Die Laughing: 5 Comic Crime Novels

by Steve Brewer

  Ross jerked his thumb toward the neighboring Rancho Palomino.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard plenty about those assholes,” Bart said. “Think because their boss is the big man in town, they’re better than the rest of us.”

  “I hear you.”

  “You know Rex Mangrum, runs Security over there?”

  “Haven’t met him yet.”

  “I applied for a job over there one time. Got interviewed by him. What a jerk.”

  “How come the jerks end up running everything?” Ross said.

  “Ain’t it the truth?”

  Ross glanced at his wristwatch. “We’d better get a move on. We’re running late already.”

  “Really?” Bart looked at his own watch. “Looks to me like you’re a few minutes early.”

  “We’ve got to cover for the sick guys, then do our regular route over in Tonopah.”

  “Long day.”

  “You said it.”

  “All right. Let me get the gate.”

  He stepped over to the guard shack and flipped a switch. The electric gate hummed open.

  “If you talk to the regular crew, tell ‘em Bart said to get well soon.”

  “Will do.”

  Ross waved to Don, but his brother already had the truck in gear. It rumbled into the paved lot, swung around and backed up to the loading dock. Ross hustled up the steps, and met Angie as the big man opened the rear doors of the armored car. The brown uniform stretched over Angie’s body like it was spray-painted on him.

  “We’re running late,” Ross said tightly.

  Angie nodded. He and Ross crossed the loading dock to the casino’s solid back door, which opened just as they reached it. Another armed guard, dressed in gray like Bart, held the door open for a steel cart being pushed by a young guy in a white shirt and a black bowtie. The cart bumped over the threshold onto the concrete dock. Five fat canvas money bags sat on top of it, and it was all Ross could do to keep from smiling.

  Angie grabbed two of the bags and hoisted them off the cart. The guard said, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  They froze.

  “What do you mean?” Ross said.

  The guard smiled at him. He was a rawboned guy with a long, crooked nose. He was missing an upper tooth on the left side, and the gap was visible when he grinned. His nametag said, “Vern.”

  “Your clipboard. I’m supposed to sign off?”

  “Oh, right,” Ross said. “I forgot.”

  Shit. The clipboard held a piece of paper with lines and words on it, but no way would it pass Vern’s inspection. It was something Eve had drawn up on her computer.

  Angie, sensing the problem, tossed the bags into the truck, then grabbed two more.

  Ross glanced toward the gate. He couldn’t see Bart anywhere. The truck screened the shack from view. He ran his finger down the clipboard page, like he was trying to find the right line. Vern stepped closer. The kid with the bowtie leaned against the loading-dock door to keep it open.

  As Angie grabbed the last money bag, Vern reached for the clipboard and said, “Here. Let me see.”

  Ross swung the wooden clipboard backhanded, splatting it against Vern’s face. The sound was like a loud handclap. Vern grunted and fell backward, his nose spurting blood.

  The kid yelled, “Hey!”

  Ross yelled, “Go, go!”

  Angie tucked the money bag under his arm like a football, and lunged into the back of the armored car.

  Ross pulled his pistol to draw down on the kid, but he was too late. The youngster dived back inside the casino, slamming the heavy door behind him. The bloodied guard sat on the concrete, one hand over his face as he tried to get his pistol out of its holster.

  Ross didn’t want to shoot the son of a bitch. He kicked him instead, right on the elbow, shoving Vern’s own hand into his bloodied face. The guard howled in pain.

  An alarm clanged to life as Ross jumped into the back of the armored car. He and Angie slammed the doors, both shouting “Go, go!”

  ***

  Don cranked the truck around, aiming for the gate, then hit the brakes.

  “Shit!”

  Another Universal Security armored truck pulled up to the gate, blocking it. The Starlite guard stepped out of his shack, mouth hanging open, his head swinging back and forth as he tried to process the two identical trucks and the ear-splitting alarm.

