The Amateurs

by Marcus Sakey

  “I’m not trying to manipulate—”

  “Don’t.” She set the mug down, brushed her hair back behind her ears. “Don’t.”

  “All right.” He ran his tongue around the inside of his lip, making the skin bulge. “I need you.”

  “We’re not doing this.” She straightened.

  “No,” he said. “Not like that. I mean I need you to pull it off. If I try it alone, Johnny’s going to figure it was someone who works for him. But if all four of us do it . . .”

  “Why four?”

  “One keeping watch, two to do the robbery, and me on duty, looking perfectly aboveboard. But you’re the key. I know Ian is up for it. I think he’s got some sort of money trouble. That shiner, things he’s said. But Mitch.”

  “You think he’ll do it if I do.”

  “I know he will.”

  “Even if you’re right, and I don’t know that you are, and even if I’d be willing to exploit that, which I’m not, why should I?”

  “Because it’s an adventure. Because you don’t want to turn into your mother. Because you’re too hungry for life to pass up something this easy. Because you could help me keep my little girl. Because Johnny Love is a drug-dealing asshole. But that’s all secondary. You want to know the two best reasons?”

  “Sure.”

  “I figured out the perfect way. A way that no one, no one, will ever guess it was us.”

  “What’s the other reason?”

  “Because you want to.” He smiled at her, and she felt something in her stomach roll as she realized he wasn’t wrong.

  CHAPTER 7

  SOMETHING WAS UP.

  Mitch couldn’t put his finger on it. On the surface, everything seemed OK. Ian deciding to host an impromptu dinner had been a surprise, but not a startling one. His building was a trip; thirty stories of gray brick and wrought-iron perched at the bend in the river and surrounded by skyscrapers. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city gleamed close and bright, the skeletal frame of the unfinished Trump Tower near enough to chuck a beer bottle at.

  When Mitch had arrived, it was Jenn who opened the door, looking dynamite, pale arms glowing through the gauzy black sleeves of her shirt thing. He’d held up a bottle of red the guy at the liquor store had said was decent, then given her a hug, trying not to linger over the smell of her hair.

  “Just in time,” she’d said. “Ian’s about to kebab Alex.”

  As if in response, a jovial yell echoed down the hall. “Mitch, thank God. Would the two of you get this asshole out of my kitchen?”

  Alex wandered out, smiled, shook his hand. “I swear, he’s an old woman. Just needs an apron.”

  They poured the wine and moved to the living room, chatting in front of the windows. That was when the feeling first hit. It reminded him of the way his parents had acted in the months before they told Mitch they were getting divorced. A sort of forced cheer. Alex talked more than usual, laughed a little too hard at a joke Mitch had heard at work. Jenn nursed her wine and stared out the window. He was just about to ask what was going on when Ian announced that dinner was ready.

  He may have been touchy about his kitchen, but the dude could cook. They started with a warm spinach salad with some sort of cured meat fried crispy, followed by a risotto with gorgonzola and then blackened swordfish. But Mitch noticed that while everyone else attacked the food, Ian mostly pushed his around the plate, restless to the verge of twitching. How much coke was the guy doing? Mitch had tried it once, years ago, liked it OK, but he couldn’t imagine being wired to want the feeling all the time, like drinking ten espressos while socking yourself in the mouth.

  Still, the food was great and the wine was flowing, a second bottle empty by the time they finished. Alex pushed his plate back, slapped his stomach. “Damn. I guess all that stainless steel in your kitchen makes a difference.”

  “It’s not the hardware. I’m just that good.”

  “Modest, too.”

  “How’s your eye?” Jenn asked.

  “I’m starting to like it.” The swelling hadn’t lessened, and now shades of yellow and sickly green crept around the purple rim of the bruise. “Makes me look tough, don’t you think?”

  She snorted. “Boys.”

  They fell silent, one of those moments. Alex opened a new bottle and refilled their glasses, holding by the bottom and twisting professionally when he was done.

