Die Laughing: 5 Comic Crime Novels

by Steve Brewer

  “The wrong code summons the cops, right?” Tony said. “You’d better be very careful when you punch it in.”

  The guard’s finger trembled as he pushed a series of numbers. The door clicked open.

  “You first,” Tony said. “We want the key to an armored truck.”

  “The cabinet’s locked,” the guard said. “I’ll need my keys.”

  “Hang on,” Don called from behind them. “I’m bringing ‘em.”

  The gates scrawked against the asphalt as Angie pushed them open. The gate was blocked by the dark van. Anyone passing on the street wouldn’t notice a thing.

  Don trotted over with the key ring. He brought the guard’s flashlight, too. He handed the keys to the guard, then shined the Maglite so he could sort through them.

  The cabinet was inside on the wall, just as he’d said. It was gray metal, looked flimsy. Angie could’ve opened it with a crowbar in seconds, but it probably was alarmed. Better to use the key.

  The guard unlocked the cabinet, swung it open and stepped out of the way. He hung his head.

  “Don’t feel bad, Gramps,” Don said as he plucked a key from the numbered rack. “No way you could’ve stopped us.”

  “I don’t feel bad about that. It’s my balls. Your friend here nearly kicked them through the top of my head.”

  “You can put some ice on them later,” Tony said. “But first we’re going for a ride.”

  The guard’s head snapped up. “You don’t need to take me with you.”

  Tony led him back outside, saying, “Oh, but we do. You don’t want to miss this trip.”

  The old man looked frightened. Tony said, “Don’t worry. Do as we say, and you’ll get home by sunup. Safe and sound.”

  Tony held onto his elbow as they crossed the parking lot to where Angie waited by the van.

  “Couldn’t you just tie me up or something?” the trembling guard asked. “Knock me out?”

  “I could knock you out,” Angie rumbled, “but you wouldn’t like it.”

  The guard looked him up and down, then said, “Okay, let’s go for a ride.”

  “You gonna be quiet in the van,” Angie asked, “or do we need to gag you?”

  “You won’t hear a peep out of me.”

  “That’s the way I like it.”

  Angie slid open the side door and shoved the guard inside. He gave Tony a thumbs-up, then climbed in and shut the door. Ross waited, the motor still running, while Don hustled over to an armored truck and unlocked its door.

  He climbed behind the wheel, and cranked the deep-throated engine. Tony waited while the armored car eased out of the lot behind the van. Then he closed the gates and reset the padlock and chain.

  Tony stepped up to the passenger door, and had to wait for Don to unlock it before he climbed inside.

  Don shoved the truck into gear and followed the van out of the alley. As they bumped into the dark street, Tony said, “We are now the proud owners of an armored car.”

  Don said, “Not for long.”

  Chapter 17

  The next day, as Ross and Tony drove into Fowler, Nevada, in the blue van, Ross started laughing.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I was thinking about that feisty old guard,” Ross said. “What he said when me and Angie dropped him off beside that gravel road.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Tony had heard this story three times already.

  “‘You boys will get what’s coming to you eventually,’” Ross said, doing a passable impersonation of the guard. “‘Tell your buddy I hope the cops kick him right in the nuts.’“

  “Some people,” Tony said, “insist on holding grudges.”

  “You left that old man bow-legged.” Still laughing, Ross pushed up his sunglasses to wipe tears from his eyes. “He’ll never be the same.”

  “Not like he was planning to father more children.”

  Ross cackled.

  “You want me to drive?” Tony said. “You seem hysterical.”

  “I’m all right. Long as you don’t kick me in the balls.”

  That got him going again. Tony sighed and looked out the window at the mud-colored mountain ranges and the dancing yellow grass. Did the wind ever stop blowing here?

  Rusty mobile homes and sand-blasted houses appeared alongside the highway, and Ross said, “Is this it? What a shithole.”

  “It gets a little better after that curve up ahead. That’s where the casinos are.”