  The passenger door of the other truck flung open and a chunky guy in a brown uniform climbed out, his hand on his holstered gun.

  The guards yelled and waved their arms around, but Don couldn’t hear them over the clanging alarm and growling engine. The gray-uniformed guard pointed at Don. The Universal Security man pulled his pistol.

  “Aw, shit.”

  Don cranked the wheel to the left, and stomped the gas. The engine roared and the truck lurched through the fence. Chain link and barbed wire slithered up the hood and crashed against the thick windshield. Don flinched, but the bulletproof glass held against the impact.

  Gunshots cracked, and bullets sang off the truck’s body as Don steered past the other armored car. He cut the wheel to the left, trying to miss a dusty Subaru parked in a slot dead ahead, but the truck clipped the back end of the small car and sent it spinning. The truck bounced over a curb, snapped a leafless sapling off at the knees, then thudded back down onto the pavement.

  Don could hear yelling from the back of the truck. His brother and Angie were getting bounced around pretty badly back there. He’d hear about that later.

  He held tight to the wheel as he swung up onto the highway, feeling the heavy truck go up onto two wheels for a second, then crash back down onto all four as he got it straightened out. The guys in the back yelled.

  A local black-and-white was going the other direction, and just missed the armored car.

  Goddamn, that was bad luck.

  Don looked in his side mirrors, and saw the patrol car’s red-and-blue flashers come to life. A siren whooped. Traffic screeched to a halt at odd angles as the cop swung through a U-turn to chase after them.

  Chapter 21

  Nick scooted the rolling chair over to the glass wall, and watched as Tony casually crossed the casino floor. Nobody even looked at him. Son of a bitch.

  The cuffs cut into Nick’s wrists as he leaned to the window. He knew the thief was right about the handcuffs. They were the convincers. No one would suspect Nick was part of the robbery, not when he’d been left here like this. Still, it pissed him off that Tony had taken him by surprise. Nobody got the jump on Nick Papadopoulos.

  For a second there, when Tony pulled that gun, Nick’s instincts had kicked in and he’d nearly thrown himself to the floor behind the desk and gone for the little pistol in his ankle holster. He’d had to force himself to sit still. This was Tony’s play. If this was the way he wanted to—

  Nick froze as an alarm sounded. Gamblers looked up from their slot machines, their ears cocked at the unfamiliar noise. Then he heard a distant crackle. Gunfire, coming from behind the Starlite. Shit. That wasn’t the way this was supposed to go.

  Down below, Tony stiffened for a second at the sound of the shots. Then he kept walking to the lobby, as if the noise didn’t have anything to do with him.

  Nick had to admire the man’s cool. He bent lower so he could see through the lobby to the front doors. A dark van pulled to a stop just as Tony stepped outside. He climbed into the passenger side, smooth as you please. Nick couldn’t be sure, but he thought a woman was behind the wheel. The van drove away from the curb and out of sight.

  Nick straightened and gave a yank at the handcuffs. Nothing doing. He pushed with his feet, rolling the chair across the carpet toward his office door.

  Time for him to play his next role in this performance.

  “Help!” he bellowed. “Somebody help! We’re being robbed!”

  Chapter 22

  Ross and Angie and the money bags were tangled in a pile in the back of the armored truck.

  �
�Get off me,” Ross grunted as the big man tried to roll aside.

  They got separated, puffing and groaning up onto all fours. The truck’s engine roared, and one damaged wheel vibrated loudly on its axle. Over it all, Ross could hear the keening of a police siren.

  “Aw, hell.”

  He clambered to his feet and looked out the thick oblong windows set into the back doors. A cop car was closing on them. They needed to get rid of it before they reached Last Chance Gas.

  “Angie. Hand me that toolbox.”

  Angie shoved the red metal toolbox across the slick floor, nearly taking off Ross’ foot. Leaning against the wall of the rocking truck, Ross squatted and opened the toolbox. He lifted out a stubby rifle and jammed the barrel through a gunport in the back door. The police car was right behind them. An easy shot.