  “I’ve got one,” Ian said.

  “One what?”

  “Ready-Go question. What would you do with fifty grand?”

  “Foul. We did that the other night.”

  “That was five hundred. This is different. Go.”

  Alex spoke slowly and deliberately. “I’d make up the child support I owe so my ex-wife couldn’t take my daughter from me.”

  “Your—what?” Mitch glanced back and forth. “Your ex is trying to take Cassie?”

  “Yeah. To Arizona.”

  “Can she do that?”

  “Sure,” Ian said. “She’s the mother, providing a home, and with missed child support payments . . .”

  “What about you?” Alex’s voice was hard. “What would you do?”

  Ian gave one of his cryptic smiles. “Oh, just pay some bills.”

  “I bet. The late fees look like a bitch.” Alex tapped his forefinger below his eye.

  “I told you, I tripped. Jenn?”

  “I’d start by quitting my job. Take some time to figure out what I want to do with my life.”

  “What’s wrong with your life?” Mitch felt like he was on a cell phone with bad reception, his questions coming a second too late, the rhythm all wrong. There were undercurrents of meaning that he didn’t understand, agendas he wasn’t privy to.

  “How about you, Mitch? What would you do?”

  “What is this? What are you talking about?”

  Ian cracked his knuckles one at a time. Alex kept his eyes steady, a challenge.

  Fifty thousand. Did that mean something? Why would they be talking about—

  “Are you kidding me?” His voice came out higher than he meant. “Fifty thousand. You saw a couple hundred in the safe. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? That split four ways. You’re talking about robbing the bar.”

  Alex shook his head. “Not the bar. Johnny.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “You know the difference.”

  “You’re joking, right?” He looked from one to the other.

  “No,” Jenn said. “No, we’re not.”

  “I figured out a way to do it,” Alex said. “It’s safe.”

  Mitch had a gentle buzz softening the edges of things, making him a little slower than he’d like. “You’ve been planning this? The three of you?”

  “We weren’t keeping it from you. I just talked to Jenn last night. Ian this morning.”

  “If you talked to her last night and him this morning, how exactly is that not keeping it from me?”

  Alex leaned forward. “Listen, before you react, will you hear me out?”

  Mitch stared, flushing from the wine and the old junior-high feeling of being an outsider, of everybody looking and pointing. He leaned back, set his napkin on the plate. Finally, he nodded.

  “It was really your idea.”

  “My idea?”

  “You got me thinking the right way. I talked about quitting and taking the money, and you said it would be better to do it while I was working, so it wasn’t obvious.”

  “I was kidding.”

  “Still, you were right. But just being there isn’t enough. There has to be absolutely no way it can come back on us. If I’m at the bar, I’m a suspect like everybody else.”

  Mitch rocked his chair back. Finally said, “OK. Against my better judgment.”

  “We don’t do it any old night I’m working. We do it Tuesday. The night Johnny is doing his deal. The night I’m working as his bodyguard,” Alex said. “In other words, don’t just rob Johnny Love. Rob him while I’m
protecting him. And rob me, too.”

  “I get it. If we tie you up right next to him—”

  “Maybe even hit you,” Ian interjected.

  “Then it looks like outside people, thieves, heard about the deal.”

  “You’re warm.”

  Mitch paused, then got it. “Better. It looks to Johnny like the guys he was dealing with decided to rip him off. And the same in reverse.”

  “Those books you read are paying off,” Alex said. “Exactly. The timing is tight, but it’s worth it.”

  “Except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re not criminals.”

  The big man’s smile widened a notch. “Exactly.”

  “Huh?”

  Ian said, “That’s just it. We’re not criminals. We’re normal people. No one, not the cops, not Johnny, no one would look at us. It’s like if four people robbed a liquor store down the street. Would you start by checking to see if a trader, a travel agent, a doorman, and a bartender were involved?”

  “And you know the best thing?” Alex leaned back. “You’ll like this part. Two days later we show up calm as anything, like normal. Just four folks who meet on Thursdays.”

