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Forty minutes earlier Pete woke up with death on his mind - the thought of the upcoming day’s job at the forefront of his thoughts. And then he looked at his alarm clock.
“Motherfucker!” he exclaimed to the world at large and no-one in particular. He had indeed set his alarm but the time to which he had set it was eleven o’clock. It was now eight and the shit was about to hit the fan.
Flying out of his cot bed, Pete threw his clothes on, grabbed his cigs, lighter, keys, wallet, coins and pistol and pelted to the car and gunned the engine awake. He took it only a few feet, just outside the gate, leapt out and went back to lock up. He wasn’t going to be back for quite a while. Hell of a way to leave. Cutting out on himself. The only positive thing about the nature of Pete’s departure was he didn’t have to waste any time thinking about the day ahead - or brushing his teeth or putting on any deodorant.
Pete pulled out a cigarette from the pack and flipped his lighter open, thumbed the flint wheel and lit the cigarette.
Eight ten and he was on the road. The professional within Pete knew no matter how late you are for a bank robbery, the getaway driver should not be stopped by the cops for speeding, having a busted taillight or any other misdemeanor. So, despite his desire to catch up on himself, Pete kept the vehicle a steady five miles per hour below the limit all the journey long.
Now he was on the road, Pete had a chance to think for the first time in the day. The game was on and everything was resting on his shoulders. When the guys left the rear entrance to the bank, he was the one who would be torching one of the vehicles and driving them to safety - at high speed. And he was the one Frank Senior had entrusted to keep an eye on Frank himself.
Pete had tried not to think too much about why Frank Senior wanted to watch his nephew. Pete always thought the best way to manage some situations was not to think too hard about stuff and just let things happen. This ethos was especially true when it came to men like Frank Senior. Dangerous men like Frank Senior.
But at the same time, Pete had been intrigued whether he was being put in the middle of some long running family feud. He’d not been in that position since he was a kid. Hadn’t seen his ma since he was eight and hadn’t even got a letter from his brothers or sisters in over a decade. He didn’t know if any of ‘em were alive or dead.
Pete reached the I-97 turnpike and headed North, always keeping the speed under control. In his mind’s eye, he went through all he had set up the previous day and the precise list of things he needed to do before he drove away from the bank.
From the exact position and location of each vehicle to the C4 packages he’d left for Mary Lou. Pete had driven the getaway route countless times before - in the afternoon at first when he was learning the various routes to get out of town. Then in the evenings because he could really drive on instinct as the streets always looked so different at night. And finally, he spent three weeks following the same streets in the morning, so he could get a real good feeling for the traffic black spots and which roads were more likely to be clear. Pete had put all that information inside his head back in April and had given himself top-up lessons every other week since then. He was comfortable no matter what happened on the roads, he’d be able to get them safely out of town and out to the barn.
Pete had then done his homework for his own getaway after that. He’d figured out the best routes to circle round to get to Joppa without heading straight there. Meanwhile, he exited at Arundel Hills Park and turned left onto the I-695, aiming north west.
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A rumbling in his stomach told Pete skipping breakfast was not a good idea. He snagged the glove compartment handle and the little door popped open. Inside were a couple of Twinkies which Pete’d thrown in there the previous week. He guzzled both down and, within minutes, he was receiving the benefits of the artificial sugar high he’d induced in himself. Pete promised himself he’d grab some bread along the way if there was time and opportunity, because he knew he wouldn’t get through to the end of the afternoon without something more filling inside himself.
The final piece of Pete’s jigsaw was the problem of Andrew. That shit heel was going down today, one way or another. Either at the bank or at the barn, but he wasn’t going to be waking up tomorrow morning - of that Pete was certain. He felt for the gun in his jacket pocket, just to reassure himself. And he smiled as more country music blurted out of his radio speakers and the car ate up the I-695. Andrew would be dead and likely Brian would hit the dirt too.
