by Mike Dennis
Fortunately, the door opened before I had a chance to knock.
"I knew you were out there somewhere, lurking around in the shadows," she said.
I quickly moved inside the house.
There in the hallway, out of the floodlit entrance, I adjusted my eyes for a second. Then I got a full look at her. Her white cotton blouse fit her just right, showing off her stuff just as she'd planned, with skin-tight pants that begged to be removed. Her come-on smile fronted all of it.
Even in the dim hall light, she glistened.
As I checked her out, I said, "Just your average hanging-around-the-house outfit?"
She shrugged.
"What's a girl to do? Especially when she's looking for excitement."
I ignored her play.
"Rita, there's something I've got to see. It's important."
She reached for the top button on her blouse. I pulled her hand away.
"No, come on, now. This is serious."
"Oh, all right," she groused. "What is it?"
"I need to see the contents of your safe."
That brought her down to earth, and fast.
"The safe? What on earth for?"
"I just need to look in it."
"Well, Don Roy, I don't know …"
I took her hand in mine.
"Rita, you told me the old man keeps things in there.”
"Right," she said. "So?"
"So … I need to see what he's got. You said he keeps it separate from BK's and your stuff. Like in a different cubbyhole or something."
"Well, yes. He does."
"I need to see it. Now."
She paused. She was looking at me, but right through me, you know what I mean? In her mind, she was rationalizing it, working it all out — how the old man had treated her like shit, how BK had jacked her around, how things hadn't worked out quite the way …
"Come on," she said. "It's upstairs."
Her spiked heels clicked as she led me across the tile floor.
We went up the staircase, which wasn't nearly as grand as the rest of the house. There was some artwork on the wall going up the steps, but I couldn't tell what it was, whether or not it was any good.
At the top, we went into the first bedroom.
It was obviously their bedroom. Or at least hers, whenever she banished BK to another room, which I figured was probably pretty often these days. They had all the routine stuff in there. King-sized bed, some kind of makeup table with a fancy mirror, a couple of dressers, along with a huge closet in the corner.
She led me to the closet and it sucked my breath right out of me.
It was bigger than my room, I swear! This thing was about twenty feet deep. I stood in the doorway and I saw clothes, all hers, lining the walls. Along a section of one of the walls was a wide, pigeonhole-type structure just for her shoes. She must've had a hundred pairs.
Un-fucking-believable.
She moved a suitcase out of the way back in the far left-hand corner. Reaching down to where the baseboards met, she grabbed the thick carpeting with her thumb and index finger, then peeled it back. It had already been cut into a two-foot by two-foot square, so that piece just lifted up off the floor.
Beneath it was the door of the safe.
"Don Roy, I … I …"
Her eyes pleaded with me to call the whole thing off.
"Come on, girl. Don't quit on me now. Not when we're this close."
She spun the combination dial a few times, stopping carefully on the right numbers, then gave the handle a turn. It clicked.
She swung the door open, resting it against the rear wall of the closet. She edged back as though she were afraid of what was inside.
I moved closer, holding Shimmy's flashlight. Inside I could see the safe was divided into two equal compartments.
Each one had a small, cheap door about six or eight inches square.
Each one opened with a key.
"Which one's the old man's?" I asked her. She pointed to the one on the left and I said, "You got the key?"
"No. He keeps it."
I headed over to the window. It faced the back yard. I went across the hall to what looked like a guest bedroom.
At the window in that room, I slid the curtain back a little bit. Beyond the house's blinding security lights below was William Street. I could barely make out the car down the street a little way through the harsh glare. I blinked the flashlight twice, hoping they'd see it. No one moved from the car, so I blinked twice more.
Finally, I saw the car's back door open a little. I knew it was wide enough for Doc.
"What are you doing?" Rita asked.
"Making sure I get inside that compartment."
I went downstairs and let him in.
He followed me upstairs without a word, without a sound. I had to turn around at the top of the stairs to make sure he was still there.
"Where is it?" he asked.
"In here."
I brought him into the closet. He took the flashlight from my hand, aiming its powerful beam at the safe's interior.
"It's the compartment on the left," I offered.
"How'd you open the safe?"
"Rita knew the combination."
"Shi-it," he hissed. "This's one of those low-grade jobs. I coulda opened it in prob'ly half the time."
After one quick look, he set the satchel on the floor, reaching into his fanny pack. He gently pulled out a slim leatherette box and laid it on the floor in front of him.
Inside, carefully arranged on a bed of velvet, lay a variety of lock picks — long, pointy devices of different widths and gauges. He selected two, then inserted them into the lock on the left. A couple of turns later, I saw him pull the picks out, opening the door in the process.
"There you go," he said proudly as he moved to one side.
He handed me the flashlight. I trained it on Whitney's sanctuary. There was some cash, but not much else. I reached in and took it out. It consisted of two banded wads of hundred dollar bills. I made each one to be about ten large.
"God damn!" Rita said. "I had no fucking idea …"
I laughed. "This's just pocket change. Something he can walk around with. If he needs a little dough and he doesn't want to drive all the way out to Key Haven, where he no doubt keeps the serious money, he can just drop in here and pick up a little loose change."