  Despite himself, Mitch laughed. “Only the drinks are on Johnny.”

  “For a long time.”

  They fell silent. An almost physical tension hung over the table. From the speakers, a voice serenaded that nothing mattered when they were dancing, whether in Paris or in Lansing. Lights flickered on in a room in the opposite building. “How would we—how do we—”

  “Simple. You and Ian come in the back. I’ll make sure it’s unlocked. The kitchen staff leaves it that way all the time anyway. You wear masks, come in hard and fast, guns out—”

  “Guns?”

  “And cow us both. Ian, you’re right—it would look better if you hit me. I’ll make a move to stop you, one of you club me. Tie us up, take the money, head out the back. Jenn will be waiting in the car. Poof.”

  “And you?”

  “Eventually someone will come and untie us. Johnny will be pissed, but he won’t call the cops. He won’t want them digging around. And since there’s nothing to connect us, it doesn’t really matter how he goes about getting his revenge.”

  “And life just goes on.”

  “Easy as breathing.” Alex sipped his wine. “See any flaws?”

  “Not offhand.”

  “Me either.” Alex said. “It’s not the kind of thing any of us would normally do, but that’s part of what’s so brilliant about it.”

  “And you’re serious.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what, you want me to say right now, sure, let’s rob your boss?”

  “I know it’s scary. But the meeting is the day after tomorrow, and we go then or not at all. And I can’t do it alone. So, yeah, right now, all of us. In or out.” Alex paused, then said, “Ian?”

  “In.”

  “Jenn?”

  She smiled slightly, the skin around her eyes crinkling. “Me too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “He who risks nothing has nothing, right?”

  “How about it, Mitch?” Alex spoke gently. “Want to screw Johnny Love?”

  He looked around the table, at Ian’s fingers piano-tapping on the table, Jenn with the corner of her lip drawn in, Alex waiting. Then he said, quietly, “No.”

  Alex seemed surprised. Smug fucker. No wonder there had been a weirdness to the air all night. They’d all been waiting to run through the formality of roping in good old Mitch. “No,” he said again. “This is stupid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . because, man. What do you mean, why? This isn’t one of our games.”

  “Treat it like one.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not doing it, and I’m not going to sit here and let you try and convince me.” He said the words without thinking, and they fell heavy. There was a moment of silence, and then really only one thing to do. He stood slowly, pushing his chair back as the others watched. The music kept playing, the carefree notes weirdly incongruous to the situation.

  Alex said, “OK. I understand.”

  “Good.”

  “Can you do us one favor?”

  “What?”

  “Just keep quiet about it, OK?”

  “You’re doing it anyway?”

  The three of them looked at one another, and one by one, nodded. That feeling of being an outsider bit deeper. All along he’d thought they were a team. Now the others were going ahead without him. The thought was almost enough to make him sit back down, but his pride burned. “Fine.”

  Alex looked at Jenn. “We’re going to need you inside.”

  She nodded. “What about the car?”

  “We’ll leave it out back, doors unlocked, keys in. Whoever gets in first drives. It’s riskier, and we won’t have a lookout, but that’s the way it is.”

  Mitch stared, unbelieving. They were so calm, so matter-of-fact. The plan sounded good, but what plan didn’t? To actually do it, go in waving guns? Not only that, but for Jenn to be right in the thick of it . . .

  They’re playing you, said a voice in his head. Alex is, at least. He’s counting on your feelings for her.

  So what? asked another voice. She’ll still be there.

  He opened his mouth, realized he had nothing to say. Just stood, palms sweating, watching his friends walk away from him.

  “We’ll need masks,” Jenn said. “And gloves.”

  “Yeah.” Alex paused, looked up at him. “Look, Mitch, don’t take it the wrong way, but maybe it would be better if you didn’t hear this.”

  It was all messed up. Somehow the whole world had turned upside down.

