Jackson leaned his head back into his seat. “Okay,” he said.
Tramar and Ayana waited a couple of seconds before Tramar said, “Nigga, what the fuck you doin’? Go get walkin’ around and shit while my girl change her shirt without you lookin’ at her chest and shit, and we’ll get headed up to First Federal and White Savings & Trust.
“Oh, my bad,” Jackson said, climbing out of the car. “Be back here in no more than two hours, like we said.”
“Nigga, we know,” Tramar said. “You the one who can’t be on time to shit. Don’t go talkin’ to us like that. Nigga, get on so we can hurry up and get this shit over with.”
Jackson disappeared, leaving Ayana to change her shirt. She slid her red Chicago Bulls shirt up and over her head, throwing it down onto the seat space between her and Tramar. She then pulled her nice and simple white blouse out of the Macy’s bag. She ripped the tags off, and then slid the shirt over her head. Tramar had gotten a blue dress shirt to swap out for a button up shirt. Once the two had changed shirts, Ayana grabbed her purse, which had the map in it, and the two of them walked toward the center of downtown.
“You sure you okay, Ayana?” Tramar asked as they walked down Michigan Avenue. The wind whipped between the buildings, coming in off of Lake Michigan with a bit of a cold bite to it. The sun was out, helping it to stay warmer in the shadowed parts of the streets where high rises rose into the sky.
Ayana looked up at Tramar as the two of them walked down the street, looking as if they were a young, professional black couple. She thought about how the world may be seeing them and the reality of the situation. They were not a young, professional couple. Rather, they were a young couple going to case two, possibly three, banks to rob in Downtown Chicago. With every step Ayana took, the heels of her shoes clicking against the concrete of the sidewalk, she felt a little tremble in her body. Her heartbeat continuously sped up, causing the palms of her hands to get wet and itchy.
“Yeah,” Ayana said, smiling. “Cause I know you would do the same for me if this was me.”
“Shit, you know I would,” Tramar said. “I don’t even like when dudes look at you for too long.”
“Boy, stop,” Ayana said. “I can do this. Like I told you, I’m not gon’ actually go in and rob it with you, but like you said, it look a lot less suspicious if we go in as a couple rather than you and Jackson going in together. You know how them white people be actin’ when they see a couple niggas walk into a bank together. They prolly think you goin’ in there to complain about one of them prepaid cards or something.”
Tramar tried to get Ayana to feel as comfortable as possible as they walked up Michigan Avenue. Once they’d turned left onto Monroe Drive, they walked another block before coming up to the First Federal Downtown Chicago Branch. Before stepping through the revolving glass doors, Ayana looked up at the tall glass building, wondering what kinds of offices filled the top fifty or so floors.
Tramar followed Ayana into the bank where they were immediately greeted by a bank employee. The black guy, who was average height and looked to be in his early twenties, greeted the two of them with a smile. He asked what they’d come into the bank for today and how he could help.
“Yeah, man,” Tramar said, confidently. “We came in here to learn about opening an account with you all. We don’t know if we try’na open one today or not, but we wanna know and get some information about it.”
“Of course,” the guy said. “Come right this way. We actually have Debra available at the moment. She is one of our personal bankers, and she’d be happy to offer you a little assistance.”
Tramar and Ayana smiled as they followed the guy to a row of offices to the side. As they walked, Tramar and Ayana casually looked up at the make of the bank. Ayana already didn’t like the bank. Soon enough, Tramar didn’t either. The location was perfect, as it was only a couple of blocks away from the L station – a place that was crowded beyond belief at the end of the day because of the connecting mass transit systems that intersected there. However, as Tramar noticed, there was a rather large atrium. They could see up to the second level of the bank. Professionals, mostly white, walked from cubicle to cubicle with smiles on their faces. Many of them carried folders and obscure stacks of papers in their hand. Tramar and Ayana had noticed this design feature at the same time and looked at one another, just as they were approaching the office of a Debra Wilson.
“Hello, I’m Debra,” she introduced herself. “Come on in and have a seat you two.”
