Tempted by Trouble

by Eric Jerome Dickey

  Jackie picked up a fork. I picked up a knife.

  The waitress had seen the double assault and hurried our way with her mouth open wide.

  Jackie snapped, “Mind your own business and go away.”

  The two customers in the room looked at us, then turned their eyes away as the mumbles began.

  I wanted to put my knife in Jackie’s throat. I wanted to feed her some lead.

  Jackie put her fork down. I put my knife to the side.

  She said, “You’ve changed.”

  I coughed a bit and tasted my own blood before I answered her. “Have I?”

  “You’re acting like you’re one of us now. All it took was for someone to beat you to Death’s doorstep and for Cora to break your heart. But I think what Cora has done to you is the greatest injury.”

  “Say her name again and I’ll break your neck.”

  “Cora. Cora Knight. Cora, Cora, Cora. You don’t like it? Cora, Cora, Cora.”

  “Grow up,” I said as I picked up my spoon and began eating my chicken soup.

  Pain coursed throughout my body. I wanted another Vicodin. I wanted two more. I told myself to ride it out. The side effects of the medicine were getting the best of me. Jackie picked up napkins and wiped water from her face, trying to dab her dress and stop the water from soaking in. In this weather, stepping outside in wet clothing could be instant pneumonia.

  I said, “No wonder they took your kid.”

  She pulled her lips in, swallowed, then sat there in silence. She was in her own kind of pain, an inner pain that made her irrational. Her suffering made her reckless, taking risks that could have everyone in jail or dead at the scene of a crime. Sleeping with Sammy had been a calculated risk, a means to an end. And now she needed me to put on a dead man’s shoes.

  She whispered, “When this is done, Dmytryk, will you help me get my kid?”

  “Are you deaf or just stupid?”

  “Please? My kid is in Chattanooga. That’s two hours from here. Go with me, help me out. Just be the driver. You won’t be seen. I’ll cancel the debt. You can keep the four grand and I’ll throw you five more. How does that sound? It won’t take more than an hour. I just need you to drive us back toward Mexico.”

  The tables had turned. When she was done I shook my head as my final answer.

  I looked out the window and said, “Yeah, Sammy knew how to pick his women.”

  “Is that tone and look supposed to scare me? Save that look for Cora. My bad. She’s with Eddie Coyle. That’s where she’s bouncing up and down. That’s the pole she’s swinging from these days.”

  “You’re slipping off into the deep end of the pool.”

  “You want me to apologize? I mean on my knees, mouth wide open, apologize.”

  “You’re filthy.”

  “Did you enjoy our time in Texas? Did that mean anything, or did you just use me?”

  There was no light inside Jackie, only darkness. She was disgusting and lewd. And the carnal dirtiness of a woman always appealed to men, no matter how clean they were. Maybe because no matter how many showers we took, no matter how long we bathed, we were all made of dirt and would forever be creatures of dirt. Jackie had a filthy, arrogant, and dark demeanor that angered me. And her darkness appealed to the resentment inside me, the part that had taken control. Jackie was a powder keg of trouble. But then again, to a thinking man, all women were.

  Jackie asked, “Well, in that case, are we going to have sex again, or was Texas one shot?”

  That was when I saw the Paulding County sheriff stop out front.

  I told Jackie that law enforcement had pulled up outside and double-parked.

  Jackie wiped water from her face and whispered, “FBI or local?”

  “Local.”

  “How many cars?”

  “One car.”

  “How many officers?”

  “Two.”

  “We can take them if we have to, Dmytryk. I’ll never let a small-town cop take me in.”

  “Sit still. Sit still and act like a lady. I know that’s difficult for you, but do it.”

  Two young officers brought the cold inside. They looked at us in a way that told us they were there on business. They didn’t greet us, just went directly to the waitress, then came to us and asked us what was the problem. The waitress had called and reported the disturbance. I smiled, said that everything was fine. Nothing to worry about.