  Ross pulled the trigger, rapid-fire. Pop, pop, pop. Pop, pop.

  Paintballs exploded across the car’s windshield in bright splatters of canary yellow and bubble-gum pink. The blinded cop stood on his brakes. The car fishtailed as he tried to keep it under control.

  “Hah!” Ross shouted. “Eat that!”

  ***

  In his mirrors, Don saw the paint-spattered police car run off the road, and he said, “All right!”

  He had the accelerator pedal to the floor, and the heavy truck soared over a rise, felt like it might take off into the air, go right into fucking orbit. Bodies crashed around in the cabin behind him. Don laughed like a crazy man.

  ***

  “Son of a bitch.” Angie felt as if he’d been shaken inside a metal box. “I’m gonna have bruises all over.”

  “Stop complaining and go,” Ross said.

  Angie threw open the back doors and leaped to the ground. Took just a second to look in both directions. The highway was empty as far as he could see. Then he hustled around to the front of the truck.

  They’d nailed the graffiti-spattered plywood to a framework of two-by-fours with casters hidden underneath. Angie leaned his weight into the side of the frame, pushing against the makeshift door, and it rolled it out of the way.

  The armored truck rolled inside. Through the windshield, Angie could see Don grinning. Little prick.

  Grunting, Angie pulled the plywood back into place, shutting out most of the sunlight. Don killed the engine.

  Seconds later, sirens screamed past outside. Angie stood still, listening. The cops kept going.

  Chapter 23

  Eve pulled the van onto the shoulder of the highway as three flashing patrol cars shrieked up behind them.

  “They’re not looking for us,” she said as the cops blew past. “Not yet anyway.”

  Tony sat taller in his seat, looking behind them. More sirens wailed in the distance.

  “Let’s hope none of these cops decide to check out that gas station,” he said.

  “They won’t. You guys made it look just the same as it did before.”

  He sighed. “I thought we’d have more of a head start. Bad luck that the other armored truck showed up right on time.”

  “I just hope nobody got hurt,” she said.

  “Didn’t look like it. When we pulled away from the Starlite, I saw guards running around back there, but I didn’t see anybody down. That chain-link fence was a goner, though.”

  Eve checked her mirrors and steered the van back onto the highway, headed south.

  “Take your time,” Tony said. “Let those cops get out of sight.”

  They passed a patrol car that was pulled off onto the shoulder. Its windshield was covered with bright paint. A red-faced cop was mopping at the wet paint with a rag, managing only to smear it around. Eve and Tony made a point of not looking at him.

  They topped the rise before Last Chance Gas. Both breathed easier when they saw that the place hadn’t drawn the attention of the police.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “Go ahead and stop?”

  Tony checked his wristwatch.

  “The guys should be ready. Let’s get ‘em out of there before the cops get back.”

  “Okay. Here goes.”

  Her heart pounding, Eve wheeled the van off the highway and bumped over the fractured concrete surrounding Last Chance Gas. She drove around back and parked very close to the rear of the building. Even if cops passed on the highway, they might not notice the van back here.

  Eve tooted the horn.

  A back door covered in peeling plywood flung open, and Angie’s round head poked out. One step outside, and he was within reach of the van’s side door. He slid it open and turned back just as a canvas money bag came flying out of the gas station. Angie caught the bag and tossed it into the van. Another bag came out right away, and he repeated the movement. Catch, turn, put it in the van. Repeat.

  The last bag arrived a little too soon, and Angie caught it with his stomach.

  “Oof! Damn it, Don!”

  Laughter from the station’s dark interior.

  The van rocked as Angie climbed inside, grumbling. He still wore the gunbelt and the brown uniform pants, but he’d lost the shirt and hat and wore a tent-like white T-shirt instead.

  Don climbed into the van, grinning, careful to stay out of Angie’s reach. He was dressed the same as Angie, except his T-shirt was black and had “Harley-Davidson” scrolled across the front.