  As they rounded the curve onto the broad straightaway through Fowler, the neon-lit casinos loomed into view. The rest of the town seemed dingy and tired, as if the casinos had sucked all the life out of the place.

  “That’s the Starlite up ahead, just past that biggest casino.”

  “Rancho Palomino,” Ross read off the sign. “That place looks pretty busy. Maybe we should rob it instead.”

  “We don’t have an inside man there.”

  “If that even does us any good—”

  Tony didn’t want Ross to get started on his misgivings again. He said, “Turn into the Starlite and drive around back. I’ll show you that loading dock.”

  Ross let the van creep past the fenced area behind the casino. The guard in the shack gave them a stern look. Ross waved at him.

  “So,” he said as he steered the van away, “we just drive the armored car up to that dock and load up the money.”

  “Assuming we can persuade the guard that we’re legit.”

  “We can always take him out of the picture if we have to,” Ross said. “Hey, I know! You can kick him in the nuts.”

  “Funny.”

  Ross pulled back into the highway’s sparse traffic.

  “I don’t see anyplace to stash something as big as an armored car,” he said. “We need a warehouse, a barn, something like that.”

  “Not a lot of options in Fowler. Not like they have an industrial zone hidden away.”

  “Maybe a vacant house with a garage?”

  “Have to be a big garage door.”

  As they drove south, the businesses and houses thinned, with only a few buildings scattered among stretches of sagebrush. They topped a rise, and a shallow pan of desert stretched before them.

  “Hold on,” Ross said. “Check that out.”

  He pointed to an old building off the east side of the highway. An abandoned service station covered in peeling white paint and sun-bleached plywood splattered with graffiti: “Fowler Sux,” “JoJo Loves Rayola,” “MD420,” “BWAINZ.” Bristly weeds grew through cracks in the concrete around the building, and tumbleweeds were piled against the front door. A faded sign on the flat roof said, “Last Chance Gas.”

  “Pull in there,” Tony said. “We’ll look it over.”

  They got out of the van, the hot wind yanking their hair and plastering their T-shirts against their skin. Tony could taste the grit in the air, and he was glad he wore wraparound sunglasses.

  They walked around the gas station, pulling at the edges of plywood nailed over doors and windows, trying to peer inside. The windows were cracked and dusty, but shafts of light angled down from holes in the roof, showing that the dusty interior was empty. The station had two work bays, tall enough that each had four sections of plywood nailed cross-wise over the door.

  “These would be big enough to drive that truck inside,” Ross said. “Assuming the doors still roll up.”

  “We’d have to peel the plywood away to be sure,” Tony said. “But we can’t do that in broad daylight, with cars zooming past on the highway.”

  “We can come back tonight,” Ross said. “Break in and check it out.”

  “The place has to look undisturbed.”

  “We can do that. Nail the plywood to a frame, put it on hinges or wheels. Then we can move it out of the way long enough to drive the truck inside.”

  Tony stood on the concrete island that once held the gas pumps, and looked back toward town. The low rise in the landscape blocked the view. Motorists coming from Fowler cou
ldn’t see the station until they were right on top of it.

  “This place only works if nobody’s following us,” he said.

  Ross grinned. “I’ve got an idea about that, too. But can I tell you in the van? While the air conditioner’s running?”

  Chapter 18

  Nick Papadopoulos felt grumpy as he drove to work on Monday morning. Earlier than usual, but he couldn’t sleep anyway. He’d been up half the night, stewing and smoking, wondering why he hadn’t heard from the heist crew. Nearly a week since the guy told him they’d take the job, but not one word since. Nick was beginning to think the robbers chickened out. Maybe they’d come to Fowler, taken a look at the set-up and decided it was too tough for them. But wouldn’t they let him know? How long was he supposed to dangle, wondering if they were going to come through?