  Jackie said, “It’s called foreplay. You’ve heard of foreplay, haven’t you, or don’t they do that in Dall-ass, Georgia? You should see what we do at ice cream parlors or in the whip cream section of Kroger. Whip cream on breasts like these, can you imagine that, officer? Well, we used water, but maybe we should’ve ordered some honey. Imagine that, officer, me butt naked, on this table with honey smeared over all God gave me. Now, that would have been a reason for the waitress to call all the men in town.”

  The officers turned red, swallowed, looked at each other, then asked us to leave their city. Their stares said that it was that or we’d take a short walk to the police station on the next corner.

  The men who guarded this Republican and Christian haven knew what I knew. Jackie was cynical. Jackie was evil, and evil had to be run out of town before that disease spread.

  We stood up to leave, the gun inside my coat pocket weighing more than five years in jail, and as we left Jackie told them all to have a merry Christmas, only she added a curt and powerful word that started with the letter F and ended with the eleventh letter of the alphabet, that singular word to give a deeper and more personal meaning to that clichéd and overbearing yuletide expression.

  17

  Eddie Coyle’s murderous brother was inside the safe house when I arrived. Eddie Coyle wasn’t there. Neither was Cora. Bishop was dressed in jeans and boots by Harley-Davidson, his heavy coat open wide as he smoked a Marlboro and maintained a firm grip on a loaded .38. He was keeping guard.

  He said, “Dmytryk.”

  Then he smiled. It was a grin that spoke of Eddie Coyle and Cora’s intimacy.

  His smile got to me and I felt the blood boiling underneath my skin.

  I pushed away my pains and stood tall. I took off my fedora and my overcoat, loosened my tie, pulled off my suit coat, checked the time on my pocket watch, then said, “What do you have for me?”

  He motioned with his head. “Kitchen table. Everything we need to know is right there.”

  I dropped my hat and coats on the black sofa.

  With the exception of a six-foot-tall Christmas tree that had flashing red, yellow, blue, and green lights, the apartment was unadorned. It had dreary beige walls, dull beige carpet, and furniture that looked like it had all come from the returns area in IKEA. The only thing that stood out was the fifty-inch television in the living area. It was on CNN. Copies of The Trussville Tribune and The Birmingham News had been dropped on the floor.

  Diagrams were on the kitchen table, and at least half a dozen architectural layouts. It was the same diagram that had been inside of Rick’s luggage. One of the programs he’d carried was to the edifice for this job. It must’ve been his part of the job, the area he’d had to memorize to pull his weight on this gig. That let me know that Rick had visited the building at some point and had surveyed the halls to verify the diagrams were on point.

  I said, “The vault is in the basement?”

  Bishop nodded. “We’ll have to handle two, maybe three security guards and make our way to the basement. That’s what me, my brother, Jackie, and Cora will do while you have us ready to roll out. The location for the stage-two vehicle is already set. It’s on Chalkville Road. We drive about a mile and a half, dump the primary, load up the secondary within ten seconds, and you get us back to the safe house. We split the money. We say good-bye. It’s a simple plan.”

  “I’m still looking at the location of the vault. Long hallway. Stairs. This diagram is telling me that there aren’t any windows in this hallway. This bank used to be a fallout shelter.�
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  “It’s not a bank.”

  I looked at the diagrams again. “This is a part of a property that belongs to a church.”

  Bishop said, “Six Flags over Jesus. That what we call it. Six Flags over Jesus.”

  I read the details on the map. The megachurch was off an interstate that connected to I-20, only it wasn’t the section of the interstate that ran through Atlanta. The area I was looking at was over two hours away. We were robbing a church in Alabama.

  I said, “I thought this was a bank job.”

  “Now you know it’s not.”

  “So this isn’t going down on Friday.”

  He shook his head. “It’s going down on Sunday.”

  “Robbing on the Sabbath.”

  He nodded. “Amen, brother. Amen.”

  I stared at the drawings.

  Bishop said, “By Tuesday, I’ll be in Ocho Rios sipping on drinks.”

  Entry and exit points were all circled in light blue ink. The immense architecture had a gigantic parking lot, plenty of open space, numerous doors, and a lot of security cameras.