There was something to be said for not shaving. He’d been planning on leaving some fur on his face just to make it harder to be recognized, especially after he’d shave it off tomorrow. But this morning he’d not even thought about whether to shave or not. No time. Frank was right. Pete sure did have issues being on time.
Turning right onto the 295 just after Overlook Park and Pete knew it wouldn’t be long now. He felt the fuzz on his face and noticed there was a small triangle just under his lower lip where he was bare. A little bare triangle surrounded by fuzz. Then he thought of Lucy’s triangle of fuzz surrounded by bare skin.
He shook his head to whip the idea of Lucy’s bush out of his mind. Now was not the time. Two minutes later, he went left onto the I-895 and almost immediately took the Hollins Ferry Road exit. Half a mile later and he passed the Mount Zion Cemetery and took the left and stopped in the lot, reversing next to the van which was parked but empty.
There was no time for bread, no time for anything apart from keeping his head clear until the job was over. He lit another cigarette and waited. Pete looked at his watch and saw that it was eight forty-six. Quarter of an hour and the fun would start. He should be inside Lucy’s trailer by eleven, twelve at the latest. What a trailer that woman had. Always available, always welcoming. And the great thing was he never had to ask twice. She was always willing to have him come round.
As far as Pete could see, Lucy represented a port in an otherwise troubled sea. She could fry eggs, cook bacon and let him fuck her pretty much any way he wanted. As he only had three ways of fucking, this meant he was very happy and Lucy was well within her sexual comfort zone, given the weirdos she’d slept with over the years. If Pete had known, he’d have run away in disgust.
Instead, he had a safe place to stash his firearm and a safe place to pitch his tent when he needed to lie low. The added advantage: there was nothing to connect him to Lucy apart from the fact one day he’d strolled into the diner when he was desperate for a piss after a long journey and he knew he couldn’t wait the extra half hour or so to get to Glen Burnie.
The coffee was terrible there, but he’d sparked well with Lucy and he’d gone back to her trailer and found her more than welcoming. Now, Pete hadn’t been in for about six months or a year until he and Brian had rocked in on their way to making the connection with Chuck. But it was like he’d walked out only the day before.
Naturally, Pete didn’t pay no never mind to what Lucy’d been up to in the meantime. He was just concerned to make sure the trailer would be safe for himself when the time was right. And this was one of those times. Beyond that, he didn’t really care at all - but it was nice to know she’d be there to keep his bed warm while he was lying low. Keep his bed warm and his dick hard.
Afterwards, he’d make sure he’d get her something to keep her sweet. And quiet. Pete knew he could take her to AC for a weekend and that would be enough. Besides, that just meant he had to pay for a hotel room so they could fuck in a different place.
45
Frank led the three men out the bank parking lot and walked a hundred feet down Hollins Ferry and into Third Avenue, carrying on five hundred feet until they came across a side entrance of a cemetery. This meant they could sit outside, but without being seen particularly from the road. The tombstones offered an oasis of calm in the heart of Lansdowne.
Frank led them to the cemetery and to his bench, on which Brian sat down almost immediately. Still there was a silence
between them all the while.
He stood there alone in his thoughts: Frank had allowed himself this time to daydream about the future. He ran through what he was going to do from the moment they entered the First Bank of Baltimore, Lansdowne branch, through to leaving the parking lot with the money in a sack.
In particular, he thought about the likely responses from the bank staff and how they’d respond if any civilians strolled in, unexpected and uninvited.
With the comfort of knowing he was as ready as he could be - that all the guys were as ready as they could be - Frank’s attention turned to the future. His future with Mary Lou.
Naturally, the first image that loomed into his consciousness was her rose. The taste of her returned to his mouth from the night before. He’d enjoyed the shower this morning too. Having her limbs wrapped around him, her pubes against his dick as water cascaded all around them.