Tramar and Ayana entered the office, noticing that one wall was completely glass and faced Wabash Street. Tramar pulled Ayana’s chair out for her, helping her into the seat before he sat down next to her.
“So, Doug tells me that the two of you would like some information about opening a bank account with First Federal?” Debra asked.
Ayana and Tramar looked across the table at the older white woman. It was very clear to the two of them that this woman was having some sort of midlife crisis. It looked as if she were trying to hold on to her youth. While the wrinkles in her face told one story – a story that said she was at least pushing sixty years old – the way she did her makeup told another. In the back of Ayana’s mind, she couldn’t stop comparing the woman to a life-like Barbie clown. Her hair was died as bright blond as anyone could possible buy in color. She wore a pink skirt with tall, white high heels on her feet. Up top, a white shirt practically stretched around her obviously fake chest – a chest that was so round it looked as if it would pop like two balloons if she lay too hard on her stomach at night.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tramar said. “Me and my lady were downtown today, doing a little shopping, and we got to talking about how we’re not happy with our bank. I told her,” he smiled,” that we could come into here when we were walking back home and see what this bank had to offer.”
“Of course,” Debra said, smiling and clasping her hands together.
For the next twenty minutes or so, Debra explained the different types of accounts that First Federal had to offer. While Ayana and Tramar were definitely making it a point to listen to the woman and ask questions that would not only be meaningful, but would also not give them away as not really being interested in a bank account, they looked around. Ayana noticed the way the glass was reflective, meaning that people inside of the bank could see out and look at the street. However, people outside of the bank could not see in. Ayana noticed the way people walked by the window and stopped, clearly using it as a mirror.
Tramar noticed, by glancing out of the office door every so often, that up and down the hallway there were at least six or seven office doors. As if the people up top looking down on the bank floor were not enough to have to worry about, there were too many doors to the side, down the small hallway. Quickly, Tramar was seeing that First Federal would probably not be the best bank to hit. In light of this, he steered the conversation he and Ayana had been having with Debra about accounts in a different direction.
Within twenty minutes, Ayana and Tramar were walking out of the bank and back onto the busy street. With their eyes pointed ahead, they continued walking two or three blocks until they came to a small plaza at a corner. It was obvious to the both of them that a building had been there at some point and had since been replaced with a small, mini-park in the middle of the concrete jungle that made up Chicago. They sat on a bench for a moment, keeping their voices low.
“What did you think?” Tramar said.
Ayana shook her head. “It’s too open,” she said. “I mean, look where we are. This would be perfect to hurry up and get the hell out of here, especially on foot with gridlocked rush-hour traffic. But that bank is too open, especially with the fact that you can look up and see all those people walking around up there. I know it’s a big bank and would have the kind of cash we need on hand. But it just looks too open. You’d have to be bold to run up in that one and rob it. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
Tramar nodded. “You right,” he said. “
I noticed that shit too, as soon as we walked in the door. But what I ain’t like was the little hallway to the side with all the office doors. Plus, and I don’t know if you noticed this or not, but it seemed like where the tellers be standing is way far back from the door.”
Ayana agreed, saying that she’d noticed the same as well. They looked at the time as they stood up and walked back onto the sidewalk. After zigzagging somewhat through the downtown streets, they came to White Savings & Trust. “Okay,” Tramar said. “Here we go with this shit. We gon’ have to choose one of these mugs. Let’s see.”
Tramar held the door open, watching Ayana walk inside. He lightly reached out and tapped her ass, telling her how good it looked in those pants with her shirt tucked into her waist. Ayana smiled and giggled, telling him that he was doing the most and that he’d better stop. Just as they were walking up to the counter just inside of the door, where three bank employees sat with phones stuck to the sides of their faces, Tramar leaned in and said to Ayana, “And if I don’t, what you gon’ do?”
In a matter of seconds, one of the bankers had gotten off of the phone. A man of Middle Eastern descent stood up and shook Ayana’s hand then Tramar’s. When he asked what brought the two of them into the bank, Ayana cut Tramar off. “Well, me and my fiancé are considering getting a joint bank account together, and we are just walking around, while we’re downtown, and looking at our options while our rings are being sized,” she said.
