The Heist

by Michael A. Black

  “What’s happening?”

  “Linc? That you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Boy, I been worried clean outta my mind ‘bout you,” Henry said. “Why didn’t you call me? Everything okay?”

  “We’re doing all right,” Linc said. “Sorry about not calling, but we ran into a little problem over at the apartment last night.” He told him about the firefight.

  “That was your place?” Henry asked incredulously. “I heard about it on the news, but they said some shit about gangs, or something.”

  “They just blowing smoke.”

  “Well they blowing it pretty damn close, ‘cause two cops was just here.”

  “What did you tell ‘em?”

  “I didn’t tell ‘em shit,” Henry said. “What you think I am?”

  “Sorry, Uncle Henry, but I’m kinda on edge. Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  “Oh, hell, I know that. But say, that ain’t all. Diane called.”

  “She did,” Linc said. “What she say? She okay?”

  “If you let me finish, god dammit, I’ll tell you,” Henry said. “She left a number for you to call her. I checked it out and it’s one of them mobile phone units, so we can’t find out who it belongs to. And she didn’t sound right.”

  “What you mean, like she was hurt, or something?”

  “Un-un,” Henry said. “Like she was scared. Real scared.” Linc wrote down the number then asked Henry if he had time to meet them with his Oldsmobile Ninety-eight.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But the Caddie’s running better.”

  “The ninety-eight’s best,” Linc said. It was one of those older, gas-guzzler models with a big trunk, and just enough rust spots to make it look like the “typical ghetto ride” to any inquisitive cops. “I want to stash Rick’s Talon till we need it.”

  “That ain’t no problem,” Henry said. “I can put it in my garage.”

  “What about the plates?” Linc asked. “If they been snooping around, they might see you driving it.”

  “Yeah, I never thought of that.”

  “Can you stop by the currency exchange on the way,” Linc said. “Tell ‘em your plates was stolen and get one of those stickers for the back windshield. We’ll take the plates off here and you can drive it back to your place.”

  “Okay,” Henry said. “I’m leaving now.”

  Linc hung up and stared at the number his uncle had given him. After exhaling a sigh, he fed more coins into the slot and punched in the digits. It rang twice before the guy with the southern sounding voice said hello.

  “Lemme speak to Diane,” Linc said.

  “Oh, Linc, my man,” the guy said. “She can’t come to the phone right now.”

  “Listen, motherfucker—”

  “Linc, That kind of verbiage is counter-productive.”

  “All right, motherfucker. What you want me to call you?”

  After a pause, the guy said, “Germaine. Now let me just assure you that your lady is all right, and all her needs are being cared for with the utmost attention.”

  “Yeah, right,” Linc said. “Just like you tried to take care of my needs last night.” He almost said “our needs,” but he caught himself. It was better not to let this guy know that he wasn’t alone in this.

  “Linc, that was a most unfortunate incident,” Germaine said. “And let me assure you that those men last night were acting without my sanction or approval, and without authority.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is, Linc. And not only that, their actions were diametrically opposed to the way I wanted to handle this endeavor. Regrettably, I was tied up on another matter and couldn’t attend to it personally.”

  “I still need to talk to Diane,” Linc said.

  “You will, son, you will. But first we have a little matter that we have to work out.”

  Linc said nothing. Germaine continued.

  “You still have that item that I’m interested in?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Good,” Germaine said. “Now I’ve been authorized to make amends for the unfortunate beginning by including a . . .finder’s fee for you. Say, one-hundred-thousand-dollars in exchange for the tape.”

  Linc said nothing for a few seconds, then finally, “All right, but Diane goes free now, or it’s no deal.”

  “I’m afraid it can’t work that way, Linc.”

  “Then it’s no deal. Let her go now or. . .”

  “Or what, Linc? You’ll destroy the tape? You’ll turn it over to the cops?” Germaine’s tone was laced with derision. “Now we both know none of those is a viable option.”

  “Let her go now, man. I’m telling you. You let her go now, then we deal.”

