by Max Austin
Mick tipped up the bottle again. The pint was nearly empty. More than he usually drank at night. Certainly more than he needed before driving home. But the cops couldn’t arrest him for drinking while not driving, right? Any law against having an open container in an unmoving vehicle?
He polished off the whiskey and screwed the cap back in place.
How much time had he spent like this over the years? Sitting in a car, watching a building? Usually banks, but motels sometimes, stores. Watching for a sign that the cops were on to a plan, or that a partner was ready to betray him? Not Bud, of course. He trusted Bud. But on other jobs, ones Bud didn’t even know about. Mick always kept his ears open for action. That was why he hung around Silvio’s, which was a central exchange for discreet information, a matchmaking club for crooks.
He thought about what Bud had said, how this would be his last heist if they made a big score. He’d hate to lose his partner, but he couldn’t blame Bud. The man’s got a family, he thought. Kids. He has to put them first. And this take was big enough that he could afford to quit.
His own share would be enough to last him forever, too, if he parceled it out, lived frugally, maybe got Bud to help him make some investments. But Mick knew he wouldn’t stop knocking over banks. Robbery was in his blood, under his skin. He’d just find a way to do it without Bud.
He slipped out of the car, pushing the door gently closed. He’d long ago disconnected the bulb from the interior light, so the Charger remained dark. He walked around to the back of the shoe repair shop and dropped the empty bottle into a dumpster. He took a leak, aiming at the wall to keep from splattering his shoes.
The commercial area was quiet. Almost no traffic this late on a Monday. Stores all closed. Most people sound asleep.
He should have been home sleeping as well. Dreaming about that money, and what he’d do with it. But he climbed behind the wheel and shut the door, sitting in the dark, watching the boarded-up restaurant.
Chapter 20
Johnny Muller awoke on Tuesday with a monster hangover. He went to the bathroom, standing woozily over the toilet while he pissed away about fifty dollars’ worth of booze.
Good God, he’d partied hard the night before. Couple of nightclubs, dancing with a dozen different girls, round after round of expensive booze. He’d put it all on his Visa card, figuring he’d get his share of the bank loot before the bills came due. Damned well better. That card was nearly maxed out.
He washed his face and checked his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. His head pounded and he felt queasy. How was he supposed to make it through the workday?
Calling in sick would be a bad move. Mick and Bud had cautioned him not to do anything out of the ordinary. It was important that he show up at work, on time, as always. Once he got his share in hand, though, he’d quit that stupid fucking job so fast, old man Herrera wouldn’t know what hit him. Let him find somebody else to push his fucking stereos. He would be too busy living large.
If the aftermath of the high life felt like this, however, he might have to scale it back a bit. Damn. He brushed his teeth, which helped a little, then went into his kitchen and started the coffee.
He’d slept fully dressed, too drunk to deal with the buttons, and his clothes were wrinkled now, sweaty and stale. As he peeled them off, he thought of the other clothes, the ones he’d used for the robbery, safely deposited in a Dumpster behind one of the nightclubs. No way for the cops to trace those clothes back to him, even if somebody found them.
Johnny put on fresh jeans and a crisp white shirt, buttoning the cuffs so the long sleeves covered the tattoo on his wrist. From the look of the sunshine pouring through the windows, it would be a nice day, too warm for long sleeves, but he had to keep the boss happy a little while longer.
The hot coffee was bitter, but it gave him the caffeine kick he needed. He stood leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a second cup and remembering the night before.
One helluva celebration. Of course, he couldn’t tell anyone why he was celebrating, couldn’t even let on that it was a special occasion. But he’d spent more freely than ever before, blowing through five hundred bucks in a few hours of fun. It certainly seemed worth it at the time.
He’d come home alone, though. He had known better than to let some bimbo spend the night. He was too drunk, too high on his own adrenaline. He might’ve blurted the wrong thing or talked in his sleep.
As it stood, he’d probably made too much of a spectacle of himself. Bud and Mick had specifically warned against making a show of spending money. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d needed to unwind, needed to spend a little to reward himself for taking such a big risk. He’d tone it down tonight, maybe even stay home. Hell, the way he felt right now, another party was out of the question anyway. The thought of booze made him want to spew.
He had to leave for work. Couldn’t be late today, not the day after the big heist.
Maybe it would be nice and slow at the store. Just a trickle of customers to help the hours pass. Normally, slow days bugged him, made him worry about his commissions. But not today, not ever again.
Money was no longer a problem. What a fucking concept! He still felt like hell as he stumbled downstairs to his car, but he had a big smile on his face.
Chapter 21
The security chief at Tewa Casino and Hotel kept the FBI agents waiting for ten minutes in the noisy casino, so Pam Willis was already pissed by the time she and Hector Aragon were led upstairs to his office.
Pam didn’t think much of casinos. To her, they siphoned money off the poor and stupid, people who lived on faith and hope rather than hard work and education. Pam had pulled herself up from humble beginnings, putting herself through college, graduating at the top of her class at the FBI academy. It irked her for somebody to get something for nothing, getting rich by pulling the arm on a slot machine or pushing a button over and over like a lab chimp. And it irked her to think of all the people wasting their grocery money on gambling.
