The Heist

by Michael A. Black

  “That’s the East Side. It’s mostly spic,” Mallory said. “There’s a lot of abandoned areas around there. Used to be lots of steel mills, till the market closed them all. Only one or two still operating now, I think.”

  “What’s your instinct telling you Gumbo?” Germaine asked, turning to him.

  Gumbo studied the map, his eyes seeming not to blink. He exhaled heavily through his nostrils and shook his head slowly.

  “Hard to say, but this boy ain’t no fool.”

  Mallory watched Germaine as he considered this. “You have the van we spoke about?” he asked

  “All set,” Mallory said, stubbing out his cigarette after one final drag. “A black Ford Starquest. Got a portable TV with VCR all hooked up for a twelve volt.”

  “Excellent,” Germaine said. “And the men you’ve got, are they all dependable?”

  “The best of the lot,” Mallory said taking out another cigarette. “All pros.”

  “Ain’t that what you said ’bout the last group that got themselves all shot up?” Gumbo said, his dark eyes looking directly into Mallory’s. The look was pure malice.

  Bobby paused with the cigarette halfway up to his mouth. Was this big fucker going to go after him just because he’d slipped a couple of times and said shine or nigger?

  “Well, hopefully things will run smoothly enough,” Germaine said. “Let’s go over the plan one more time, shall we?”

  Mallory put the cigarette between his lips and flicked his lighter.

  “Okay,” Germaine said. “We wait there till our friend Linc gives us the call. Then we begin to disperse immediately. How many men do you have, Bobby?”

  “I take ten with me. You take the other five,” Mallory said, his voice not betraying the boredom he felt at going over the plan once again. But Vino’s orders had been explicit: Do whatever Germaine tells you to do, and don’t it fuck up.

  “Good,” Germaine said. “These men coming with me understand that they are to take no hostile action whatsoever. I simply want them there as a show of force. A diversion, of sorts.”

  Mallory nodded.

  “Excellent,” Germaine continued. “Now when our friend shows up, Gumbo will bring the young lady just outside of the van. Then we will obtain the tape from young mister Lincoln and explain to him that his lady friend will not be released until we’ve had time to view the tape.” He reached in his pocket and removed a large wad of bills, rolled into a S-shape and secured by a rubber band. The outside bill was a hundred, and its denomination was clearly visible. “We can show him this to put him at ease,” he said, holding up the flash-roll.

  “What you gonna do if he opens it up and sees that all the rest of ‘em are ones?” Mallory said with a chuckle.

  “By the time he’s had a chance to handle it, Bobby,” Germaine said, smiling benignly, “we’ll have the actual tape, and Linc will have his real payoff.”

  “I still think we should just ice him on the spot,” Mallory said. “Then we don’t have to go through this fucking game of pretending to go along with him.”

  Germaine sighed. Mallory could tell that this cracker didn’t like it when someone questioned his instructions. But what the hell, the guy was a long way from home, and this thing had turned into an extended cluster fuck. He turned a defiant look toward Germaine.

  “Bobby, you do understand that he may not bring the real tape, don’t you?” Germaine said. “And you do understand how important it is to keep him and the girl, as well as our friend Mr. Fox, alive until we can ascertain beyond a shadow of a doubt that we have all the copies of the tape, don’t you?”

  Mallory nodded, inhaling deeply on his cigarette.

  “Outstanding,” Germaine said. “Now let me make one other point before we commence on Operation Trojan Horse.” He stood and looked over into Mallory’s eyes with that ice-water stare of his. “Don’t ever question or criticize my plan or judgment again.”

  Mallory swallowed hard because he sensed Gumbo staring at him too. Bobby felt his head do a quick nod.

  “After we’ve secured the tape, Mister Lincoln, and the girl,” Germaine said, “we will endeavor to interview him and find out everything that he knows, in accordance with the final phase of our plan.”

  “That’s the phase I like the best,” Gumbo said. “What’s that song by Vanessa Williams, ‘Savin’ the Best for Last’?”

