Fox picked up his briefcase in one hand and pocketed his portable phone with the other. It was a small gray model that folded together to conveniently fit into a coat pocket. He moved to the door of his office and opened it before he answered her.
“No, but if you’re free tonight I’ll take you to dinner,” Fox said in a heavy whisper as he moved through the doorway. Tina blushed slightly. She was an attractive strawberry blonde in her late twenties. When she’d been hired, Mr. Leopold had told her that it was strictly against the rules to date any of the partners. But that hadn’t stopped Fox from hitting on her.
“Uhhm, why don’t you call me later?” she said coyly. He could tell she was giving him her most promising smile.
“I just may do that,” Fox said as he moved through the reception room and toward the foyer. If I can’t get a hold of anyone better, he thought.
Fox let the heavy frosted glass door slide closed behind him and walked jauntily down the marble hall toward the elevators. This flood hadn’t turned out to be such an inconvenience after all. He’d been able to stretch out the Osmand deal with the Feds, because they couldn’t finalize anything until they had things running at the Dirksen Building. That way, at least, he could soak the Mink for a few more days of legal representation. The Gee would probably end up picking up the tab, once the old fart turned Government Witness. They’d have to, because they’d have to hide him, that was for sure. And the beauty of it was that the bad boys couldn’t do squat to him, because they knew that anything Osmand had told him was protected by lawyer-client confidentiality. He might even end up getting to represent the big man himself. But that might not be such a good idea, either. These gangster types scared him a little. He reached out and pressed the down button.
As he waited for the elevator another man came out of the washroom at the end of the hall. The door was always kept locked for security reasons. The man let the solid wooden door swing shut behind him and moved toward the elevators.
Must have his own key, thought Fox. The man, who was an innocuous-looking, overweight guy in his fifties, sauntered up beside him and pressed the down button again. The guy smiled at Fox, then turned his attention to his newspaper. The metal doors slid open and both men got in. Fox pressed the button for the lobby, the other man glanced at this approvingly, and returned to his paper. Fox felt the drop of the elevator and debated whether or not to give Tina the treat of going to dinner before he screwed her. When the elevator opened Fox got out and went straight through the revolving doors and onto the street. It was cool for April, but at least it hadn’t rained. He strolled toward the parking garage, noticing that the man who had descended with him in the elevator was now pressing the digits of a cellular phone as he trailed along in the same direction as Fox.
Fox frowned as he walked by the booth in which the attendant sat, slumped over a Penthouse magazine. Probably his big thrill for the day, Fox thought. A fat lot of good he’s going do to keep out the riffraff who want to break into cars. Fox was glad that he had an alarm on his Jaguar, but would an asshole like that even take the time to call the police if he did hear anything? Not that they’d break their asses getting there anyway, with all the other stuff going on in this city. It was getting to be just like a war zone.
He got to his silver XJ-6 and, taking out his keys, pressed the alarm deactivation button. He was just getting in between the cars when a black van pulled down the aisle and stopped in back of his car. Fox could see that the driver was a huge black guy with an enormous Afro. The passenger door opened and a white guy with prematurely gray hair got out.
“Excuse me,” the white guy said, “but are y’all leaving?”
“Yeah,” Fox said, setting his briefcase onto the passenger seat. “Be out in a second.”
“Looks like you got a scratch here,” the guy said, pointing to the left rear fender. His voice had a Southern twang to it. “Maybe we shouldn’t park here after all. Might not be safe.”
“What?” Fox said, his brow furrowing angrily. If there was a scratch he was going to have that fat asshole of a parking attendant’s job. He went back to look. “Where?” he asked bending over. “I don’t see anything.”
“Do you see this?” the man asked. Fox heard a snapping electric sound and felt something sting him in the ass. His whole body jerked and went limp. It wasn’t that he was unconscious, just limp. Like when his foot fell asleep and he couldn’t move it. Kind of tingling. But this was his whole body. Fox tried to speak, but it came out garbled. He saw something in the man’s hand move toward him again. He was holding something black. It zapped and a bluish crackle appeared between two electrodes. Then Fox felt himself being lifted and carried toward the van. The side door opened and the black guy tossed him onto the floor of the van like a sack of potatoes. Another figure got out of the van, stepping over him gingerly, and Fox heard the door slam shut. The floor was hard metal and had no carpeting.