And then he thought of California. Of Mary Lou and him lying on a beach, sipping cocktails while the poor saps beavered about, working around them. The truth was he was just replaying their Miami vacation, but that did not matter to Frank. His big dream was so close to him now he could almost touch it. And that sensation felt good.
Frank looked up at the sky and then down at his watch. “It’s time,” he said, casually, to help keep everyone at their ease, while being very aware how tense the other two were feeling.
He took them out through the south entrance of Mount Zion and pounded the streets the few hundred feet until they turned left onto Hollins Ferry. Frank checked his watch again and slowed his pace down a touch. Ideally, he wanted them to arrive exactly on time so they wouldn’t have to hang around near the bank just before the job. Would be too easy for someone to remember them when the cops came calling.
When they reached the alleyway that led to the parking lot, Frank turned his head leftwards to check Pete was in place. Everything looked good. Everything looked right.
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Right on cue, Pete spotted Frank - then Andrew and Brian - walking past the entrance to the alleyway and parking lot. They would be in the bank in a few seconds and then all the hullabaloo would commence.
In the final few seconds of calm before the shit hit the fan, Pete’s mind turned to Andrew. He had decided he shouldn’t cap the nigger lover during the job itself. Not professional. Not at all.
Instead, Pete figured the best time would be at the barn. That way, the money would be safe so Frank and, more importantly, Frank Senior would not be bothered quite how many people got to split up the cash.
If he could separate him from Brian that would make things even easier, but if he had to shoot out the tires and kill both of them, so be it. The whole thing would be pure self defense. Pete knew either he took out Andrew or Andrew would take him out - and Pete’s plan was to be top dog.
Pete glanced around the parking lot, surveying each of the vehicles just to make sure everything was square. From his position everything in the L-shaped lot was cool. But he was very aware he couldn’t see the other half of the lot: the half that went from the bank in the L’s corner towards the dead end. Pete reckoned there shouldn’t be any trouble from that part of the lot mainly because if trouble did come from over there, the perps would be blocking themselves in, which would not be a wise move if guns were drawn.
So Pete kept his beadies on the back door of the bank which he could catch in the right-hand rear view mirror of his auto, and the exit onto the street. Now was not the time for a dumper truck to break down just there - or any other shit for that matter.
Frank and the crew must be inside by now. They were no more than five seconds away from the door when he spied them. He looked at his watch and saw it was nine oh-one and he knew the game had begun.
Pete stiffened in his seat and grabbed his balaclava and put it on his lap. Sitting in a balaclava would draw attention to himself but as soon as the guys came out, he’d need to be anonymous as hell. He also put the gun on his lap. Again, close but not visible. In case of trouble.
He looked around the lot again. Nothing. Checked his gun. Checked the balaclava. Switched the engine back on. Ready. Any second now there'll be a robbery in progress...
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The three crossed the alleyway entrance until the bank’s brickwork was to Frank’s left. The first window then the second. Followed by Brian and Andrew a couple of feet behind, Frank put his right hand in his coat pocket to hold on to his revolver, inhaled deep into his lungs, shoved the balaclava over his head and pushed the bank door open and stepped inside. After all the waiting, all the planning, the moment was now. His moment was now. His hopes, his dreams: they were all coming to the boil just... about... now.
46
“This is a stick up! Don’t any of you motherfuckers move ‘n’ no-one’ll get hurt!”
Frank pointed his gun straight at old Joe Grimble, who immediately put up his hands, allowing Brian to take Grimble’s firearm out of its holster. Brian and Andrew walked further into the bank and ensured there was a gun aimed at every member of staff they could see.
“Everyone, out here and lie face down on the ground. No talking. No messing about!” Frank had learned the best way to get a fast response from civilians was to keep the instructions short, sweet and to the point. Andrew and Brian stood over the clerks and Frank counted heads. There was one missing. He looked around and found the manager’s office. Walked straight over and kicked open the door. JH was hiding under his desk, hoping what was happening outside his office just wasn’t happening. No luck.