  Mallory swallowed hard again, took another quick drag on his cigarette, and blew out a cloud of smoke. He managed a quick grin, but the only thing he could think about now was getting away from these two crazy assholes.

  9:35 P.M.

  Tony sat in his living room, a half-empty cup of coffee on the TV-tray in front of him, the television playing out the penultimate act of that night’s episode of Knot’s Landing. He wasn’t concentrating on the glitzy plot, though. Nor was he thinking about the upcoming night’s surveillance with Ray. That would come easily enough once they were out there listening for the call. Who was to say if they’d even be able to figure out anything. No, Tony’s thoughts had turned to Mary, and how much she’d liked this show. That had been some time ago, when the story-line had been a sort of tie-in to her other favorite, Dallas. But now Dallas was off the air, J.R. having apparently made his peace with his guardian angel, and Knot’s Landing had long since turned into its own version of night-time soap. It was too bad that she hadn’t been able to see how they’d turned out. Or what they’d turned into. But if J.R. had an angel, then Mary certainly did, too. Maybe she knew after all.

  His thoughts turned to Arlene, and he wondered if she was watching the program. No, she probably watched that one about the L.A. lawyers which was on at the same time. That one was probably more to her tastes. He wondered about her tastes, and if the two of them had anything in common. Was Ray right that the age difference was no big thing in these new and enlightened times? But it wasn’t just a matter of a couple of years, or even a decade. And although he didn’t think of himself as old, and felt in decent shape, he was old enough to be her father. Or, if he stretched things, her grandfather, as Ray had teased. The prospect of the dinner tomorrow night suddenly became more frightening. Perhaps he should call her and back out.

  The phone snapped him out of this reverie, and figuring it was Ray calling to tell him that he was on the way, he answered it with a gruff, “What?”

  “Tony?” Arlene’s voice came through the receiver. “Is that you?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s me,” he said haltingly. “I thought it was Ray.”

  He could hear her laugh, sounding once again so much like his Mary’s.

  “Are you watching Knot’s Landing?” she asked.

  “Yes. How’d you know?”

  “I heard the theme music,” she laughed. “I’ve been following it since I was a teen-ager. My mom and I both watch it. It’s been on so long, it seems like forever.”

  “Yeah,” he said, thinking about Arlene watching the show as a teen-ager.

  “Did you get some sleep? You looked really tired this afternoon, and I was kind of worried about you.”

  “I slept all afternoon.”

  “But won’t you have trouble getting to sleep tonight now?”

  “Oh, Ray and I are going out to check on something,” he said.

  “Check on something? You mean about the case?”

  “Yeah,” he said, figuring the less said about Ray’s little illegal wire-tap, the better.

  “Well, I was going to call you earlier, but I figured you’d be asleep,” she said. Even over the phone he could sense the hesitancy in her voice.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “They found the Mink’s body. He’s dead.”

  “What? When?”

  “I don’t have all the details yet,” she said. “In fact, they haven’t even made positive ID yet. They’re just assuming it was him because it was in his car.”

  “Was it burned?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “The body that they think is his was in the
trunk. They found it parked on a road over the expressway on fire at about eight. They’ll have to do the identification through forensic dentistry.”

  “Tell them to ask for Dr. Kenney at the morgue. He’s the best there is.” He sighed. “You hear from Fox at all?”

  “No, he never returned my calls.”

  “Something’s not right about this,” Tony said. “Either he was in on the hit, or they popped him too.”

  “You think they killed Reggie?”

  “These are nasty people we’re dealing with, Arlene.” He realized how avuncular he sounded. “But I don’t need to tell you that, do I? I keep forgetting you’re a big girl.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, her tone sounding suddenly playful. “Just don’t forget about tomorrow night at my place. Get plenty of rest. I have a surprise for you.”

  What the hell did that mean? he wondered.

  “Oh? What might that be?”

  “Well if I told you, it would hardly be a surprise now, would it?” He heard her tingly giggle again, then she said, “Don’t worry, I have a hunch you’re going to be pleasantly surprised.”

  Tony swallowed hard. Perhaps this was getting a little out of hand, he thought. He struggled for the courage to cancel the date. To tell her that he appreciated her interest, but that the plain and simple truth was that he felt that he was just too damn old for her.

