Rocks Beat Paper

by Mike Knowles

  “What was that?” Johnny said. “You want to say that again?”

  If David realized what he had just said, it wasn’t written on his face. His brother-in-law, however, did get it; Alvin looked down and began kneading his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

  Johnny stood up. “Say that again.”

  Alvin lifted an agitated face out of his hand. “He didn’t mean it that way. Tell ’em, Dave. Tell ’em you didn’t mean it that way.” The words came out casual, but Alvin’s eyes were all business.

  “What?”

  Alvin sighed. “That if you’re fucked, it doesn’t mean that we’re fucked.”

  “What?” After several long seconds, David understood his error. “Oh, no. No. No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “You sure?” Johnny asked.

  “Yeah, I just meant the job would be finished is all. That’s what would be fucked. I mean, I couldn’t do anything to you guys if I wanted to. All I know is your first names. And, that’s if they even are your first names.”

  I stopped David while he was just barely ahead. “I don’t even want you to do anything conspicuous. In fact, I need you to do the opposite. I just need you to get inside that office a couple of times.”

  David sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

  I told him.

  “No. No way. No fucking way. Are you kidding? I’ll get sick or something. Those things carry all kinds of diseases. Who knows what I’ll get.”

  “They were responsible for the bubonic plague,” Miles said.

  “You hear that? Fucking plague. That’s what I’m going to get. The plague.”

  “We’ll get clean ones,” I lied. “They sell them at the pet store.”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “You’ll only need to get in a couple of times. The night shift will take care of the rest. Then when the computers stop working, you make sure that you are the one to make the call.”

  “Crazy as it sounds, it makes sense,” Diego #1 said. “If it works, it will get us inside for the entire night without the cameras or the security company to worry about. It’s a good plan.”

  “Says the guy who doesn’t have to walk around with a rat strapped to his thigh.”

  “Not your thigh,” I said. I pointed towards David’s pants. “There’s not enough room for what you’re going to carry. It will need to go in the crotch.”

  David’s eyes bulged. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  I shook my head. “We’ll need to have a specialized cage made up. I’ll talk to some people. We also need to think about the windows.”

  “Windows? Why does the rat need to see my dick?”

  “No, the store windows. We have the cameras covered, but there is still the guard outside to consider.” I looked at the Diegos. “We’re going to need to have the lights on.”

  “Can’t do something like this in the dark,” Diego #2 said.

  “Can’t rule out a torch either,” added his brother.

  “We can use tarps,” Johnny said. “We can just duct tape them to the wall. We’ll just need the window measurements to make sure we get ’em big enough.”

  “And how do I explain why I’m measuring the windows?”

  “We’ll use spray paint,” I said. “Less to measure and less to carry.”

  “You got a clever answer for everything, don’t you?”

  “I better,” I said. “No one pays for the other kind.”

  “So it looks like you’re telling everyone what to do. You’re the man with the plan, David is a walking catch and release, the jumping beans are on the boxes, and Elliot is the geek squad. What about the rest of us, boss?” Coming from Johnny, the word boss had an unhealthy dose of sarcasm added to it.

  I looked at Johnny. “You, Tony, and Alvin are inside with me. We’ll be sealing up the place and taking orders from the Diegos.”

  “So we’re the hired help. That it?”

  “We have ten men for a five-man job,” I said. “That was the hand we were dealt. I’m just playing it.”

  I looked over at the woman beside Miles. “No offence.”

  She smiled. “Doesn’t bother me if you want to call him a man.”

  Johnny looked at the woman. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  Alvin put up two palms. “C’mon, Johnny, we’re not here for this.”

  “He’s right,” I said.

  “Is he? You deciding that, too? Alright, boss, why don’t you tell me what the bitch and the mouth are doing.”

  “Bitch? Which one of us do you think he means?” Miles said.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “He means you,” she said.

  Johnny laughed. “That mean you want to be the mouth?”

  “They’re in the car,” I said.

  “Them?”

  I nodded.

  “You got me inside taking orders and them in the car.”

  I nodded again. “Alvin found her the same way he found me — through Jake. That means she’s good behind the wheel.”

  It was true. No one got on Jake’s Rolodex without being reliable. I could see where Johnny’s mind was on the issue; I could see it, but I didn’t share his view.

  Whatever the bigger man’s opinion of the opposite sex, gender didn’t have a place in this argument. Physically, there was nothing a man could do behind the wheel that a woman couldn’t duplicate. There were, in fact, distinct advantages to using a woman on the job instead of a man — underestimated people have distinct advantages.

  “She’s the driver,” I said. “She’s in the car.”

  “She has a name.”

  I looked at the driver.

  “Monica,” she said.

  I looked back at Johnny. “Monica is the wheelman.”

  Johnny jabbed a thick finger towards Miles. “And why him?”

  “He’s our con man.”