All at once the white guy who’d zapped him was lifting a tarp and Fox was enveloped in darkness. Dust seeped into his mouth and nose, but he was still too disoriented to even cough or sneeze. He felt the van moving and tried to scream, but only a gurgling sound came out. The van stopped and Fox heard muffled voices, then the vehicle started moving again. Slowly he flexed his fingers, then his arms. They felt prickly, but he could move. Just then the tarp was pulled off his upper body and he looked up at the man sitting on the fender well. He wasn’t holding a stun gun now. He was holding a large caliber snub-nosed revolver. The guy was wearing a brown suit and his whitish hair was slicked back away from his face. He spoke in the same slow, Southern drawl.
“The sensation should be returning to your arms and legs now, so I just wanted you to be forewarned not to try anything. . . dumb.” He paused before the last word, as if to emphasize it. “Or instead of another six-thousand volts, you’ll get a little taste of this.” He brandished the chrome-colored weapon briefly, then pointed it back at Fox. In his other hand the guy held a cellular phone, into which he punched a number. The man smiled beatifically as he placed the phone to his ear. “Yeah, mission accomplished on this end, Bobby,” he said. “I assume you got the car out with no problem?” Then nodding, he said, “Very good. Proceed to the rendezvous point.” When he terminated the call he smiled down at Fox.
“Mighty nice automobile, those Jaguars,” he said. “I myself prefer to buy American, however.”
“Is that what this whole thing’s about?” Fox managed to say. “This is one of those car-jackings? Christ, you can have it, just let me go.”
The man’s mouth twisted up at the ends into what passed for a lips-only smile, and he said, “A car-jacking? You know, I’ve heard about those, too. But this. . .” he paused again, “is not really a car-jacking, per se. It’s more of a lawyer-jacking, wouldn’t ya’ all say so. Gumbo?”
Fox heard some heavy chuckling from the front of the van and swiveled his head. It was the big black son-of-a-bitch he’d seen before, only now his head was practically shaved, and a huge Afro wig lay on the floor next to the driver’s seat.
Oh, my God, Fox thought. Oh, my God.
Tuesday, April 14, 1992
11:36 P.M.
“What if it’s the same cop as last night?” Rick asked, staring ahead at the empty streets. The checkpoint was only about three blocks away now.
“Last night we went to the one at Randolph and Canal,” Linc said. “This one’s at Canal and Jackson. That’s five blocks.”
“Yeah, but suppose the guy switched checkpoints or something,” Rick said nervously. “Suppose somehow he sees us.”
Linc bit his lower lip, then forced a smile.
“You know what the chances are for that?” he said. “Slim and none, and slim left town.”
Rick was silent for a moment.
“You know this is crazy, don’t you?” he said. “We can still call it off at this point. I mean, the stuff we’ve done up till now, it’s all just bullshit. But if we go up there and get caught. . .”
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Linc was disturbed to see Rick this shaken. What the fuck was wrong with him, anyway? But he did have some doubts of his own, too. When they’d planned everything, it had seemed almost like a game. Just for fun. But he knew how fast things could get real.
“If we can’t get through, we can’t get through,” Linc said, kind of hoping that maybe they wouldn’t be allowed in again, and he’d at least have an excuse to tell Diane why they couldn’t get it done. “Then we just turn our asses around and head for home.”
They could see the flashing lights of the checkpoint ahead of them now. Out of the corner of his eye Linc caught the purple and black glow of a Dunkin’ Donuts sign and braked suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” Rick asked.
“Got me an idea,” Linc said, turning toward him with a grin. “You know what they say about cops and donuts.”