She understood about the Native American connection, the casinos as a way for the nation to salve a guilty conscience. But it wasn’t right for the Indians to take advantage of idiots, either.
Pam frequently had to stuff these feelings. Casinos counted as part of Indian reservations, which meant they fell under federal jurisdiction, even when they were far from where the tribe traditionally lived. She and Hector regularly got called to investigate casino-related crime.
This time, the casino’s interests were peripheral at best. Yes, most of the money taken in the First State Bank heist had come from Tewa Casino, but the cash had been in the bank’s custody. The deposits were insured, and the tribe would get its money back eventually. This visit to the casino security chief was mostly a courtesy, which made it all the more annoying to be kept waiting.
She and Hector were shown into the wood-paneled office by a pretty secretary who was much too blond to be a member of any Native American tribe. Her boss, Milton Abeyta, was all Indian, though, complete with gray braids and a turquoise bolo tie. Pam guessed he was in his sixties, his copper-colored skin pulled tight over his bones. He rose to shake hands with the agents, but it didn’t make much of a change; Abeyta stood only about five-foot-five.
He had a big voice, though, deep and full, and he smiled big, displaying teeth too white and even to be real as he offered them coffee.
“Thank you,” Pam said, “but we really don’t have time. We’ve got a meeting at the bank in a little while.”
Abeyta nodded, still smiling. “I’m sure you’re doing everything you can to get that money back.”
“We’re pursuing several leads,” Hector said.
“Any of them lead back here to the casino?” Abeyta asked. “We assume the robbers were waiting for our weekend deposit to be delivered.”
Pam nodded. “The armored truck had only been gone a minute or two when they showed up.”
The Indian plucked some half-glasses from the top of his mahog
any desk and perched them on the end of his hawk-bill nose. He looked through them at papers on his desktop.
“The armored truck left here at 9:07 A.M.,” he said. “It arrived at the bank eight minutes later, and departed within five minutes. The guards use a wheeled cart so it doesn’t take long to make their delivery.”
“We saw it,” Hector said. “Unfortunately, the manager had already unlocked the cart by the time robbers entered the bank.”
Abeyta smiled. “Made it easy for them, eh? They certainly seemed to have the timing right.”
The agents nodded.
“Any chance that someone inside the casino was working with them?” Pam asked. “Feeding them information?”
Abeyta shrugged his narrow shoulders. “We screen people carefully, but greed is a powerful force.”
They all chewed on that for a second, then Abeyta added, “Of course, the robbers could’ve just followed the truck, waiting to see where the money landed.”
“Don’t the guards watch for anyone following?” Pam asked.
“Sure, but maybe these robbers were careful not to be seen. Maybe they’ve been watching the truck for weeks.”
“Please tell me the truck doesn’t take the same route every day.”
“Oh, no. They mix it up, for this very reason. But they always end up at the same bank.”
“Why is that?” Hector asked. “Why that little bank?”
“It’s the closest branch to the casino. We figured it was safer not to drive the money around so much. Plus, as you said, it’s a ‘little bank.’ Who would think millions of dollars were going through there?”
He chuckled, as if amused by this foolishness. Pam felt herself scowling. In her view, there was nothing funny about a multi-million-dollar robbery.
“Somebody figured it out,” she said.
“Probably somebody local, somebody who could take their time, watching that truck every day.”
Pam and Hector had discussed that very notion on the drive to the casino, but she didn’t want to offer any theories now.
“We’ll check that out,” Hector said. “We might want to interview some of your people. See if anyone noticed anything suspicious.”
“You’re welcome to them,” Abeyta said. “Call me anytime, and I’ll set up whatever you need. In the meantime, I’ll do some asking around myself.”
The agents exchanged a look. They didn’t want this amateur messing in the investigation, but there was nothing they could do to stop him. They rose to leave, and Abeyta jumped up for another round of handshaking.
“You don’t seem too upset about this robbery,” Pam said.
“If someone had robbed the casino, I’d be upset.” The Indian laughed. “In fact, I’d be fired pretty damn quick. But it’s not my fault the bank proved to be the weak link.”
He walked them to the door, past a wall of windows looking out over the two-story hotel, a hollow square surrounding a glittering blue swimming pool. The buildings were brown stucco with carved wooden balcony rails and jutting vigas at the roofline. The concrete courtyard was full of lounge chairs, but empty of people; still too chilly this time of year for swimming. Pam could imagine herself down there, stretched out in the sun with an umbrella drink in her hand, and it was such a compelling image that she had to shake her head to clear it.
Hector was still talking to Abeyta. “Guess you’ll change your protocols now, with the armored cars?”
“You bet,” Abeyta said. “We’re already talking about making the deliveries to different branch banks. Make it a little harder for the criminal element.”
“Sounds like the least you could do.”