  Bishop said, “Most of the cameras aren’t in use. They trust the people and they’ve never had a problem. The cameras are up for insurance purposes, but that’s about it. The ones that are working, they’ll be pointed up at the sky; Cora’s contact will make sure that happens.”

  There were a lot of hallways, but based on what I saw, two entrances were used the most. The principal entrance was in front and the secondary entrance was in the back. The best entry and escape routes were highlighted in yellow. The secondary or backup exits were highlighted in green. Jackie walked in while I inspected the route that had been highlighted as our getaway. The book she had bought at Barnes & Noble, she put it down on the table, photograph-side up.

  I read the location on the map and said, “Trussville?”

  Jackie said, “It’s right outside of Birmingham.”

  I looked at her and her expression told me that she had known all along.

  She said, “It wasn’t my job to give you any information.”

  “That’s very military of you.”

  “It’s about trust, and I can keep secrets, Dmytryk. Everybody knows that I can keep secrets.”

  Jackie went to the counter and found a fresh bottle of vodka waiting on her. She poured herself two fingers’ worth in a glass, then she did the same for Bishop.

  I headed inside the bathroom and a panic attack came as soon as I closed the door. It came at me hard, just like it had in Los Angeles, only it was more intense, its waves higher and pounding me with almost too much force to bear. I threw water on my face, then looked at myself in the mirror.

  I saw my father’s angered face. I saw the anger he held when things were getting to him.

  Banks were federally insured. What we stole the government put back. We traumatized the bank employees, but the tellers and security guards had also been trained for what we brought. Each bank knew that being robbed was as inevitable as sunrise.

  This job was a church.

  I wasn’t the most religious man in the world, but I understood morality and degrees of wrongness. This was who my wife had become. This was who I had become.

  We were monsters now.

  The front door opened again and I heard Eddie Coyle’s voice.

  I heard Cora Knight talking to either Eddie Coyle or Bishop.

  When I heard the woman who was still my wife, the world stopped rotating.

  She was on the other side of that door and I could smell her, feel her, taste her.

  Every vile word she had said at Thumbs Up echoed inside of my head.

  Every angered word battered me.

  I raced out of the bathroom and hurried toward the front room. Cora saw me running straight toward Eddie Coyle with my hardened hands in fists. I was an executive, a laborer, a man, but before all of that I was a fighter’s son. Henrick’s blood was in my veins.

  If Eddie Coyle had any doubts, they were removed when my right hook connected with his chin and took him down to the floor. Before I could get to him again, his hulking brother had made it to me.

  18

  Cora screamed.

  Jackie sipped her vodka and laughed.

  Bishop grabbed me.

  The blow put Eddie Coyle flat on his back and scrambling to get to his feet.

  Jackie sashayed toward Eddie Coyle. Cora ran toward me, made strong eye contact, and then backed away when she saw in my eyes that she would be next. She began pleading with Bishop, telling him not to take this to another level and mess up the job. They needed me.

  They needed me. Her focus was on the bottom line. I’d expected her to run and protect Eddie Coyle, or run back to me, but she remained in the neutral zone, became political and redirected the hostile energy in the direction that would benefit her the most. She said to focus on the job. I’d expected Bishop to come at me in retaliation. They were blood, and Bishop was protective of his brother.

  We didn’t trade blows, but he wrestled with me, tried to get a good grip on me, maybe hold me so his brother could beat me. My adrenaline was high and my strength had doubled. It was enough to surprise Bishop and take the wrestling match from the kitchen to the living room and we fell into the Christmas tree, made it topple, then we fought and fell on top of it before we rolled to the carpet. The way I was hurting, the damage Abbey Rose had done to my body made that battle short and it didn’t end in my favor.