  “Well, anyway,” she said, “It makes finding that tape even more important now, right?”

  “What? A. . . yeah. Right.”

  The doorbell suddenly rang about five times in succession. Tony told Arlene that he had to go and hung up after she’d told him to be careful. He stormed to the front door as the chimes began their second multiple onslaught. Tony ripped open the door and scowled at the surprised Ray Lovisi, who had been leaning forward with his thumb on the button.

  “Oh, I figured you were still sleeping,” Ray said.

  “No, I was on the fucking phone.”

  “My, my, my, aren’t we touchy?” Ray opened the screen door and stepping inside the foyer. In his right hand he carried a Cellular-One portable telephone. “Who was calling you? Arlene about your big date tomorrow night?”

  “Will you knock it off?” Tony said.

  “It was her, wasn’t it?” Ray chuckled, holding up the phone. “This one’s set-up only to receive Fox’s special number, otherwise, I’d let you call her back right now.”

  “Lovisi,” Tony said slipping into his bullet-proof vest and securing the Velcro straps, “sometimes you have the knack of being a total asshole.”

  “It’s a gift,” Ray said with a wide grin. “You know, I hope you do get laid tomorrow night. Maybe it’ll improve your disposition.”

  “The only thing that’ll improve my disposition is getting ahold of that fucking tape,” Tony said. “They found the Mink’s body tonight.”

  Ray’s grin twisted into a bitter scowl.

  “Shit,” he said.

  Both of them looked at each other without speaking. With the Mink dead, they knew this videocassette was their last chance to nail Costelli.

  CHAPTER 17

  Thursday, April 16, 1992

  11:20 P.M.

  Linc slowed down as he wheeled the big Olds into the dirt shoulder by the drawbridge that marked the east end of Wisconsin Steel. Henry was in the front passenger seat, and Rick, dressed in dappled jungle-fatigues and with his face darkened by camo-paint, was in the backseat. He opened the right-rear door and slid out. The M-16 and the loaded magazines were stowed in a laundry bag. The plan called for him to go under the drawbridge and enter the abandoned plant from the east side along the shore. Linc was supposed to wait for twenty-five minutes before making the call to give Rick time to scout the place and set up. He would call Linc on the radio headset when he was ready.

  “See you on the other side,” Rick said, giving them the thumbs-up sign.

  “Semper Fi,” said Linc, returning the gesture. He eased the car back on the road and continued over the bridge. Linc took his time, making a right and then two left turns at each new intersection of side streets, using his turn-signals each time. When he was back on 106th Street, he went back westbound, traversing the bridge.

  Henry peered past Linc to see if he could get a glimpse of where Rick was, but all he saw was darkness. As they passed gate six at Muskegon, Linc swung around and made a U-turn. He shut off the engine and got out and lifted the hood. Henry slipped out the passenger side with a pair of large, industrial strength bolt cutters and quickly set the jaws over the link of chain securing the gates. He forced the long handles together and felt it pop. Then he looped the sagging chain back through the fence to maintain the illusion of security and got back in the car as Linc was slamming the hood. He quickly jammed the bolt cutters under the seat.

  Linc took off again, scanning the rear-view mirror to make sure nobody was watching.

  “No cops in sight,” he said. “It’s all working like a charm so far. I’ll go down and turn around and then drop you off at the tunnel.”

  Henry nodded. His dark face had been streaked with loam camouflage to break up the highlights, and Linc had given him a black stocking cap to wear so his bald head wouldn’t reflect the moonlight.

  As they continued east on 106th, Linc went down an extra block and making his series of turns that would put him westbound again.

  “Wonder how Rick’s doin’?” Linc said. He glanced at his uncle, who was leaning over, his head bowed. “What’s wrong?”

  Henry raised his head, shook it slightly, then straightened up.

  “Uncle Henry, was you. . . was you praying, or something?”

  The big man heaved a heavy sigh. “It’s almost Good Friday.”

  “Well I hope it’s good for us,” Linc said grinning.