I lifted the money out of its hiding place and into my pants pocket.
We went back downstairs. I pulled a scrap of paper out of my wallet and, using BK's desk phone, I dialed the number that was scribbled down.
"Ryder," I said when he answered. "In about twenty minutes, Whitney will be landing at the airport. His two goons, along with BK and the Russians, will be there to greet him. You can nab them all at once. I'm going out to his Key Haven house right now to get something out of his safe that belongs to me. You might want to come out there later on. I'll leave the safe open for you. Maybe there'll be something interesting inside it."
I hung up and turned to Rita.
"Now, where does the old man keep his other safe out in the Key Haven house?"
"Same place as here. Corner of the big closet, under the carpeting."
"Come on, Doc," I said. "We're going to Key Haven."
THIRTY-ONE
SHIMMY expertly maneuvered the big deuce through the narrow streets of the city, then finally out to Key Haven. On the way out there, I laid it out for him and Doc, including the Whitney-Russian connection.
I emphasized that the Russians were the baddest of the badasses, but if everything went according to plan, Ryder would nail them, along with Whitney and BK, at the airport. In the event any of them eluded capture, they might well head for Key Haven.
"Any way you cut it," I said to them, "this is really my affair. There is a risk, and you guys don't have to chance it."
"That BK's an A-1 asshole," Shimmy said. "I've never liked him or any of those Whitneys. They've ruined this island. Anything I can do to fuck them
up, I'm in."
I looked at Doc. He couldn't wait to weigh in.
"Hey, man, you know I got to be in. You cats couldn't get in that house without me, not even if you had the keys."
I smiled, mostly inside.
"Okay. We're going to go in and crack Whitney's safe. If we get what I think is in there, you're both getting a fat bonus. And I mean fat."
≈≈≈
The other night, when Doc and I were out here, the whole street was deserted. No lights, no activity, no nothing. Just your typical slumbering suburb with everybody tucked away in their nice, secure beds.
Tonight it looked like the crossroads of the fucking world.
Traffic everywhere, cars parked all up and down both sides of the street, as well as on the side streets, too. Those cars that were moving were jostling for parking spots, but not finding many. They were mostly high-end jobs — Caddies, Mercedes, Jags, that kind of thing. We saw lots of happy people walking from their cars, all in one direction.
Toward a gigantic house at the end of the street.
We rumbled past Whitney's place in the thick traffic. No cars were in the driveway. As we neared the big house at the end, we could see there was some kind of party going on.
Tall, wrought iron security gates opened into a wide, yawning welcome. Fast-moving valets crammed all those ritzy cars next to one another at all angles, even dumping them into a couple of neighboring yards.
The place throbbed with music and people, and the grounds were all lit up. From the looks of things, this was the party of the year, one you wouldn't want to miss if you gave a shit about that kind of thing. I got to wondering if Whitney had been invited.
Shimmy attempted a U-turn into the heaviest traffic. After a minute or two of trying to bring the big car around, a couple of people started honking, but finally we were facing the way we came in. He slowed way down as we headed back, passing Whitney's house.
"What now?" he asked.
"Turn down there."
I pointed at a nearby side street and he made the turn.
It, too, was packed with cars, so we didn't find a spot until we'd turned another corner to go around the block. By now we'd gone nearly three blocks from Whitney's house, and we couldn't see it from here. We circled the block again, but there were no convenient spots to be had.
Just before coming back out onto Whitney's street, Shimmy stopped at the stop sign around the corner from his house and shrugged.
"Why don't we just park in the driveway?"
"Because if they do come back and see a car in the driveway, their guns come out, and whoever's in the car won't stand a chance."
I told Doc to get the door to the house open for us. He slipped out, becoming one with the night as he crossed the street toward Whitney's lawn.
We drove around the block once more.
No luck.
Pausing again at the stop sign, we could see that both sides of the street were still lined with parked cars. The big V-8 idled on the corner, its full-throated hum hinting at its hidden power.
My eyes moved to Shimmy. The overhead street light cast a whitish film across the side of his face. The line of his jaw was tight and grim, and his clear eyes stared straight ahead. Beyond the windshield, all the coconut palms along the street waved in the warm evening breeze.
"You know," I said, "if they get back while we're still in there, there's going to be trouble, and it could be real bad. Two of the Russians will be holding for sure, probably Whitney's boys, too."
Shimmy remained silent, his gaze fixed on the windshield.
"We're probably gonna have to take out all four guns," I said softly.
His eyes narrowed.
"I know."
"If it comes to that, and they draw down on us, you take Whitney's two boys. They're the ones with the long hair. I'll do the Russians."
He turned toward me.
"I've got a sawed-off in the trunk. You want to use it? It'll do a lot more business than that popgun you're holding."
"Go ahead and get it."
He got out and went to the back, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and retrieved the shotgun. Easing the trunk shut, he got back in the car.
"Here it is. Modified Remington twelve-gauge."