  “Linc,” Germaine said, his voice as cool as dry ice, “call me back when you want to talk sense.” He terminated the call. Linc stared at the phone, fighting the urge to grab more coins and redial the number. But no, that would be playing right into their hands. The only chance Diane had, the only chance they all had, was for him to set it up right. Think it through, and set it up right. And it had to be good the first time, because he knew he wouldn’t be getting any second chance.

  “What if he don’t call back?” Gumbo asked Germaine, who was removing the cellophane from one of his special cigars. Germaine smiled as he placed the thin, brown cylinder between his lips and lighted it.

  “He has to,” he said. “As I told him, he’s out of options.” He puffed to get the cigar going, then gestured toward the door of the small room where they were keeping Diane. “We have his lady-love, and he knows we can and will hurt her, slowly if we prefer, until he acquiesces. And besides, without us he essentially has nothing of value anyway. He can’t turn the tape in, because it’s the only ticket to getting Diane back. And he can’t go to the police, because there’d be too many questions he’d have to answer, and that wouldn’t get her back either.”

  Gumbo nodded slowly. “So we the only game in town, then.”

  “Exactly,” Germaine said. He blew out a cloud of smoke.

  “So what we do now?”

  “We wait for him to call back, then set up the meet.”

  “And?”

  “And,” Germaine said, exhaling another cloudy breath, “We get the tape, and then we kill him.”

  Gumbo’s heavy lips stretched over his huge teeth, all the way back to his incisors.

  “Good,” he said in a low, guttural voice.

  11:35 A.M.

  The ringing of the car phone snapped Tony into consciousness. He blinked his eyes several times, not realizing immediately that he’d been asleep. They’d been parked on Wentworth, a few houses down from Diane’s house, waiting and hoping for someone to come home. Ray already had the car phone to his ear and was talking into it.

  “Yeah, Kent, that’s great. Real fast. Un-huh, hold on, lemme put you on the speaker.” He pressed the button then set the car phone back in its cradle. “Go ahead,” he said.

  “Hi, Tony,” Faulkner’s voice said. “I was telling Ray that I got the lowdown on that mobile phone number, and you’ll never guess who it comes back to.”

  “Who?”

  “Reginald J. Fox,” Faulkner said. “It’s his personal line.”

  Ray and Tony exchanged glances.

  “Well we gotta get a tap on it right away,” Ray said. “If Fox is tied into this shooting thing, with Costelli’s boys, this could be big.”

  “I don’t know,” Faulkner said. “I have some real reservations about going before a judge and asking that the opposing counsel’s phone be tapped.”

  “Goddamn, Kent, we’re really on to something here,” Ray said.

  “Well, you and I know that because we’re looking at it from a cop’s perspective,” Faulkner said. “But a judge might not see it that way.”

  “Well, see what you can do, Kent,” Tony said. “We’ve got to unravel this thing quickly, or we’ll be left at the gate.”

  “Okay,” Faulkner said, the sigh that pr
eceded it coming over very clearly. “I’ll see if I can get an appointment to see somebody in the morning.”

  “In the morning,” Ray said angrily. “Christ, it’s only eleven-thirty.”

  “Ray, I’m gonna have to research the case law on this first, so I don’t wind up looking like an idiot,” Faulkner said, anger creeping into his tone, too.

  “Fat chance of that not happening,” Ray muttered.

  “What?” Faulkner said.

  “He said do the best you can, Kent,” Tony quickly interjected. “But make sure that nobody on our end calls that number. No sense letting them know we have it.”

  “Yeah, good point,” Faulkner answered. “Oh, say, Tony, Arlene wants to talk to you.”

  Tony snatched the phone out of its cradle and put it to his ear as Ray pointed his finger and grinned with exaggerated lasciviousness.

  “Tony?” Arlene said. “Where are you?”

  “We’re staking out that guy Jackson’s girlfriend’s place, hoping he’ll drop by so we can talk to him.”