The pickup slowed to a stop as the cop flashed his Kel-light at them. He was a middle-aged white guy, sort of thick around the middle. Behind him the lights of his blue-and-white oscillated slowly. The squad car had been parked diagonally in the middle of the intersection, effectively challenging all northbound and eastbound traffic trying to enter the Loop area. As the cop walked over to the truck Linc saw him shivering from the chill in the spring air. Rolling down the window, Linc gave him his most ingratiating smile.
“Sure is a piss poor night to be out workin’, ain’t it?” he said.
The cop nodded.
“Com Ed,” Linc said, ducking his head to show the yellow hard hat that they’d taken from the Commonwealth Edison truck that they’d broken into earlier. At the same time Rick pointed to the emblem on the bright yellow coveralls they’d also taken from the truck. “We got sent on a coffee run,” Linc said. “In fact,” he reached into the Dunkin’ Donuts bag on the seat between him and Rick, “How you like yours, officer?”
The cop looked at him for a moment, then shined the flashlight onto the side of the door where they’d taped the black-C-overlapping-the-red-E emblem that they’d razor-bladed off the real Com Ed truck.
“Cream and sugar,” he said.
“You’s in luck,” Linc said, grinning broadly. He held up a hot paper cup, with an apple-cinnamon donut on top, the steam curling up from the hole. The cop reached over and took it, muttering a thank-you.
“Don’t mention it,” Linc said. “Compliments of Commonwealth Edison, working for you.” He pointed his index finger at the officer, who, taking a bite out of the donut, waved them through. Linc glanced in the side-view mirror as they drove forward, then looked over to Rick. The grin on his face was as expansive as Linc’s own.
“See, what’d I tell you,” Linc said. He patted the side door of the truck. “If the rest of this thing goes as smooth as that, we’ll be done before that dumb motherfucker’s coffee gets cold.”
CHAPTER 6
Tuesday, April 14, 1992
11:55 P.M.
Once they got past the checkpoint they were amazed at how deserted the city streets were. No traffic, but lots and lots of cops. Squad cars prowling around, flashing lights at everything that moved. One spotlight beam shot out and swept over the truck, but vanished as soon as it hit the Com Ed emblem.
“Pretty smart idea I had, huh?” Linc said with a grin. He glanced over at Rick to see how his partner was holding up. Rick’s face looked taut in the semi-darkness, his lips drawn into a tight line. He’d had the same look just before the balloon went up and the ground war started in Kuwait. But that had turned out to be a piece of cake. A fucking turkey shoot. Virtually no resistance. Hopefully, this would go just as smoothly. As they approached the intersection of Dearborn and Adams there was another checkpoint. Beyond it the huge buildings reposed in an eerie twilight, back-lit by the lights along Michigan and farther down in the North Loop area. The cop from this checkpoint got halfway out of the car, shined his flashlight over them, then got back in his squad car, motioning them through the intersection with a quick wave.
“Good thing,” said Rick. “We’re out of coffee.”
Linc smiled. It was good to hear him joke. He shot another glance Rick’s way, making sure his friend wasn’t taking sick again. His face was glistening with sweat, but, hell, so was Linc’s. No, Rick looked all right. Those antibiotics that they’d given him must have done the trick. Linc cut down to Washington and passed through another police checkpoint without incident, this cop not even making an attempt at getting out of his car. They must have been depending on the outer perimeter to screen most of the incoming vehicles. Sloppy, but understandable. After all, it was the second day of this and they were probably dead-tired. Or maybe they were running the license plates of all the cars coming in, which was also cool, since they’d removed the truck’s regular plates, belonging to Uncle Henry, and put on the plates they’d taken off the Commonwealth Edison truck they’d raided. Uncle Henry’s truck was an off-white color, and, with the stolen emblems, looked just like the real thing.
Linc drove toward the lights of Michigan Avenue, directly to the east of them. All along the curbs oversized hoses sprayed steady streams of water into the gutters. The night hummed with the percussive dissonance of the sputtering portable generators and pumping machines. Linc cut into the wide mouth of the alley that ran behind the row of buildings. As the truck splashed through a large puddle of standing water, he cut off the lights and coasted up to the building adjacent to the bank. The maze of heavy metal dumpsters and garbage cans formed various caverns. Linc pulled the truck up so it was under the fire escape that crept up the back of the structure like a metal vine. He shut the engine off and put some pilfered papers along the dashboard to cover the VIN, just in case some enterprising cop managed enough gumption to get out of his squad car and run a check on it.
