full respect to his uncle.

  While he sat there, waiting, Frank thought how conflicted he felt about his uncle. There was tremendous gratitude for all the old man’s help in setting up the job and sorting out the laundering of the cash afterwards. On the other hand was what Frankie had done to Mary Lou. Cocksucker.

  A wind blew through the building and sent a shiver down Frank’s spine. And the shiver kept going after the breeze died down.

  At this point, Uncle Frankie arrived in the room, Frank stood up and walked over to greet him. A brief hug and Lagotti sat down in his chair and Frank resumed his position on his makeshift seat.

  Once they’d settled down, Frankie cleared his throat and spoke with tremendous seriousness.

  “I have one thing to say to you, my boy: Game on tomorrow.”

  Frank discovered a flash of happiness surge through him when he heard those words. The plan was coming good. His plan was coming good.

  “The circle is complete, Uncle Frankie. We’re all ready to go,” he heard himself say, but he was still thinking about how perfect things were going. The line of communication between them all had turned into a circle. It was such a beautiful thing to behold.

  “Is there anything left for us to do before tomorrow?” Lagotti asked after a minute. Frank said there wasn’t and outlined what was left for the others to do before the morning.

  Frankie asked Frank if there was anything he could do on the Tuesday. Again, Frank could think of nothing in particular and thanked Frankie for all his help. It was important Uncle Frank only thought positively of his nephew - without Frankie, they would be facing serious problems holding onto a large amount of dirty money.

  “We’re all in this together. When one of us succeeds, we all succeed,” noted Lagotti, but while the words sounded reasonably warm, Frank had no real idea what he was talking about. For a moment, there was an awkward silence between the two of them, something that hadn’t really happened since Frank went into the slammer after his previous job and his uncle had tried to rig the jury and failed, so he said. But that was all water under the bridge. Frankie looked after him when he was in the penitentiary and made sure Mary Lou had a roof over her head and money in her pocket.

  “We won’t be seeing each other for a while - not until the heat’s died down, so good luck and take care of yourself and your men.”

  Frank let the warmth of those words soak inside him; Frankie knew how to say the right thing at the right time.

  “I don’t need luck; I need steel,” replied Frank, not too certain quite what he meant, but it sure sounded good. The two men hugged and Lagotti squeezed Frank’s cheek just as he had down when Frank was a boy. Frank smiled back, patted Lagotti at the top of his arm near his shoulder and walked away.

  Lagotti sat back in the chair and waited until he heard Frank’s junk heap depart the lot. Then he stood up and shivered. He hated this fucking place and was glad to be seeing the back of it, more or less.

  When they found the vault empty, he’d suggest they meet up here. Then he’d point out the source of their information was the girl and he’d get Luigi - or maybe even Frank himself - to cap her there and then. The rest would flow naturally from that.

  The old man strolled to his car and drove back to the auto repairs where he parked the car in its usual spot. Then it was time to pay a visit to the Kitkatt Club.

  ◆◆◆

  Like Frank before him, the first time Brian visited Pete’s yard, he spent twenty futile minutes driving round trying to find the damn place. Unlike Frank, Brian’s spatial awareness meant he always found it easily after that. But they both discovered Pete might be great behind the wheel but was useless when riding shotgun. Couldn’t give you directions to find your dick during a hand job.

  Pete gazed around his yard at all the vehicles in his domain before Brian’s arrival. Everything appeared fine. All the engines turned over okay, nothing sounded out of the ordinary and there was a full tank of gas in each car and truck. Locked and loaded.

  Pete sat back on his bed with a cup of warm coffee in his hand. He sipped the brown drink until Brian showed up about a half hour later and the coffee dregs were stone cold.

  First, they set about getting the saloons at the split up point outside Lansdowne. There was an old barn, long since used, Frank had scouted out and it looked just fine. There was plenty of space away from the road for everyone to park and ride without being seen. And no-one was going to go poking their noses in a dirty old place like that between now and the morning.

  Each car was driven by Pete, and Brian followed him, so they could go back and forth to set things up. And Pete took a different route each time in case someone was following them - not that anyone had any reason to.

  Next they took Mary Lou's convertible to an underground parking lot in Halethorpe for her to collect in the morning. In the trunk were the C4 and timers primed for action. All she had to do was flip the switch on the timer and attach them on the telegraph poles near the bank.