  “Oh my God, you must be exhausted,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, to tell you the truth, we were just about to rein it in.” When Ray heard him say this he went into some more exaggerated expressions and finger pointing. Ignoring his partner’s pantomime, Tony asked her what she wanted.

  “Ah. . . anything else going on?”

  He heard her sigh. “We got another report a little while ago. The Mink’s wife called the Palos Heights Police this morning. He’s missing. Didn’t come home last night.”

  “Where was he supposed to have gone?”

  “She said he told her that he had a special meeting with his attorney.”

  “That sounds bad,” Tony said. “Either he’s taking it on the lam, which I doubt, or they got him. You get a hold of Fox to see if he actually met with him?”

  “Well, that’s another strange thing,” she said. “His office doesn’t know anything about it. Reggie’s been off sick the past two days. I left another message for him to contact me as soon as possible.”

  Tony considered this for a moment. He didn’t like the sound of any of it.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Arlene said, “I was just wondering about Saturday.”

  Here it comes, Tony thought, she’s come to her senses and is calling it off. Strangely, he felt crushed, yet flooded with relief at the same time.

  “Yeah?” he said. “Bad timing? It’s no problem if you can’t. . .”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I just wondered if you wouldn’t mind making it tomorrow night instead. Unless you’re busy, or something.”

  “No, I’m not busy,” he gulped. Further words failed him.

  “Good,” she said. “I’ll expect you at seven then? Or is that too early?”

  “No, it’s fine,” he said. “Keep me posted on the other stuff.”

  After hanging up Tony briefed Ray on the latest developments.

  “Shit,” said Ray, plopping the car into gear. “We might as well get outta here.”

  “Where we going?” Tony asked.

  “I’m going to take you home, so you can get some sleep,” Ray said. “Then I’m going to go see my brother-in-law.”

  “Your brother-in-law?”

  “Yeah,” Ray said glancing over at Tony with a grin stretched across his face. “He works for Ameritech. A technician. He’ll get me a tap on this fucking number.”

  “Hey, we don’t want to mess things up,” Tony said. “Let Kent handle it.”

  “Fuck Kent,” Ray said. “The son-of-a-bitch moves so fucking slow that the whole thing’ll be over before he finishes looking through his law books. Did ya hear that prick?” He lapsed into an exaggerated southern twang to mimic Faulkner’s Virginia accent: “‘We’re looking at things from a cop’s perspective. Shit. That fucker wouldn’t make a pimple on a real cop’s ass.”

  “Yeah, but just the same, we gotta make sure everything’s nice and legal. There’s no sense getting evidence that’ll be tossed out when the case gets to court.”

  “Well, I’m just trying to give us the edge, that’s all,” Ray said. “And I’ll take any edge I can get, even if it’s nice and illegal. What did Arlene want?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Tony said.

  “She cancel your date, or something?”

  “It’s not a date,” Tony said petulantly, “it’s just dinner, and no, she didn’t cancel it.”

  “Sure sounded that way,” Ray said. “Look, Tony, don’t feel bad.”

  “She didn’t cancel. She just moved it up to tomorrow night instead,” Tony said. A second later he was sorry he did, because Ray’s grin was positively rakish.

  “Now knock that shit off,” Tony said.

  “What shit?” Ray said, shaking his head. “But ya gotta admit, it works every time.”

  “What?”

  “Sunrise bodies,” Ray said.

  “Huh?”

  “Dead bodies start popping up, these women start plopping themselves down. It makes them feel. . .” he paused, obviously searching for the right euphemism, “romantic.”

  “Oh, you’re so full of shit.”

  “No, it’s true,” Ray said. “I know for a fact. Used to go out with this chick from the Medical Examiner’s Office. I knew that she’d be in the mood every time I picked her up at the morgue.”

  “Knowing you,” Tony said with a wry smile, “she was probably a permanent resident there.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Thursday, April 16, 1992

  12:50 P.M.