“You think I should leave the flashers on?” he asked Rick.
“Let’s wait. I’ll turn ‘em on when I get back down. No sense drawing attention to ourselves right off the bat.”
Linc nodded in agreement. Why not play it that way: cautious on the way up, then nice and ballsy. If they immersed themselves in the role, they’d seem less suspicious if they were stopped. They put the yellow hard hats on the seat and slipped on the black stocking caps that could be rolled down to completely cover their faces, except for their eyes. Rick opened the door on his side and got partially out of the truck. He shone his flashlight up at the dangling black stairway of the fire escape. It was suspended by heavy metal springs at least twenty feet off the ground. Another latch, which was held in place by a pin, added further support. Rick got back in the cab and licked his lips. Linc looked over at him expectantly.
“Like I said before, it still ain’t too late to call this whole crazy fucking thing off,” Rick said.
“You bailing on me?” Linc asked.
Rick’s gaze fell momentarily, then he looked back at Linc.
“Just wondering if it’s right, that’s all.”
“Right?” Linc said emphatically. “Is it right that they recruited us, trained us, sent us off to the wars, then, once all the shit’s done with, told us they don’t need us no more?”
Rick said nothing. Linc went on.
“Look, man, the beauty of it is, we ain’t really rippin’ nobody off here.”
“No?” Rick smirked.
“No. We just collectin’ on a debt that’s owed us. The money’s dirty. Drug money. Mob money. Belongs to us just as much as anybody else. And if we don’t take it, the government will, if they find it.” Linc looked up and down the alley. “If not them, then some Mafioso will end up with it. We put ourselves on the line so many times, and look how they treated us. It’s time we done something for ourselves. For you and me, bro. Use all that training to set us up for life.”
Rick was silent for a moment more, staring down at the ground. Then he looked upward.
“You’ll have to boost me up,” he said. “It looks pretty high.”
Linc grinned.
They rolled the windows of the truck down and u
sed the door frames to step onto the roof of the truck. The metal popped and groaned, denting under their combined weight. Linc did a semi-squat and bent over.
“We gonna owe Uncle Henry a new roof,” he muttered.
“We get outta this one we’ll buy him a new truck,” Rick said, climbing onto Linc’s back. He looped his legs over Linc’s shoulders, and Linc straightened up, cautious not so much because of the added weight, but to maintain his balance. Rick again shone his flashlight up toward the metal arm. It was still about three feet above him.
“Gonna need something to reach it,” he said.
Linc slowly squatted again, allowing Rick to slip off him. Rick jumped down into the open bed of the truck and fished around for the rope and grappling hook. Once he had them, he joined Linc on the cab’s roof again and straightened out the line. When it was untangled, he took the grappling hook in his right hand and, after a furtive glance around, gave it an underhand toss. It hit the metal rods with a clank and bounced down toward the truck. The sound echoed in the darkness of the alley. They both crouched instinctively and surveyed the area. Nothing moved. Rick re-coiled the line.
“Want me to throw it?” Linc asked.
“Huh-un,” Rick said. “The first one never counts, anyway, remember?”
Linc smiled. That had been what Rick had said to him while they both sat shivering under the blankets at the port that night in Israel. Right after Rick had saved his life, then gone back to pull another two GIs out of the cold, dark water as the capsized ferry began to go down. Linc had asked him why he’d taken the chance to go back again and again with all the confusion and danger in the water. “I had to,” the shivering white boy had told him with a grin. “The first one never counts.”
Rick gave the hook another looping toss. This time it caught with a metallic clank. Rick pulled the line taut, glanced around again, then nodded. Linc bent and squatted once more. Rick mounted him and this time, using the rope for balance, kept climbing up onto Linc’s broad shoulders until he was standing on them.
The Heist Page 7