  “Why the fuck do we need one of those in the car? Why do we need one of those period?”

  “Monica is going to follow the security guard on his route for the night. If she gets made, Miles is going to talk their way out of it.”

  Johnny laughed out loud and Tony joined in. “This annoying fuck is going to talk his way out of a jam? He’s been here a couple of hours and the fact that he’s standing is a miracle.”

  I nodded. “He’s been riding you?”

  “He’s been annoying the shit out of me.”

  “I bet you’ve been dying to shut him up.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Who suggested the game?”

  “What?”

  “You were playing pool with Miles. Whose idea was it to play? Doesn’t matter, you likely feel it was yours.”

  Johnny looked at Miles, but he wasn’t there anymore; at least, not the same Miles who had walked in the door a couple of hours ago. The loud, obnoxious asshole had been replaced with someone different. This version of Miles leaned back in his chair with an air of cool that Paul Newman would have had trouble duplicating. Miles lifted an eyebrow at Johnny and shrugged. When he met my eye, the calm demeanour faltered for a split second. I saw something — something angry — play across his face, but only for a second.

  I didn’t wait for an answer to my question; instead, I posed another, “How much on the game?”

  “Ten thousand,” Johnny said.

  I looked at Miles. If the anger was still there, I couldn’t detect it. What I could detect was the scam. “But we’re not talking about cash are we? No, this is ten thousand after the job is over, right?”

  Johnny wore an expression of confusion; when he saw my grin, it turned to anger. Money you haven’t made yet is far easier to spend than what’s in your pocket. Las Vegas figured that out a million years ago. Give someone a stack of cash and they’ll gu
ard it with their lives when they figure out it’s leaking away. Give them a stack of colourful chips and they’ll give them the same attention they give their reading glasses. The value of money is relative to proximity; Miles knows that. That was why it would have never been just ten. Ten would have become twenty in about half the time it would take for it to become forty.

  Johnny began to catch up. “You son of a bitch.”

  Miles eased out of his recline and subtly put his hands on his knees. “I think a fight would ruin this fine rumpus room. Why don’t we just call it a draw and get another beer.”

  Johnny stood.

  Rather than get up, Miles put a foot on the coffee table. It was smart; it was what I would have done. I told Johnny to sit down before Miles decided to kick the table forward into the bigger man’s knees. Eventually, after he completed what he must have felt was the appropriate amount of alpha-male stare down, Johnny sat down.

  We sat around the table for another two hours, laying out the job and logging what needed to be done. In three weeks, we’d do the job.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, I woke at six and used the cramped floor space of the hotel room to grind through a workout. An hour later, I was showered, dressed, and ready for breakfast. I checked out and slid behind the wheel of the rental car. The hotel was one of dozens surrounding LaGuardia, and I planned to make use of more than one of them. I had three weeks until the job, and I was going to use the hotels to play a shell game. It wasn’t paranoia; I didn’t think there were people out there who wanted to kill me — I knew it. I wasn’t concerned about the men I had met the night before, but I didn’t write them off, either. Experience had taught me to think moves ahead of anyone on the other side of the board and to expect that there was always someone playing against me. The only payout guaranteed to a professional thief is enemies, and I had earned well. My head didn’t rest easier on a new pillow each night. I didn’t fear for my life; I just had zero desire to make the act of killing me easier on anyone. If someone wanted to punch my ticket, they had to put in the goddamn legwork or go the fuck home.

  I stopped at a diner and ate amongst the herd of weary travellers who were either just getting in or just about to leave. I finished my plate and got on the road. Traffic was heavy for anywhere in the world that wasn’t New York, but that didn’t matter — I had planned for it. I got to the jewellery store an hour before it was set to open and found every space on the street occupied. I parked in a lot and paid enough to bribe a crooked politician for a parking space and worked my way back on foot. I found a seat in a coffee shop with a view of Mendelson’s Jewellery and set up shop with a coffee, muffin, and a newspaper. I ignored everything but my drink while I watched the store. The building was a rare two-storey on the outskirts of the diamond district. The brick exterior was aged, but the well-maintained masonry held on to the kind of deep red usually reserved for Rockwell paintings. The windows were thick and tall. David had said the building had once been two separate stories, but after Saul hit the big time, he bought out the second floor and created a single-floor building with impossibly high ceilings. Saul must have paid a fortune to window washers; the dark-tinted glass was immaculately clean and reflected an incredibly intense amount of sunlight across the street and into my eyes.

  I was nursing my second cup of coffee when a man turned from the sidewalk and went up the stairs. He was young; thirty was probably still in the rear-view. The Sudan had imparted its unique imprint on the man’s skin and, from the looks of his fur-lined hat, had not prepared him for the cold winter climate of New York. In David’s basement, I had seen multiple images of the man. He was one of the store’s two security guards. The guard did something interesting; he stayed on the steps. Instead of going into the store, he just stood around with his hands deep inside his jacket pockets. I watched his breath fog the air as I sipped my cold cup of coffee. He waited, shivering, for five minutes for the boss to show. Saul approached the door on foot from the direction of Ninth Avenue. David had told us that Saul had a parking space up the street in a private lot, but he neglected to get shots of it. Saul had owned the spot for nearly two decades and apparently loved to brag about it.