  And suppose they pulled it off? Would the four of them ever go back to being what they had been? He’d have drawn a line, stepped away. He could see it, a slow-motion tease of the future. For a while they would still get together on Thursday nights. But the brunches, the dinners, the hanging out, one occasion at a time they would “forget” to invite him. He’d never be able to get with Jenn, tell her how he felt, not after this. Once again Alex would look like the hero, tall and muscular and decisive.

  He thought back to that pudgy asshole laughing at him. Holding up his ring, talking about how much his shirt cost. One more person certain he could put Mitch in his place.

  “It’s OK.” Jenn gave him a shallow smile. “Really.”

  He stared at her. Had a weird feeling he’d only gotten once or twice in his life, the sense that he was facing a clear fork in the road. Go left, go right, either way, never stand here again. Either enroll in community college or else take the job his uncle had lined up for him as a doorman; good money in tips, just something to do for a little while. Watch ten years pass in a blink.

  “We’ll need clothes,” he said. “Not our own. We should get them at a thrift store, so they’re used. And shoes too.”

  “Mitch?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

  “Different sizes than we wear. Double up socks, or jam our feet into them. Also used. That way they’ll have different wear patterns.”

  “Wear patterns?”

  “The marks on the bottom. If we leave footprints, they won’t match our shoes either in size or marking.”

  Jenn was staring at him, something happening to her smile. Depth and warmth filling in what had been a façade. Depth and warmth and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of admiration.

  He pulled out his chair and sat back down.

  “You sure about this?” Alex spoke quietly. “If you’re in, you’re in. No backing out.”

  “Fuck you.” Saying it, he felt cool, strong. He stared the bigger man down. Alex leaned back, raised his hands.

  “OK,” Ian said. “What else?” He had the same sparkle in his eyes as when he’d talked about playing blackjack, splitting nines all night.

  “A lot of little details,” Alex said. “And one big one. We need guns.”
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br />   “No other way?” Jenn asked. “What about knives?”

  “No. The point is to scare him silly and act fast. He’s not going to be scared of a couple of guys with steak knives. Not for the kind of money we’re talking.” He paused. “What about those replicas that shoot pellets? They look real. There’s even a law they need to have a big orange tip because cops were shooting kids. We could buy a couple, paint the front part . . .” Alex trailed off.

  “What about a gun fair? They still have those in the South, don’t they?” Jenn looked around. “We could take a road trip.”

  The discussion was so ludicrous that Mitch almost laughed. All that tough talk, all for nothing. Some criminals they were. Now that they came to the hard facts, it was obvious that they couldn’t handle it. He relaxed, knowing the whole thing was about to be scrapped.

  Then Ian spoke quietly.

  “I can take care of the guns.”

  CHAPTER 8

  YEAH BABY YEAH. It was on.

  Ian had that magic tingle, the edge-of-life feeling, when for a second he could almost see past the world and into the machinery that ran it: the man behind the curtain, the gears that powered the watch, the silicone that made the model. Perfect how things had worked out. Just when life was getting a little too serious, wham, out of nowhere, this impossible opportunity. With a simple night’s work, he’d be even. More than.

  “Here is fine,” he said to the cabbie and passed a twenty forward.

  “Here” was a Milwaukee Avenue corner too far south to be fashionable, a bleak stretch of shops with Spanish signs in the window offering financing no matter the credit. Tucked between a Popeye’s Chicken and a payday loan place was a depressingly well lit bar. Half a dozen patrons sat in silence, ogling the back wall, where six-packs and fifths were available for purchase at liquor store prices. None of them even turned when Ian stepped in.

  He glanced at the bartender, nodded, then walked through the back door and into a narrow vestibule. A security camera pointed from the corner, and he gave a two-fingered salute. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a buzz sounded from the steel-reinforced door in front of him, and he opened it and stepped through.

  The room on the other side was done up with a simple elegance designed to seem luxurious and yet not so comfortable it invited lingering. No seating, a humidor but no ashtray, a side bar with glasses but no ice.