Frank dragged his sorry ass into the main reception and dumped him on the ground. At that point, Grimble decided to be a hero and took the opportunity to raise himself up near Brian’s foot. Brian saw what he was up to, bent down and slammed the butt of his gun into Grimble’s face, causing him to fall back unconscious and for a little ripple of blood to trickle past old Joe’s nose and onto the floor. The rest of the staff took in a massive breath, almost like it had been choreographed.
“No messing about is what I said and it's what we mean,” intoned Frank in case they hadn’t already figured that cold fact out.
Frank looked at Brian and said: “Look after the shop while we’re downstairs.”
“You got it,” replied Brian with a real sense of menace behind his words. This was what he’d been waiting for. This was the game he was playing.
Andrew followed Frank to the staff door which he opened with a simple shove of his shoulder. Mary Lou had been absolutely right: they’d added some steel to the surface of the door, but it was purely for show. The lock and hinges were as feeble as they were when she first visited the joint.
They hurried down the corridor and down the stairs to the vault. As expected, all the doors were open - into the vault and into the safe. The only problem was the damn thing was empty. No money, nothing. It made no sense.
“What the fuck?”
Andrew and Frank stood for a second, looking quizzically at each other.
“Don’t get it,” said Frank and they sprinted back to the others without even a turn of the head at the safe deposit boxes on the other side of the room.
Frank went straight to JH and put a gun barrel in his mouth.
“Where’s the fucking money!”
JH looked at him like he was crazy.
“The money, you fucker, where is it?”
Again, JH’s eyes scurried from one side of his head to the other but JH had no idea where the cash had gone any more than Frank did.
Frank inhaled a deep breath and took the barrel out of JH’s mouth. Frank sighed, placed JH’s right hand flat on the ground and slammed the butt onto JH’s first and second fingers. Broken.
JH screamed in agony and Frank slapped him to get his attention.
“The money. Get me the money!”
“It’s in the safe!” screamed the bank manager.
“No, it’s fucking not, numb nuts.”
JH looked at Frank like he had no idea the meaning
of Frank’s words.
“In the safe,” he whispered, half asking, knowing his words were just plain false.
Frank opened his bag and pulled out a kitchen knife and walked over to Theresa, ripped open her blouse with the knife and stared at JH.
“Look at me!” he screamed, “Tell me where the money is or I’ll cut her.”
“I thought it was in the safe.”
Frank swung the knife down and sliced Theresa’s left tit open. Blood gushed out and, in a few seconds, she was sitting in a pool of her own red. Then she fainted with shock.
JH shrugged at him and shook his head; he had no idea where the damn money was. Frank knew JH didn’t know: there was no way he would have allowed the girl to be injured just to save the money because all bank staff know how insurance works.
Frank went back to the bank manager and hauled him up so he was sitting L-shaped.
“Okay everyone, listen to me very carefully.”
All eyes stared at Frank and he carried on.
“At least one of you must know where the money has gone. I don’t give a shit who has got it or who knows. But if someone doesn’t tell me before I count to five then this man will get his throat cut.
“Do you understand?”
They all nodded.
“One ... two ... three ...”
Frank checked out everyone’s faces, desperately seeking a guilty expression. One of them knew. One of them was going to have to say or the bank manager was going to die in two counts.
“Four ...”
One of the other men. His expression twitched ever so slightly, his cheeks reddened ever so slightly.
Frank dropped JH like a stone and headed over to Carter. Grabbed his hand.
“Tell me where’s the money or I’ll chop your cocksucking fingers off!”
“I... I dunno.”
His mouth said one thing but his eyes kept darting back to his desk. Frank dragged Carter by the wrist over to the table and kicked it upside down to reveal the two cases as the contents of the desk flew onto the floor. Pens, paper, a paper weight and Carter’s triangular name plate.
The Heist Page 23