  Saul walked with stooped shoulders and a creased brow. If he ever did decide to retire, he could easily find seasonal work playing Ebenezer Scrooge. When Saul got to the top of the stairs, the security guard stepped down. Saul checked over his shoulder to make sure the guard was not able to see the alarm pad and then punched in the code. He walked inside without holding the door open for his employee. The guard jogged up the steps and caught the door without any sign of surprise — it was routine. I watched him enter behind his boss and immediately close the door behind him. A minute or so later, lights turned on in the windows. I reflected on the entry and wondered if there was a way to spin it. If the entry was a routine repeated every day, there might be a way to brace both men at the door and get inside. Once inside, we could just wait for everyone else to show and round them up as they walked through the door. The idea was raw, and I picked at it while I watched the door from my seat. Three minutes later, another man in pants that matched the first security guard jogged up to the door. He was a midfifties Latino in dark pants and cop shoes. Even if David hadn’t described him, I would have pegged the ex-cop as security. The second guard waited only seconds before he was buzzed in. The speed told me that the other guard was already in his office and on the cameras. Four more employees showed up within ten minutes of the other guard and were admitted with the same efficiency. The whole operation ran exactly the way David said it would, with one exception: David wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I ordered a third coffee and watched the jewellery store some more. No one went in and no one came out. Once the coffee lost all of its warmth, I got off my chair and left the shop. It was closing in on lunchtime, and I wanted to see why David wasn’t at work.

  David was certainly no pro, but he must have had enough sense to realize that to avoid being pegged as the inside man, he had to avoid looking like the inside man. The entire job hinged on the access he could get us, and that access had the potential to diminish with every mistake he made. I needed to find him and make him understand that from now until the day of the job, David had to be employee of the month.

  The traffic into Jersey City was thick, but I made it there in just over an hour. Any ideas I had about available midday parking spaces vanished as I passed David’s house. Every spot near his place was taken; even the driveway was full. The two-car driveway had three cars artfully crammed into it, making use of the grass and flirting with the curb. None of the cars was the Volkswagen David had been driving.

  I parked on a side street and walked past the townhouse. Through the windows, I could see people moving around, but I couldn’t make out if any of them was David. It was a residential street, so there was no place to stake out the house where I wouldn’t bring attention to myself. I had no choice but to keep moving. I worked small circuits around David’s house, careful to keep my head moving back and forth; if anyone asked, I’d just say that I was looking for a lost dog.

  On my eighth pass by the front door, I finally caught someone leaving the house. The man was old and out of shape. His puffy, aged skin had the lumpy look of hastily shaped clay. He fumbled with the zipper of his jacket as he hustled down the stairs, a cigarette dangling from his thick lips. He went to the rearmost car and rummaged around in the front seat until he found a lighter. I slowed my pace and let my face soften. When I spoke, my voice came out higher and less threatening.

  “You haven’t seen a dog have you? He’s a little guy. A Yorkie.”

  The old guy finished lighting his cigarette and waited until he had pulled in a lungful of smoke before he answered.

  “Just got out here.”

  “Shit,” I said. “It’s my girlfriend’s dog. I took her out for a pee and she bolted on me. I have to find her before m
y girlfriend gets back from work or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  The old guy was concentrating on the cigarette more than on me. He took another drag and took his time letting it out before he replied. “Sorry, can’t help you.”

  “Dave wouldn’t be around, would he? If he’s got some time, I could use the help.”

  The old guy was no longer interested in the cigarette. He looked at me with an expression that was hard to read. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air with his secondhand smoke.

  “Something I said?”

  The old guy dropped his cigarette and ground it out with one slow twist of his shoe. “You and David close?”

  “We get a drink every now and again,” I said. “We’re both in the same line of work. Is he around?”

  The old guy shook his head. “I’m really sorry to tell you this, but David died last night.”

  “Died?”

  “He and his brother-in-law were killed in a car accident. They were out late and they had been drinking. The police found bottles in the car with them. Anyway, they went off the road and into a ravine.”

  “Alvin was in the car?”

  The old guy nodded. “You knew Alvin, too?”

  I nodded. “I met him through David. He was a good guy.”

  “David was my nephew on my wife’s side. The whole family is devastated. Just devastated.”

  “You have my condolences,” I said. “You and your family.”

  “Thank you.”

  I nodded and walked back towards the car. Our inside man was gone and the job was dead.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I called Jake as I drove out of Jersey.

  “Tommy’s Super Fantastic Funporium,” a chipper voice answered.