  Bishop pushed me near the sofa and I grabbed my coat but dropped it when he grabbed me again, yanked me up, and pushed me up against a wall. He drew his fist back in threat but then he realized I had a gun pointed at his gut. It was Jackie’s gun. When he had pushed me on the sofa, I had grabbed my coat and pulled the gun from its pocket. With the injuries I had, I couldn’t beat Eddie Coyle and Bishop in a fight. One-on-one I’d take on Bishop and lose, although I’d do my best to make a good showing in the first round. But I didn’t expect to win this battle. That blow to Eddie Coyle’s chin had been my swan song.

  Bishop took his hands off me and backed away. I lowered the gun, grunted when a wave of severe pain coursed through my body, every ache singing Abbey Rose’s name.

  Eddie Coyle made it up on one knee and had the look of my death in his eyes. Jackie reached for him but he pushed her away and made it back to his feet on his own, his mouth bloodied.

  Jackie wasn’t laughing anymore.

  Cora looked terrified.

  My expression was rabid. Christmas tree crap was all over my clothing. My shirttail had been pulled out of my pants, and my shirt was ripped, missing more than a few buttons. Not to mention that I had spots of sweat underneath my armpits. The tree had scratched my face like a passionate lover during a night of wild sex. Bishop’s face had received the same fate.

  Cora yelled, “Dmytryk.”

  She said my name the way she had said my name during the first four years of our marriage, spoke my name with fervor and passion, said my name as a wife who loved her husband. All eyes were on me. Each expression was different. I saw fear and anger and respect.

  Jackie put her vodka down on the counter and sashayed toward me with her palms extended, desperation and anger in her eyes as she said, “Don’t blow this, Dmytryk. Think about what you’re doing. One hundred thousand dollars. Is that two-timing cow worth that much? One hundred thousand dollars. Don’t be selfish. You’re part of this team, so be a team player. You know my situation. This money can help set me straight. This money can get me what I need for my kid. Now, give me that damn gun.”

  I tossed the gun to Jackie. She caught it and checked to see if it was still loaded.

  Jackie said, “You’re lucky, Bishop. That man is a killer. He popped someone twice in L.A. Isn’t that right, Dmytryk? Tell everybody how you killed somebody in broad daylight and walked away like you were Jesse James.”

  Bishop was fuming. He moved like he was coming after me again, and I was ready to throw at least two blows before he took me off
my feet, but Eddie Coyle yelled his name and stopped him.

  Eddie Coyle came over to me, his face twisted in anger. And guilt. A lot of guilt was in his eyes. I moved past him and grabbed my suit coat and my wool topcoat. When I pulled both coats on, Jackie asked me if I was leaving. She ran to me and grabbed my right arm and begged me to stay. Then her expression threatened me. I moved her out of my way. Jackie held on to my arm like she was my wife, like I was her husband and I was walking out on her.

  Cora looked at me too. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to run to me or take that gun and shoot me. Her life was no longer tethered to mine, though I remained a planet caught in her gravity. She hated every memory of me. She despised everything I represented. What existed between us was dark energy.

  Jackie said, “Abbey Rose, Dmytryk. Abbey Rose.”

  I went to the door and looked back at Eddie Coyle. He went to the kitchen, rinsed the blood out of this mouth, and put on his coat and gloves before he followed me out into the freezing air.

  We walked the complex, moved through the cold with our breaths fogging in front of our faces.

  Eddie Coyle said, “I could kill you for that.”

  “I could’ve killed you five minutes ago. Every time you take a breath, remember that.”

  He didn’t argue with me. This time he was the one with the gun inside his coat pocket. I knew that. If he was going to shoot me and kill me, I didn’t want to die in front of Cora. She wasn’t the last person I wanted to see. And I didn’t want to die in a room filled with people I didn’t respect. I’d have rather died outside in the cold.

  I took a deep breath and said, “So this is what you and Cora have been planning.”

  “All of us. Not Just Cora and myself. Rick, Sammy, Jackie, my brother, all of us.”

  “Six months. Cora’s been on your team. She’s worked with you and Rick and Sammy and your brother for six months. You’d pretty much laid me off, pushed me to the side like you were another CEO.”

  “We did a few jobs. We needed the money to make it happen. A lot of people had to be paid off.”