The Big Wheel

by Scott Archer Jones

  “Pity. Don’t hurl on me.”

  Seven hours. Robko nudged him. “Safe enough to move.”

  Thomas went off to pee in the toilet adjacent to the sauna. “What’s first, money or Mother?”

  “If you’re right, then she’s locked up in the garage apartment, far away from the vault. We don’t want to drag her around the house.”

  “If we’re right about her location.…”

  Robko’s voice was a murmur in the dark. “If not, we have to search everywhere. She’ll have a guard—that’ll give it away.”

  “Still sounds like a crap idea.”

  “Make the plan, repeat the plan, work the plan. Money, Ma, car.”

  ***

  Robko thought, Same glitzy office he has in Manhattan. O’Brien must have a jimber for this type of thing.

  The walk-in vault hid behind a wall in his office, a wall covered by an ornate bookcase. Robko removed a handful of books at eye-level on one end and motioned to Thomas to do the same on the other end. “Search for a release. One end will be hinged, one will have a catch. If you find it, don’t do anything; just tell me.”

  “I’ve spotted the catch,” said Thomas. “It’s a lever in the back of the case.”

  Robko joined him. “No alarm. How phunk! Amateurs.”

  The vault lay behind, protected by a single combination dial. Robko said, “Just like in the plans. Forty years old. I know it well.” He positioned a punch by the dial and hammered in a dimple. He began to drill. In two minutes, he ran through the steel into the door. After that, short work. He inserted a tube and an earpiece and clicked his way through the combination. “Bearer bonds and cash only.” He jerked four collapsible bags from the backpack, unzipped them, and shook them open.

  The hidden vault revealed itself as big, as large as a Tribeca efficiency. “Holy Christ!” said Thomas. He had paced in ahead of Zlata to find art racked against the wall, a gun safe, jewelry boxes, and shelves covered in money and bonds. “There’s a lot of paper in here.”

  “The bearer bonds are $5000 face value, but the money is in $100’s. Bulky.” Robko shuffled through two of the bundles. “Old money, not sequential. He must have hoarded it up for years. Look for another bag—there’s too much for these.”

  “He’s got aluminum suitcases.”

  “Better than nothing.”

  ***

  Thomas felt like a moose stumbling along behind the Polish thief. Zlata made no sound; Thomas made plenty. They toted the money through the quiet house, detoured away from O’Brien’s private wing, and skirted the servants’ quarters. They kept their eyes open for Ma Zlata’s guard as they advanced.

  The attached garage linked to the house through the kitchen, and they followed stairs up to the quarters above. At the top landing, Robko snuck his head forward by millimeters to peer around the corner. He moved back, pointed to his eyes, and pointed at Thomas. Thomas peered around the corner. A guard parked in a chair, leaned back against the wall, sleeping.

  Robko slipped back down the stairs into the kitchen, Thomas on his heels. “We have to take this guy. Kram!”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I just—hate the rough stuff. When we grab him, keep him down in the chair. Pin him to the wall.”

  Robko fished into his breast pocket and produced a syringe. He yanked the cap off and held his finger to his lips. The two men slunk back up the stairs, sidled into flanking positions on each side of the guard. With a mutual nod, they attacked him. Thomas seized him by the throat and wrist and tried to pin him into the chair and against the wall. Robko grabbed the other wrist and jammed the needle into his forearm.

  The mercenary awoke with a bound, shook both men off like water off a dog. Thomas found himself on the floor while the guard kicked him in the gut, hard—and kept on kicking. The man towered over Thomas and dug under his arm. He pried a gun out. Robko jumped on the merc’s back. Before the guard could shoot Thomas, the drug took over. The guard sank to his knees, carried Robko down with him, and collapsed onto Thomas.

  “Christ!” said Robko. “I hate shit like this. You okay?”

  “He’s crushing me. You’re no help. Roll him off me.”

  Inside the garage apartment, they found Robko’s Ma, bolt upright in a chair, handcuffed to an old-fashioned radiator.

  Thomas tried on a reassuring smile and said to Ma Zlata, “Hello again. We met in Chicago months ago.”

  She ignored him. Ma Zlata was not the nurturing big-lapped, grandmother type. Life had shaped her small and hard, all elbows and knees. Sour wrinkles of dissatisfaction surrounded her mouth, and her upper lip had been corrugated by time. Henna hair surrounded her face.