  Soon as Ross got into the van and slammed the door, Eve hit the gas. The van swung around the station and bumped up onto the highway, racing back toward town.

  Tony turned in his seat, looking back at the crew, and said, “Everybody okay?”

  “We’re great,” Ross said. “Did you see that cop I paintballed?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Tony said. “He’s still up here on the side of the road. But what about your firebomb?”

  Ross looked at his watch. “Should go off right about . . . now.”

  All the guys looked out the back windows. Eve watched her mirrors.

  “There we go,” Ross said as fire erupted from the gas station’s roof. The dried-out plywood covering the doors quickly ignited, and fire gobbled up the graffiti. Black smoke twisted into the air.

  “Good luck hunting fingerprints there,” Ross said.

  Fowler came into view up ahead, the casino towers staring down their noses at the rest of the town.

  Eve slowed as they crossed back into the city limits, the van half on the shoulder as fire trucks screamed past, speeding south toward the column of smoke that had once been Last Chance Gas.

  Chapter 24

  After a uniformed cop unlocked the handcuffs, Nick went downstairs, playing the concerned boss, comforting the cashiers and checking on the dozen or so customers who hadn’t split when the alarms went off. Everybody was shook up, but no one seemed injured. For that, he should be glad. Last thing he needed was a customer having a heart attack and suing him for—

  “Mr. Papadopoulos?”

  Nick turned to find a young cop whose shaved head and thick neck reminded him of a roll-on deodorant. At least he pronounced Nick’s name right, which was unusual.

  “Yeah?”

  “I just talked to the chief on the radio. We’ve got detectives on their way here. They’ll want to question everybody, starting with you.”

  “Of course,” Nick said. “That’s fine. Can I offer these people free drinks for their trouble?”

  The gamblers within earshot broke into grins.

  “Better make ‘em non-alcoholic,” the cop said.

  The grins vanished.

  Nick crooked a finger at one of the mini-skirted waitresses. Her nametag said “Missy.”

  “Are you okay, Missy? Can you round up some soft drinks?”

  Missy looked a little pale, but she nodded and hurried toward the bar. One of the other waitresses followed to help.

  “Okay, folks,” Nick shouted. “We’ll try to make you comfortable while the police do their investigating and—”

  One of the slot machines bleeped and blooped as someone dropped a quarter.

  Nick
smiled. Fucking gamblers. Not going to let a little shootout interrupt their good time.

  He turned back to the young cop. “What happened out back? I heard shots. Is everybody okay?”

  “Nobody was seriously injured. One of the guards got a bloody nose. But the robbers got away—”

  Nick turned away and jogged to the cashiers’ cages. He went through the counting area to the loading dock.

  Guards and cops milled around out there in the heat. One of the guards held a blood-spotted white towel to his nose.

  A skinny kid named Bennie, who worked in the counting room, sat on a folding chair near the back door, his head in his hands. He looked up as Nick came outside. When he saw the boss, he straightened and tugged at his bowtie.

  “I’m real sorry, Mr. P. They got everything. Everything.”

  “It’s okay, Bennie. You shouldn’t—”

  “Sir?”

  Nick turned around. Officer Roll-on was behind him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Um, I really need you to stay inside until the detectives get here.”

  “Right, okay.” Nick gave Bennie a pat on the shoulder, then went back indoors, saying to the cop, “I’ll wait in my office.”

  Nick took the stairs two at a time, puffing and blowing, and hurried down the corridor to Cindy Duquesne’s office. He made sure no one saw him duck inside.

  Cindy sat behind her desk, her eyes wide behind her horn-rimmed glasses. She must’ve been running her hands through her short hair because it stood straight up.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  She swallowed, then silently nodded, as if she didn’t trust her voice.

  “The cops will want to talk to you,” he said. “You’ve got everything ready?”

  More nods.

  “Come on, goddammit,” he snarled. “Snap out of it. It’s showtime.”

  “Okay,” she managed. “I’m okay. I just need a minute to—”