  Finally, they drove the van into the same lot, but at opposite ends so Frank could start his route and pick up Andrew and Brian without any hassle.

  Last of all, they drove back to the yard. Each trip together, they’d hardly said two words. Not because of any tension between them like the last time when they bought the guns. There was silence simply because there was nothing they needed or wanted to say to each other.

  Pete got out of Brian’s car and Brian repeated the two magic words:

  “Game on.”

  Then he drove off, leaving Pete on his own in the yard.

  ◆◆◆

  By four o’clock Brian was off to the firing range, secure in the knowledge the rides were sorted and the handguns were mighty fine. He only went through fifty rounds. Just enough to give himself an excuse to clean the barrels again, but sufficient for him to have confidence the revolvers were in good working order.

  He planted his feet squarely and imagined taking down the guard or a do-good civilian. Brian never enjoyed shooting civilians even if it was only a graze-shot or a through-and-through. He figured people should stick to their own and not get bothered with other people’s business. So Johnny Come Latelys should keep their noses out of his business and not get themselves shot.

  He didn’t like the fact they got hurt. It wasn’t their fault, they just got in his way. If he’d ever sat in front of a psychologist, he would have been asked why he felt no responsibility for his actions under those circumstances. But Brian would never be with a shrink. No way, not while there was breath in his body.

  Instead, he was squaring off against an FBI target, pretending the silhouette was someone getting in his way tomorrow. And the stupid thing was there was going to be no trouble tomorrow because Frank had been planning this for goddamn months. The guy had been eating, drinking and pissing the job since last summer. Andrew’d told him he’d been planning it while he was still in the joint. This was one seriously planned job.

  Brian knew if Frank hadn’t got it under control then his broad would sure as hell know what was going on in the bank. She’d been fucking the teller since the summer too. She was the one who’d saved their bacon a couple of months ago when the bank stepped up security. Mary Lou and Frank were good guys and Brian trusted them completely. Unlike Pete, who was a prize motherfucker ‘n’ no mistakin’.

  The bullets kept on squeezing out of that barrel and almost every single one formed a cluster around the primary target of the silhouette, the heart. Only two missed because Brian couldn’t resist aiming for a couple of head shots, but he knew the best way to take someone down was to aim at the torso. It was the largest part of the body so you were almost bound to hit something. Figured.

  With the practice over, all they had to do was be patient and wait for dawn’s early light to cast a shadow on their land.

  38

  Frankie slumped down at his usual table, which has been cleared especially once he had arrived. A couple of girls were on
stage and everything was good in the house of Lagotti.

  A waitress in red hot pants and matching bra sidled up to him and took his order of a vodka lime. All during the transaction, Lagotti kept his eyes squarely on her nipples, which were more than clearly visible under her underwear. He didn’t even notice the dainty bow, smack in the middle front. Still staring at the nipples waving in front of him, Lagotti asked: “Where’s August?”

  “Oh, we have no August here, I don’t think.”

  “Don’t shit with me. You new here? I don’t remember your... face?” An upward curl of the left side of Lagotti’s lips.

  “Yes, started this week... Maybe August just hasn’t been in recently.”

  “Doesn’t matter. What’s your name, missy?”

  “April.”

  “Call me Frank. Ask the other girls about me if you fancy.”

  “I will Frank. Shall I get your vodka lime now?”

  “That would be wonderful. On the rocks, mind.”

  “Sure thing.”

  April swished away leaving Lagotti with the opportunity to survey her underage firm buttocks as she departed for the bar. Jailbait ass. She’d be up on stage by the end of the week and on her back by the end of the weekend. That’s the business we are in, he said to himself, strumming his fingers on the armrest to the beat of the music engulfing him.

  The girls on stage changed around and two more appeared wearing nothing more than their underwear, a pretty smile and a pout. One was ebony with pointy tits and the other was pale white with round ones. Lagotti focused his attention on the round titties. He didn’t believe in miscegenation or anything close and with Kennedy gone, the niggers would stay in their place, he thought.

  Lagotti stood up and dropped a Jackson in Blondie’s thong. It was dark blue and contrasted with her skin in a glorious way. She kept on dancing and nodded a thank you to him. He smiled back at her and stood by the stage until she came round again. Then he dropped two Jacksons inside the thong and made sure his hand brushed her front when he put the notes in her underwear.