  “Don’t you be dissin’ me, boy,” Henry said. “Your mama was a good Baptist. Wouldn’t hurt you none to pick up on a little of the same.”

  Linc didn’t reply. He thought about the old Marine Corps saying that there were no atheists in foxholes, and how, just before the balloon went up in Kuwait, so many men were praying and attending the field services. Even though the casualties were low, he hoped that those who didn’t come back had gotten some comfort from them. For him, there was no solace in religion. What had soured him on it had been a chaplain that he’d overheard in boot camp talking about how all the niggers had ruined the Corps. The minister had been a charismatic phony who rode a motorcycle around the base, waving to all the boots. Nice to your face, but callin’ you outta your name behind your back.

  They came to Torrence and Linc turned left. He glanced over at his uncle and saw Henry was sweating, his dark face shiny in the moonlight.

  “Rick and me, we gonna be okay, Uncle Henry,” he said. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  “I’m in it, boy. I’m in it.”

  “Well, I mean, it’s important that you know what we’re getting into now.”

  “You think I don’t?” Henry said, the anger welling up in his voice. “I know. Believe me, I know.” He glanced out the window and wiped the heel of his hand over his forehead. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Well, what I mean is, just stay low and let Rick and me handle most of it. You just supposed to be our back-up plan anyway.”

  “I’ll be all right, boy. Like I said, I grew up on the streets.”

  But in truth, Linc knew in his uncle’s day, things had been vastly different. When disagreements arose, they were settled with fists, or an occasional knifing, unlike the gun-and-gang-dominated ghetto of today. And for all Henry’s bluster, Linc doubted that he’d ever really killed anyone. But he didn’t want to ask him that. Not now, anyway.

  “I’ll be okay,” Henry repeated emphatically, then glanced out the window again.

  Linc came to Torrence and hung a left, running parallel to the railroad tracks. They’d stashed the Talon on the gravel road on the other side of the culvert. Henry would only have to walk a hundred ya
rds or so in the dark to get to it. His radio and twelve gauge were in the trunk. Linc slowed as the incline for the tracks began to steepen beside the street. Henry gripped the door handle as they got even with the big metal culvert.

  “Give me a test on the radio right away, okay?” Linc said.

  Henry nodded as he was getting out.

  “Uncle Henry,” Linc said.

  The big man paused.

  “Thanks,” Linc said, giving him the same thumbs-up gesture that he’d given Rick. His uncle held up his thumb, then quickly trotted across the street toward the circular tunnel. Linc drove down the block and across the bridge with the immense grain elevator on it. He went down a few more blocks then turned around. Estimating that Henry had had enough time to get to the Talon by now, Linc dug his radio headset out of the box and slipped it on, adjusting the speaker mike in front of his lips. There was nothing on the band but static until he got across the bridge. Then the earphones grew silent.

  “Uncle Henry?” he said tentatively. “You read me?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Okay,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It’s eleven-forty-three. Start moving up. I’m gonna go make the call now.”

  “Roger,” Henry said.

  Linc drove back toward the intersection of Torrence and 106th. There was a pay phone farther down the street, by a gas station. As he rode by the west section of the old mill he said into the speaker: “Rick. You read me, bro?”

  Silence. Probably too much interference from the structure, he thought. At least that was all he hoped it was. His plan depended on everything holding together. On him and Rick wasting these dudes before they knew what hit ’em, and Uncle Henry being able to get Diane out of there. But if one part of it went wrong, the whole thing would be blown. He touched the VHS tape beside him for reassurance.

  Have to do my best to see that it goes down right, he thought.

  As Rick made his way through the rugged underbrush, he paused to wipe off his sweaty hands on his pant-leg. Wet hands, dry mouth—the classic symptoms of anxiety before a fight. But suddenly he began to feel the weak, sickening tingling begin to creep into his legs again. Oh, God, no, he thought. Please, don’t let it happen now. He reached frantically into his pants pocket for his medicine, but it wasn’t there, and then he remembered taking the plastic vial out when he was getting dressed. He knelt on the ground, amongst the weeds and clutched his face in his hands.