  Cindy Duquesne had the numbers ready. When, and if, the bastards managed to get off their asses and rob him, she could supply the cops and the insurance company and his partners with up-to-date files that would show the Starlite doing better lately than it had in years. Still a tough sell, especially once the insurance investigators got a load of the casino’s empty parking lot, but he’d threaten their asses with a lawsuit if they didn’t pay off. Get that settlement one way or the other. Then he’d put it to work, buying his way out of this sucking money pit and starting a new life.

  He slammed the door of his Town Car. The wind snatched at his black suit and whipped his narrow necktie as he stalked to the casino’s front entrance. The guard in the lobby caught one look at Nick’s face and quickly found something on the ceiling to interest him.

  Nick was crossing the noisy casino floor when a guy at a slot machine said, “Hi, Nick.”

  He knew that voice. He turned and found himself face to face with the robber he’d met at Leo Berg’s pawnshop. Tony wore a blue baseball cap now, jeans and sneakers and a loose black shirt with the tails hanging out. Looked like a fucking tourist.

  Nick glanced up at the security cameras that scanned the gaming area. The bill of Tony’s cap gave his face some cover, but it would be clear that Nick had stopped to talk to a customer. And that was unlike him, especially this time of day.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” He kept his voice low, leaning into the guy so others wouldn’t hear.

  “I came for a visit.” Tony grinned. “Aren’t you going to invite me up to your office? Maybe offer me some coffee?”

  “For shit’s sake—”

  Nick glanced up at the cameras again. “Yeah, yeah. Better that we’re in my office than out here where everyone can see us. Come on.”

  He strode toward the door beside the cashiers’ windows, Tony right on his heels. The gray-haired guard by the door gave Nick a questioning look as they approached.

  “It’s okay, William. This guy’s with me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The guard opened the door and Nick went up the stairs without looking back. Monica was away from the reception desk, as per fucking usual, and the hallway was blessedly empty as Nick hustled Tony into his office. Once they were inside, he said, “Close that door. I don’t want anyone seeing you here.”

  “Why so nervous, Nick?”

  Jesus, this guy. Nick ran a hand over his face. It came away sweaty.

  “You think you can just walk around in my casino, get captured on video, and nobody’s going to put it together later?”

  “Come on, Nick. Nobody knows me here. The only odd part is coming up to your office. If anyone raises a question about it, make something up. Nobody’ll question you. You’re the boss.”

  “That goddamn insurance company might question it. I don’t want them looking too hard at anything that happened here before the robbery.”

  Nick went behind his desk and slumped into his swivel chair. Tony sat in a chair facing him, smiling like an idiot.

  “Nice view you got from up here. You can see the whole place.”

  “That’s the idea,” Nick grumbled. “I sit up here all day, watching the losers down there on the casino floor, watching this joint fall apart around my ears. And you know what I do?”

  “What?”

  “I worry, that’s what. I worry that my partners will get sick of their dwindling profits, and send somebody to permanently replace me. I worry about bill collectors taking everything I own. I worry about how it’s been a week and I haven’t heard from the guy who’s supposed to help me get out from under.”

  “Worry no more,” Tony said. “Here I am.”

  “All right, smart guy, then let me ask you this: When is the fucking heist?”

  Tony got a good laugh out of that. Laughed so hard, he bent over in the chair, clutching his belly. When he sat up straight again, there was a pistol in his hand, pointed at Nick.

  “Right now.”

  Chapter 19

  Tony felt the familiar adrenaline rush as he watched Nick’s reaction. The Greek’s dark eyes went wide and his mouth gaped. After a few seconds, he found his voice.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Showtime,” Tony said. “Put your hands on top of your head.”

  “What the fuck? We’re partners—”

  “That doesn’t mean I trust you. Hands on top of your head.”

  Nick’s face crumpled into a scowl. “You son of a bitch. What are you gonna do if I don’t? Shoot me?”

  Tony shrugged. “Not part of my plan. But it could save me fifteen percent of the take.”