“Well,” the bank employee said. “Congratulations, you two.”
Tramar forced a smile, playing along. The two of them sat down in chairs to the right. Immediately, Tramar and Ayana were more comfortable in this bank. Not only was there no atrium, the ceiling was actually kind of lower than one might expect for a bank in downtown Chicago. The building was also much older than the First Federal Building. Furthermore, this building looked as if it were not built to be a bank, but, rather, was converted into one.
As the White Savings & Trust personal banker explained what kinds of accounts the bank had to offer, Ayana and Tramar casually looked away at different points in the conversation. The tellers and their drawers were a decent length away from the bank’s entrance, which they liked. Beyond that, there were two entrances to the bank, with the other being to the left of the tellers. It looked as if it led out into the building lobby to access the elevators. What Tramar liked about this bank was the fact that there were few teller stations. First Federal had seven teller stations while this bank only had five.
When they left the bank, they walked down the street, having told the Middle Eastern man that they would consider the information he’d given them while they made their decision. Tramar smacked Ayana on the butt. “So, now I’m supposed to be your fiancé, huh?” he asked, smiling.
“I knew you’d like that shit,” Ayana asked. “I told you to stop and you ain’t listen. I told you, boy. You be doin’ the most.”
“Yeah, but I ain’t goin’ around tellin’ people that we gettin’ married,” Tramar said.
Ayana rolled her eyes. She shook her head and laughed. “Niggas don’t ever wanna talk about marriage, do they?”
“I can’t be talkin’ about that shit until all this shit over with,” Tramar said.
Ayana looked at Tramar, realizing that he may not have realized she was telling a joke. “I was just playing, Tramar,” she said. “You know that.”
Ayana and Tramar walked further away from the center of Downtown Chicago. Once the sidewalks weren’t so crowded, they began to talk about the different things they’d noticed in the bank. They both agreed that robbing White Savings & Trust would probably be a hell of a lot easier than robbing First Federal. In fact, at this point, the idea of robbing First Federal was completely off the table. What made White Savings & Trust even better, in their eyes, was the fact that it was close to a couple of city blocks that were filled with parking garages. If they robbed the bank at the right time in the evening, especially on a Friday evening when people rushed out of downtown in hopes of beating the horrifying rush-hour traffic, dimly lit parking garages could very well work in their favor.
Tramar and Ayana grabbed something to eat at the food court downtown before making their way back toward where Jackson had parked the car. As they finished their food, throwing the bags into a trashcan, Tramar pulled his phone out and called Jackson. “Nigga, where the fuck you at?” Tramar asked.
“Nigga, I’m walkin’ back to the car,” Jackson said. “Ain’t no point in you callin’ me and talkin’ to a nigga like that, nigga. I’m on my way back the car, why? Did you and wifey go into the banks and shit like y’all was supposed to?”
Tramar shook his head, chuckling. “It’s funny you bring the wifey thing up,” he said. “I’ll explain what we think and shit when you get back. Let’s hurry up. You know I don’t like walkin’ round downtown with all these damn cops lookin’ at a nigga. Come on, nigga. We like two blocks from the car or something.”
Tramar and Jackson ended the call. Ayana followed Tramar back to the parking lot. Once Jackson showed up, the three of them hopped inside. Rather than driving, they sat in the car and talked.
“Really?” Jackson said, surprised. “First Federal ain’t no good, but White Savings & Trust is? Man, I don’t know. I’d rather be able to run to the fuckin’ train station and shit then to take the risks with parking garages.”
“Nigga, you got tints,” Tramar said, referring to the plan they’d come up with back in the hotel room. “Like we said, you can park that shit in the garage. We rob the bank and casually walk up in there like we professionals gettin’ off work too. Shit, Ayana can be ready to pull your shit out of the garage and sit in traffic with everybody else. Ain’t like people will notice a car coming out of the garage to sit in traffic.”