Abeyta showed his bright, expensive teeth. “We have to deliver it to some kind of a bank. Too much money to hide in our mattresses.”
Chapter 22
Bud padded into the kitchen in his silk bathrobe, and found Linda dressed for work, her hair pulled back into a single fat braid. She greeted him with a steaming cup of coffee.
“The girls already off to school?”
“Carpool was right on time. They said to tell you good morning.”
“They must’ve thought I was sick or something. I never sleep this late.”
Linda stepped closer and gave him a peck on the cheek.
“First day of your retirement,” she said. “You’re supposed to sleep in.”
“Does retirement always begin with a hangover as well? We certainly tied one on last night. And in bed, whew.”
She smiled, a flush brightening her cheeks. “You’re always such a tiger after a job. Burning off the adrenaline.”
“What’ll we do now that I’m retired? I’ll have to find some other way to get excited.”
She slipped a hand inside his robe. It was warm against his chest.
“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” she said. “Something safer than running around with guns.”
“I’ve still got to get my share of that money and put it somewhere until we can filter it into our investment accounts.”
“I don’t worry about that,” Linda said. “You manage the money just fine.”
“Never had so much to manage before,” he said. “It’ll take some doing.”
She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “But no more banks. You’re done with them.”
“That’s right, baby. I’m done. The rest is just mopping up.”
“Still dangerous, though,” she said. “A little.”
Bud shrugged. “The money’s in a safe place. We only have to go back there once, to do the split.”
“When?”
“We’ll wait until things cool off. There’s really no hurry now that we’ve got it stashed.”
“What about that kid?” she said. “From what you said last night, he’s in a hurry to get his share.”
“Mick’s keeping an eye on him, making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“Good idea.”
“The kid’s okay,” Bud said. “After we split up the loot, I’ll never see him again.”
“That’ll be best.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. Really. We’re right at the finish line.”
Linda gathered up her purse and briefcase from the counter.
“I’ve got to get to work,” she said. “Not all of us are old retired guys, lounging around the house in our bathrobes.”
He laughed and followed her to the door. Gave her a kiss goodbye. Watched her get into her car, then waved as she drove away.
Bud stood in the doorway a while, looking around the quiet, shady neighborhood. No cars followed Linda away and nobody seemed to be watching the house.
So far, so good.
Chapter 23
The FBI agents hadn’t been gone long when Milton Abeyta’s secretary buzzed again and said he had another visitor. Milton sighed. More cops, no doubt, wanting to talk about the bank robbery, as if the theft were the casino’s fault for putting so much attractive money in that branch.
“Who is it?” he said into the intercom, but Gail didn’t get a chance to answer. Milton’s door swung open and a thin razor blade of a man entered.
Milton stood up behind his desk, indignant, but caught himself before he complained. The man’s elegant gray suit, his cool sense of control, made Milton hold his tongue.
“You’re chief of security?” the swarthy visitor said.
“That’s right.” Milton tried smiling. “Can I help you with something?”
“We need to talk in private.” Without asking, the black-haired man closed the office door. He crossed to Milton’s desk and sat in the guest chair. He crossed his legs, the lights glinting on his polished black shoes.
Milton frowned.
“Maybe we could start with who you are. You just waltz in here—”
“Vincent Caro. I just flew in from Chicago.”
Caro raised a dark eyebrow, waiting for Milton to get it. When it sank through, Milton slumped into his leather chair.
The Tewa t
ribe had silent partners who’d fronted much of the money used to build the casino/hotel complex. A healthy slice of each month’s profits were shipped to Chicago in repayment. Milton was one of the few tribal members who knew the partners were members of the Vitelli crime family.
“We don’t get many visitors from Chicago. Such a long distance.”
“That’s the way we prefer it,” Caro said. “My employers have gone to a great deal of trouble to keep our involvement in your casino a private matter.”
“Yes, of course. That’s the way it’s got to be. The government regulators—”
Caro held up a hand to stop him.
“As long as my employers feel everything on this end is handled properly, you don’t see us. But when there are problems, they send me.”
“Problems? I don’t know of any prob—”
“The robbery? It’s making headlines all across the country.”
“Oh,” Milton said, trying to smile. “I see. But there’s no reason to worry about that. The robbers hit the bank, not us. We’ll be totally reimbursed for any losses.”
A pained look crossed Caro’s narrow face. Milton stopped talking.
“Do you think these assholes just got lucky? That they stumbled onto the one bank in this cowtown that held millions in cash?”
Milton frowned, but said nothing.
“They hit that bank because they knew the casino deposited its money there. In that sense, it’s like they robbed the casino itself. Do you see?”
Milton nodded.
“We can’t have that,” Caro said. “We can’t have people considering, even for a moment, that it might be possible to steal from us.”
“I assure you, our security arrangements here at the casino are top-notch—”
Caro raised a hand to stop him.
“Casinos and their money are off-limits to crooks,” he said. “That’s the rule. Somebody breaks that rule, and we deal with them.”