  They stared at each other. Nick’s face darkened, but he put his hands on his head.

  “Lace your fingers together. Good. Now just sit tight. I need to make a phone call.”

  “You know what happened to the last man who pointed a gun at me?” Nick growled. “I cut his goddamned head off and mailed it to his widow.”

  Tony tsk-tsked at him as he pulled a cell phone from his shirt pocket. He flipped it open and hit the speed-dial. When Ross answered, he said, “Go.”

  “On our way.”

  Tony pocketed the phone, then gestured at Nick with the pistol.

  “Now it’s your turn to make a call. Phone down to the counting room, or whoever handles the armored car pickups at that loading dock out back.”

  “That would be Security.”

  “Fine. Tell them you just got a call from Universal, and they’re sending a different crew today. The regular guys are out sick with the flu.”

  Nick hesitated, then guessed, “You’ve got your own truck showing up down there.”

  “Make the call.”

  He dialed an extension and repeated the story. The person on the other end must’ve questioned him because Nick said, “How the hell would I know? Just take care of it.”

  He slammed down the receiver. Tony waggled the gun at him, and Nick put his hands back on his head.

  “No need for that gun,” he said. “I would’ve made that call just the same.”

  “Yeah, but we’re going for realism here. Later, when you’re questioned about it, you can say one of the robbers held a gun on you, made you call Security. You could even pass a polygraph. Because it’s true.”

  “So now what?”

  “You got a cell phone on you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Nick reached inside his jacket.

  “Slowly,” Tony warned.

  He came out with the cell and slid it across the desk. Tony picked it up, then said, “Okay. One more thing.”

  He pulled a set of handcuffs from his back pocket and tossed them onto the desk.

  “Put those on. Threaded through the arm of your chair.”

  “Hell, that’s not necessary—”

  “Part of the act. We want the cops to find you like that when it’s all over.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Nick clamped the cuffs onto one hairy wrist, then reached them under the chair arm and snapped them onto the other wrist. He could slide the cuffs back and forth on the hardwood arm, but he couldn’t go anywher
e without dragging the chair along with him.

  “Good,” Tony said.

  He yanked the desk phone loose from its cord and walked it over to the conference table at the far end of the office. He set the phone on the table, along with Nick’s cell, then used a handkerchief to wipe them both of fingerprints.

  He checked his watch. Right on schedule.

  “Okay, sit tight,” he said. “This will be over before you know it.”

  Nick glowered at him.

  Tony opened the door and stuck his head out. The hallway was empty. He put his gun away and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him, then trotted downstairs.

  Chapter 20

  The armored car still reeked of fresh paint, but Ross Cooper thought the steady breeze would carry away the scent before anyone noticed. Don eased the truck up to the gate behind the Starlite, grinding the gears as he brought it to a halt.

  “Okay,” Ross said. “Here goes nothing.”

  “If he gives you any trouble,” Don said, “shoot him.”

  “If there’s trouble, you guys get the hell out of here. I’ll figure out the rest.”

  Ross opened the passenger door and climbed down, clipboard in hand. The brown uniform fit perfectly except in the crotch, and he took a second to dig the fabric out of his ass.

  He walked around the front of the truck, between the hood and the chain-link gate, and met the gray-uniformed guard as he was coming out of his shack. The guard was a ruddy middle-aged guy, soft around the middle, with a big Dirty Harry revolver on his hip.

  “Universal Security,” Ross said sharply. “Here for today’s pickup.”

  “Right,” the guard said. “They called ahead. The usual guys got the flu?”

  “It’s going around.”

  “Huh.”

  The guard squinted at him. Ross read the name badge over his breast pocket.

  “Hey, you must be Bart. The guys told me about you.”

  The guard flushed with pleasure. “Yeah? What did they say?”

  “The usual scuttlebutt. How you guys at the Starlite know what you’re doing, not like some of these other casinos.”