  Her head craned up at Robko. “Robko! I heard noise out in the hall. I hoped it would be you.”

  “I came to get you as soon as I could, Ma.”

  “It’s your fault I’m here, isn’t it, Robko? Your father may have been a crook, but at least he worked soft crime. You deal with all these thugs.”

  Zlata dropped to his knees and ferreted out the bolt cutters. He snipped the chain on the cuffs and released his mother from the radiator. He said, “They didn’t clamp down too tight on these—I can wiggle the cutters under.” With a grunting effort, he sheared the hardened steel. The bracelets fell away.

  She said, “I’m going to the can right now. See if you can find me a cigarette. I haven’t had one in hours.”

  In her absence, they dragged the guard into the bedroom, used zip ties to bind him, strapped tape over his mouth, and removed his handgun. Groaning with effort, they rolled him back behind a bed and straightened up, their faces beaded in sweat. “Do me a favor,” said Zlata. “Help me find her that cigarette. It will improve her mood.”

  The guard, the room, the pockets of her coat held no cigarette. Thomas thought, How bad can she be?

  The old woman stomped out of the bathroom. “All right, Robko. No cigi? Mary’s bleeding heart! I’m dying here for a cigarette. What happens now?”

  “We sneak down to the garage below and steal the biggest vehicle. We drive it out and crash the gates. We have friends who will meet us about ten blocks away.”

  “And I can go home?”

  Thomas said, “Yes, this will finish it, one way or another.” He tried to pat her on the shoulder; she wriggled out from under his hand like he had a plague.

  “I’m talking to my son. Is that right, Robko, what he says?”

  All right, Thomas thought, She can be pretty hard-assed.

  Robko said, “I don’t know. But I know we have to get you out of here.”

  Thomas said, “Maybe you should take her on down to the garage and pick a car or truck. I’ll ferry the rest of the bags.” Zlata nodded, hoisted an aluminum suitcase, and grasped his mother by the arm.

  She jerked away. “I ain’t some old lady. I can walk by myself.”

  ***

  Robko ushered her down the stairs to the kitchen and to the garage hallway, shushing her all the way. He eased open the door to the garage stairs. Too late. A large man carrying an automatic weapon trudged up the stairs. He saw them and broke into a lumber. Robko locked the door and retreated up the short hallway to the kitchen, only to find another big man with a large gun. With a secretive glance up the stairs to the apartment, Robko glimpsed Thomas frozen on the landing. With a sigh, Robko dropped the case and raised his hands. All eyes were on him.

  They pushed his Ma into a chair and jammed him up against the kitchen island, dug through every pocket, banged his balls searching his pants for a gun. As Robko lay bent over on his face with a gun pushed into his ear, one of the mercenaries videoed LeFarge. “Boss, it’s Johnnie at the house.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  “No, that’s not why I called. We caught us a sneak thief. Same guy we expected tomorrow.” Johnnie turned the screen around to show Robko pinned to the counter. “He was headed for the garage.”

  “Good. Great. Glad you got him—that saves us
a lot of work tomorrow.”

  “He has the old woman and a suitcase full of bonds.”

  LeFarge’s laugh rang out tinny in the kitchen. “My, my, Mr. Zlata. We can’t trust you at all, can we? It’s a shame we’re on opposite sides.”

  “What’ll we do now, boss?”

  “I’ll jump in the SUV and be right out. It’ll take an hour. You wake up the Governor and lock everybody down in his study. No servants. Call me en-route when you’ve got everything in place.”

  “Roger that.” Johnnie strode over to a landline on the kitchen wall.

  ***

  The mercs dragged Robko and his mother to O’Brien’s office and pushed them through the door. O’Brien leaned on the desk arrayed in paisley pajamas, swaddled in a silk bathrobe. Isobel Dupont huddled on the couch, dressed in a large man’s shirt, her pale legs tucked up under her.

  The Governor resembled a bear in a blanket. He recognized Robko and turned a pomegranate color. “What the hell is going on? What’s that?” He indicated the aluminum case, and the merc brought it to him.