I could tell by the way it sat in his grip that it was a well-balanced weapon. He started to give it to me. I pushed it back at him.
"You keep it. Let me use your automatic."
He pulled the pistol, then handed it my way, butt first, along with a couple of loaded magazines. I put one in each of the top pockets of my guayabera.
"Gloves?" I asked.
He produced two pair. We snapped them on.
He had about a dozen extra shells for the shotgun, which he loaded into his pockets.
"You know, Don Roy, I'm glad we're doing this. Like I said, I've always hated BK. Always trying to weasel out of paying Mambo on his sports bets whenever I went to collect. And then, what he did to Norma. Just to pay off his fucking debts! Now it's his turn to pay. And it's about goddamn time."
I put a hand on Shimmy's tense forearm.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, bubba. If it comes to that, we only take out the guns. BK's probably not gonna have one. Well … let me put it another way. If he finds one, okay, let him have it. But we're not murderers. We don't do that shit."
He ground his teeth together. As he paused to look down at the shells in his hand, he sent me a single reluctant nod.
Right then, my thoughts drifted to Norma.
I recalled the pledges I'd made to her, the bond between us, the life we'd have together when this was all over. I thought of walking with her, hand-in-hand, to … to meet our future, whatever the hell it was, to meet it head on.
All I needed was my share of the money, and I felt we could pull it off. I really did.
The way it looked to me, as long as it was the two of us — Norma and me — sticking together, we could face any goddamn thing the world threw down in front of us.
From out of nowhere: "You boys ready?"
It was Doc, back in the car. I had no idea how he'd gotten there.
I snapped out of my thoughts.
"What've we got?" I asked him.
"Same way I got in before. There's one of them doggie doors in the back. You know, a panel on the back door to the house that swings in and out to let the dog out whenever he wants. Judging from the size of it, I'd say it's a pretty big mutt, too."
I said to Doc, "I didn't think Whitney had a dog."
"He don't. At least, there wasn't one there on the two occasions I've visited him. My guess is it was prob'ly there from the last owner of the house."
"Doc," I said, "that's not gonna do me any good. I'm too big to get through one of those things."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I slipped through it myself and unlocked the kitchen door for you. All you apes got to do is just walk right in."
Shimmy and I both chuckled pretty good.
A minute later, a spot finally opened up on Whitney's side of the street, about fifty feet from his driveway. Shimmy moved the car over to it, muscling his way in, while pissing off some other sap in a Lexus who had his eye on it at the same time. The Lexus was a hair too late, so he backed away from Shimmy's aggressive maneuvering.
Before I got out of the car, I turned toward the back seat to look at Doc.
"The safe in here is similar to the one we just saw," I told him. "You open it up and then get the hell out of there. Come back out here and start the car. You're gonna have to be our substitute driver."
"No problem, man. I can handle it."
"Wait for us with the motor running. While we're inside, work the front wheels into a position where you can pull straight out of this parking spot. We won't close the doors all the way. If you see us running out of the house, get ready to move fast."
"I got it, man. You just make sure you get your white asses outta there in one piece, awright?"
I looked straight a
t him. "If the Land Rover and the Mercedes show up while we're inside … say a prayer."
Shimmy slid the pump on his shotgun, moving the first shell into the chamber. The deadly sound froze us for a moment, reminding all of us of what we were about to do.
As if on cue, Shimmy and I took a deep breath at the same time. We got out of the car, pushing the doors almost closed.
Then we moved silently toward the back of the house.
THIRTY-TWO
THE unlocked door awaited us.
We slipped inside, across the big, unlit kitchen and into the dining room. Beyond that was the main hallway.
The huge living room sat off to one side, with the office right next to it. The hallway led to Whitney's bedroom. Just like Rita said, in the corner of his closet was a piece of carpeting that lifted up to reveal the safe. Doc took a look at it.
"It's a different model than the other one," he said.
"Can you get inside?" I asked.
"Oh yeah. Just gonna take me a little bit longer, is all."
I looked at my watch. Eight-thirty.
Time for Whitney's plane to arrive. Ryder should be waiting for him.
A little drop of sweat broke out of my hairline, beginning a slow roll down the side of my face. I let it go.
Shimmy stood guard outside the closet doorway. The darkened bedroom was illuminated only by the slender shaft of dim closet light, as well as whatever light could slink in from the street. Long shadows fell across his taut figure, clad in a black tank top and black pants. His twelve gauge was at the ready.
Doc fiddled a few minutes more with the safe, cursing it under his breath.
"Should we forget it?" I asked.
"Naw, naw, I'll get it."
Nervously, I glimpsed my watch again. Eight-thirty-six.
Then I heard a little click. The door to the safe jerked open.
"There you go," Doc said with a smile.
I looked inside. There were no closed compartments, only a ton of cash.
I turned to Doc. "Okay, man, scram. Get the car going. We'll take care of this. And leave the satchel."
Doc hustled through the hallway, out into the night while Shimmy and I loaded up the satchel with lots and lots of those 10K banded wads. Beneath the cash, there was a lot of paperwork, some of it in Russian.