  Linc saw Henry’s beige-colored Olds Ninety-Eight coming down Western toward him. He’d told his uncle to take a circuitous route and to stop several times to make sure no one was following him. Linc waved and the car swung over to the curb. Henry lowered the passenger-side window electronically, and Linc leaned over, his forearms crisscrossed on the door.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said. “Pull into the parking lot.” He gestured toward the adjacent restaurant. Henry nodded and Linc pushed off the vehicle and made a show of stretching while he surreptitiously looked up and down the street for cop cars. Satisfied, he turned and walked back toward the rear of the lot. Rick, who was standing in the vestibule pretending to be on the pay phone, made eye contact with Linc, put the phone back in its cradle, and went out to meet him. They walked toward Henry’s car, which was now parked in the back of the lot next to Rick’s black Eagle Talon.

  Linc got into the front passenger seat of the Ninety-Eight and grinned at his uncle. Rick slipped into the left rear and hunched down.

  “I see you got the sticker,” Linc said, glancing toward the back windshield.

  “Yeah, got one for Rick’s car too,” Henry said. “Figured they’d be looking for his plates.”

  “How’d you do that without the title, Henry?” Rick asked.

  “You can’t be black and stay in business as long as I have without learning some shortcuts.” Henry held the license-applied-for sticker over his shoulder.

  “I’ll go take off my plates,” Rick said, getting out.

  “What’s the plan?” Henry asked Linc.

  “First, I’d like you to drive Rick’s car over to your garage, or someplace safe, where we can stash it temporarily. We’ll take the Olds.”

  Henry nodded.

  “Then I got to figure out the rest of it,” Linc said.

  “You call that number?”

  “Yeah. They got Diane, all right, and they want to trade her for the tape.” Linc frowned. “At least that’s what they saying they gonna do.”

  “What you think?”

  “I think I gotta take these motherfuckers out before they take me out.” He looked at his uncle. “I’m gonna need some help.”

  “You got it.”

  “Uncle Henry, are you sure? I mean, this shit’s gonna get real nasty, and I can understand if you. . .”

  “Shit, boy, you trying to tell me something? I was on the streets killing motherfuckers since before you was even born.”r />
  Linc grinned at his uncle’s hyperbole.

  “It’s you, me, and Rick then,” Linc said. “You still got your twelve gauge?”

  Henry nodded.

  “Good. Get some extra shells. Deer slugs. All I got to do now is figure out a place where we can pull this off.”

  “What kind of place you looking for?” Henry asked.

  “Someplace big, but isolated enough that we can take care of business and not arouse suspicion. And it’s got to have a back way out so we can scoot when it’s over and not look back till we safe.”

  Henry considered this for a moment, then said, “I think I know where.”

  2:20 P.M.

  The eastern section of buildings had held up better than the ones farther west but, despite its dilapidated state, the property still impressively took up eight city blocks. Henry cruised by slowly, letting Linc and Rick survey the massive corrugated sides, which extended up three full stories. The gray metal showed streaks of black where dirty snow had melted down the sides, and sections of the blue sky were obliquely visible through the roof. The big red letters were intact on the east building, but attrition had worn off the ones on the west structure:

  V I S C O V S I N S T W O S

  Still, the dark outlines of the missing letters could partially be seen against the gunmetal-colored sidewall.

  Two neatly painted white signs with block letters were posted with two-by-four braces in front of each gate advising of the Wisconsin Steel Works Environmental Cleanup and prohibiting any trespassing. Smaller, secondary signs advised that the property was now owned by the U.S. Government. The seven-foot cyclone fence with the three strands of barbed wire along the top looked ineffective. Perhaps fifty feet inside the fence, next to the small wooden shack labeled Gate Six-A, the remains of a huge crane sat abandoned. The brightly painted metal of the cab had given way to extensive rust. The segmented, angular metal arm of the crane reposed about twenty feet away in the middle of the expansive cement driveway that once allowed access to the middle section of the facility. Beyond that, the empty frame of a large overhead door extended into the cavernous darkness of the front of the west building, its blackness like the open maw of some great, dead beast.