  O’Brien threw it up on the desk. He popped the snaps and ripped up the lid. He gawked. Spinning on his heel, he swung the bookcase back and stared at the hole drilled in the vault door, the handle in the open position. They all watched his broad back. They waited to see what he would do.

  O’Brien didn’t even check inside. He turned, marched across the room, and thrust his face down into Robko’s. “Where’s the rest of my money?” He pitched his voice low, almost conversational, but there was a fleck of spittle that leapt out.

  Robko prayed Thomas was already on the move. “It’s in the bedroom where you kept my Ma.”

  O’Brien swung his big head towards the woman on the couch. “Isobel, did you know about this?” Still purple in the face, O’Brien spoke in a quiet voice, but with a growl.

  She threw her dark hair back from her face. “How could I? You’ve had me under lock and key.”

  O’Brien swung his bulk back to Robko. “That right?”

  “I broke in to bust out my Ma. Not her.” Even staring straight at O’Brien, Robko tried to keep the whole room in focus. He spied one merc whispering to the other.

  The mercenary approached the Governor. “We’re supposed to call LeFarge. He’s in the car on his way.”

  O’Brien, never prying his eyes away from Zlata, said, “Sure, go ahead.”

  The guard brought out his vidi and called. He toggled LeFarge onto speaker, “This is the situation, Boss. We’ve hogtied this Zlata guy and his mother, like I said. We’ve also scooped up a shiny suitcase, and Zlata says there’s more in the apartment over the garage.”

  LeFarge’s voice, tinny and artificial said, “How much more?”

  O’Brien said, “Is that you, Egan? Not much, another suitcase maybe.”

  Robko stirred the pot. “Five bags. Maybe twenty million all together, a lot of it in bonds. I had to make multiple trips to carry it all, and that’s when your guys grabbed me.”

  A two-beat pause. LeFarge said, “Ah, Mr. Polack. Twenty mill? Does Zlata have the two devices on him?”

  O’Brien grabbed the phone. “How did you know about the Artifact?”

  LeFarge sounded cheerful. “Basic surveillance, Governor. But how many does Zlata have with him?”

  “Just one.” The merc handed up a Lucite box to O’Brien.

  Robko’s jaw hurt, he was biting down so hard. A shame he hadn’t made a counterfeit.

  “One is as good as two in these circumstances,” said the hollow voice.

  O’Brien replied, “I have to disagree with you on that, Egan. I need both of them.”

  “You do, but I don’t. Men, this is what I want you to do. Shoot O’Brien in the gut, so he bleeds out nice and slow.”

  O’Brien’s voice was sharp. “Egan, that’s not funny.”

  LeFarge said, “I didn’t mean it to be funny. I’m taking the money and the Artifact. Flashing millions around in front of me! Paying me chicken shit. My crew deserves better, and we’re going to take it.”

  O’Brien’s face fell open like the red maw of a grizzly. He displayed a string of spit from a canine to a lower tooth.

  LeFarge repeated, “Shoot him.” The merc closest to O’Brien fired twice. In the closed room, the gunshots deafened them all. O’Brien fell screaming to the floor, but it sounded thin, distant.

  Isobel uttered a small shriek. Robko’s mother gawped at O’Brien and staggered back a step from the man and his growing pool of blood.

  LeFarge’s voice rose out of the vidi. “Kill Zlata right now. I’m sick and tired of him. Then his mother.” The mercenary leveled the gun at Robko and smiled. Nothing left to do but watch the end of the gun.

  ***

  Stuck on the stairs, I watch Robko raise his hands, watch the whole thing go to hell. I can’t believe we struggled this far only to have everything fall apart in a kitchen, like some soap opera. I see the tough old woman scrunched down in a chair and Robko laid out over the counter like meat being prepped for the grill. And me… hiding like a coward. Back, back, back up as quiet as I can, set the money down, and crouch at the top. Listen. Why don’t these idiots realize one of them is missing, is up here tied up? When they do, they’ll be up the stairs. They’re calling someone. Bad news, it’s LeFarge. Some IQ comes in play now. Dragging Mom and Robko away into the house. What should I do?