“Yeah, but people might notice later on the news that they’d seen two niggas in suits, who fit the description of the people who robbed the White Savings & Trust Bank downtown, heading into a parking garage together,” Jackson said.
“Nigga, you trippin’,” Tramar said, leaning back into his seat. “We gon’ be takin’ different paths and shit, you remember? Damn, nigga, you need to stop smokin’ all that damn weed. You be forgettin’ shit like we ain’t even talk about it.”
Jackson put his car into DRIVE and headed for the highway. “Nigga, fuck you,” he said playfully. “Let’s just hurry up and get onto this highway and shit before traffic gets fucked up down here. I don’t wanna be stuck in this shit. And I’m hungry as fuck.”
“Well, shit nigga,” Tramar said. “Get outta downtown and stop at some barb-que place or something, and we can get something to take back to the room.”
Jackson liked that idea and did just that, going to a hot barbeque spot that his cousin used to work for just west of Downtown Chicago. Once they’d ordered their food, they were headed back out to the motel. Essentially, they were going back to the drawing board.
As Jackson drove the car down Interstate 94, he and Tramar chatted back and forth with one another as if Ayana was not even in the car. But Ayana was okay with that. In fact, she had so much on her mind that she didn’t even want to be a part of the conversation. The simple fact of the matter was that she’d have very little to contribute anyway. Part of her wanted to smile from what she’d done today. Time and time again, her mind would pull her right back to the movies she’d seen on television. Because of this, she began to question whether her role in the plan to rob the bank was enough. The last thing she wanted was for something to go wrong because of her, Tramar’s family to wind up being killed, and then having to live with Tramar blaming her for the next so many years. She’d never be able to live with that, especially since Tramar’s father and stepmother had been so, so nice and welcoming to Ayana since the very first day they’d met her.
Inside of Tramar’s motel room, they put the map back onto the wall. Tramar checked his hiding place for the money as soon as he closed the room door. He then stepped up to the wall and joine
d in the conversation. With a pencil in one hand, Ayana guided them in different directions away from the bank. They talked around where they could park Jackson’s car, how soon before they actually went into the bank that they would park it in the garage, and how soon after the robbery was over they would want to pull out of the garage and try to get out of downtown. There was no doubt in any of their minds that there would be pure chaos downtown. A bank being robbed at the peak of rush hour sounded like a law enforcement nightmare.
As the conversation carried on, Ayana could hear her phone vibrating from her purse. Quickly, she stepped away and grabbed it, wondering who it could be. When she discovered the person calling was her cousin Sharli, she answered with a smile, telling Tramar and Jackson to be quiet by pressing her index finger over her lips. When Ayana answered, Sharli told her something that she’d never thought she’d hear. Reacting, Ayana turned and looked at Tramar. She knew the news she was about to give him would send him over the edge completely.
Chapter 3
Byron walked through the front door of his deceased grandmother’s house with a bit of a grin on his face. It had been some time since he’d had a couple of niggas pent up in an undisclosed location. Since bringing Tramar’s stepmother and father to this house on the lower west side of Chicago, he thought back to his younger days – the days when he was so heavy in the streets that just about anything went. If there was something in the way of his money, he would do whatever it took to remove it, even if it meant getting a chick to accuse his competition of rape so that the guy would go to prison and be out of his way.
Byron shook his head, thinking back to when he and some buddies he’d had, before they’d fallen out, had kept a dude in the basement at this house he used to have up in Racine, a small city just north of the state line inside of Wisconsin. Byron had caught the dude messing around with his then girlfriend, Melony. And the guy had the nerve to be in Byron’s bed while doing it. Furthermore, seeing that the guy was packing nearly twice as much under the belt as Byron, he became the example nigga, in his words. He had to make a statement, and in doing such, he and some buddies kept the guy at Byron’s house for nearly a week. In nothing but his white boxers, the guy stayed in a dark room in the basement. Periodically, day or night, Byron and his buddies would rush into the room with belts, in the darkness, and slash the man until their arms grew tired and disappeared.
When It All Falls Down 2 - Strapped Up: A Chicago Hood Drama (A Hustler's Lady) Page 3