  It pops into my head—prepare the getaway and then get them away. First, take the money, the bags and the suitcases. Run them down to the garage. Door. Steps. Stumbling. There’s the one I want, an SUV the size of a delivery truck. Black and maybe armored. A huge massive chrome front. And it’s parked near the door. I need a key, a key, not in the ignition. Ah, there, the chauffeur has a board with all the keys. This one, this one, no this one. That’s it. Now open the back. Back and forth, throw in four bags and a suitcase. Now to go save Robko. Bad odds. Bad odds. Creep through this house like I know what I’m doing. Voices ahead. Follow the voices. They’re in the office. O’Brien has discovered we snatched the twenty million. And that prick LeFarge giving orders over the phone. Running things over the damn phone from his damn car. There’s Zlata and his mom stood up against the window. O’Brien near to her by the desk. The ass waves his hands. I bet he doesn’t feel very much in charge now. The mercenaries’ broad backs are like the shoulders of bulls. Facing into the room away from me… Oh Christ! LeFarge will cowboy the whole thing; he’ll kill everybody and take the money. Why the hell doesn’t O’Brien realize he’s about to be dead? They shot him! Dig the gun out—the guard’s gun. Pull it out—jerk it out! Pull the slide part back; jam a bullet into the chamber. LeFarge orders Zlata’s death, and then it’s her turn. Now or never. My heart is about to explode. Run into the room. Jam the gun into the back of the head of the first bull. Fire. Kill him! The gun kicks in my hand like it will fly away. Now I will get shot instead of Robko. I jerk the gun towards the second bull. Throw a shot his way. Miss! He doesn’t turn at all. He holds that pistol out at Robko. His gun booms. Thank God he missed! No, a horrible red flower blooms—opening up Robko’s face. He flies back. The son of a bitch! I’ll kill him! Two feet away. Shoot once… shoot twice. His head flies apart.

  I can hear her voice—Robko, Robko. Ma Zlata kneels beside him where he is crumpled up on the floor near the windows. She is keening, wailing like a cold winter wind. She gathers him up, holds him to her. I step forward over the dead mercenary and come to her side. She has buried her face in his collarbone; she cries, she cries. His head lolls back, the hair hanging loose and bloody in back. Curdles of gray streak through the blood, the back of his head shattered. I look down into his face. The bullet hole is the thickness of my thumb, ringed in black. His eyes open, his mouth loose—he looks surprised.

  ***

  Thomas called Angie from inside the garage. “Angie, it’s all gone bad. I’ve got Ma Zlata and Isobel Dupont. I’ll come out the way we planned. O’Brien’s regular security will be on my ass quick.—No, li
sten. Stay where you are. Call 911 from that pay phone across from you, and tell the Bluemen two of O’Brien’s employees have shot him and a visitor. Tell them they need an ambulance. Tell them O’Brien is bleeding to death.—Robko? He’s not coming back.”

  Thomas had the old woman seat-belted in beside him. He cranked the ignition. Isobel, huddled in the back seat, chanted over and over, “Get us out, get us out, get us out.”

  He drove straight through the garage doors and over the pieces and burst out into the open. From the right, someone ran towards him, pistol out. He turned left off the garage apron and howled down the drive, took out the wrought iron gates with the SUV, and cracked the windshield into crazed stars.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: I Shall Reign

  Two broken women in a hotel room: Zlata’s mother and Sibyl. The old woman was silent, hunched over on the side of a bed, staring at the dresser. Sibyl, curled in a ball behind the old woman, wept tears and snot, eyes pinched into crinkles, face bright red. A forgotten tissue was balled up in her hand.

  A string of deaths, all in his hands. A long thread of abysmal luck. No way he could stay—best to run. Thomas could hear his own dead-flat voice. “Angie, drive me into Brooklyn, to the bus station.” The entire way he huddled against the minivan door, stared out first at the expressway and then at the streets as they rolled by. In the last two or three blocks, he said to Angie, “Here’s where we stand. Sibyl gave me the two Artifacts for the twenty million dollars.”

  He mustered up the energy to keep talking. “I suppose ten of it already belonged to her and five to you. Help her through the next days. Help her run. Make sure we can reach her. Buy her a burner phone, and memorize her number.”

  “But what about you? What about me?”

  “I’m finished in O’Brien’s empire. If he dies, it’s bad, and if he lives it’s worse. From here, I sell the Artifacts. Half the money is yours. If I make it, I’ll see you get your share.”