“It can be done, though,” Skarda said.
“If it’s done right.”
“You can teach us,” Josie said. “You need real money. We need real money. We can do this together.”
“Sounds like a marriage made in heaven,” Skarda said.
“Shut up, Dave,” I said.
“Dyson.” I turned to face Roy as he spoke. “I don’t like you, but if you agree to help us, I’ll do everything you tell me to do. No arguments.”
Will you stop beating your wife? my inner voice asked.
“We will all do what you tell us,” Josie said.
I looked at them, one after another, my gaze sweeping from Josie to Skarda to Jimmy to the old man to Roy and finally to Jill. She was the only one who didn’t look me in the eye.
“Roy,” I said. “The AK-47. Where did you get it?”
“That’s for me to know.”
“Well, we’re off to a great start.”
“Roy,” Josie snapped. “Tell him.”
“I can’t say.”
Can’t or won’t? my inner voice asked.
“Unlike what you might have heard, we’re not going to do this with slingshots,” I said. “We’re going to need firepower. Maybe AKs, maybe more—we might even need plastic explosives, Semtex 10, I don’t know yet. The question is, can you get it or are you just blowing smoke?”
“I can get it.”
“How much lead time do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
“It’s going to be expensive.”
“It always is. When the time comes, I’ll need to meet with your people. I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with them, and I certainly don’t want to put you on the spot, but if this is going to happen, I’ll need a face-to-face. Can you arrange that?”
“I think so.”
“Okay.”
“We’re going to do this, then?” Josie asked.
Off in the distance I could hear Bobby Dunston laughing.
* * *
The evening after I met Harry, Bullert, and Finnegan at Rickie’s, I went to Bobby’s house in Merriam Park, the blue-collar neighborhood in St. Paul where we were both raised. Bobby bought the house from his parents when they retired to a lake home in Wisconsin; growing up I had spent almost as much time there as he had.
“This is insane,” he told me while I paced the living room floor. Shelby Dunston was sitting on a blue mohair chair in the corner, her right leg tucked beneath her. Nina sat like that sometimes, I could never figure out why.
“You’re not seriously considering doing this?” Bobby asked.
“Yeah…”
“McKenzie, you’re not police anymore. You would be so exposed.”
“That’s why I have the letter explaining my actions on behalf of the Justice Department, why I had Finnegan sign it—five copies. One to you, one to G. K., one to Kelly Bressandes—”
“That tramp?” Shelby said.
“The others I’ve squirreled away for safekeeping. Nina insisted.”
“I don’t understand. Why do you need the letters?”
While Nina was a dark beauty, Shelby was all sunshine and windswept wheat fields. Nina’s most dominant feature was those astonishing eyes. With Shelby it was her smile—the kind of smile that could encourage even the most conservative of us to do no end of foolish things. God knows I had. I met her at a party in college about three minutes before Bobby bumped into her, spilling a drink on her dress. It had pretty much been widely accepted that if Bobby hadn’t married her, I would have. Bobby and I had never spoken of this, probably the only subject we hadn’t discussed at great length since meeting in kindergarten. On the other hand, he asked me to be best man at his wedding and godfather to his eldest daughter, tolerated it when I spoiled both Victoria and Katie with ridiculous gifts, and thanked me when I made them the sole heirs to my estate, such as it was. From that I gathered he wasn’t particularly anxious about my relationship with his wife, which, when you think about it, was kind of insulting.
“Have you ever seen Mission Impossible, the TV series, not the movie?” I asked. “You know that line they always say, ‘Should you or any of your IM Force be caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions’? The letters are to make sure that doesn’t happen to me.”
“They won’t necessarily protect you,” Bobby told me. “I don’t care if Finnegan is an assistant U.S. attorney. No one can give you permission to break the law.”
“That’s what G. K. said. Really, though, is it any different than busting a dealer and then letting him work it off, wear a wire while he makes a couple of buys from suspects higher up on the food chain?”
“The dealer might not be arrested for those specific crimes, the ones he commits while he’s helping the cops, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to get a free pass for everything else he does. What I’m saying is, there are limits, McKenzie. If you cross too far over the line”—he waved the letter at me—“this isn’t going to be worth the paper it’s printed on.”
“Point taken.”
“Do you want my advice?”
“Always.”
“Grow up.”
“That’s a pretty tough thing to do, Bobby. It’s why so few people succeed at it.”
* * *
I moved to the railing and gazed out on Lake Carl. The setting sun made the calm water sparkle. It occurred to me that wetting a line wasn’t such a bad idea, but I ignored the thought and spun to face the six people on the deck. They were all staring at me—Jill included.
“We’ll look into the possibility,” I said. “I’m making no promises until we sort it out. No promises, all right? But we’ll take a look to see if there’s anything there, see what we have to work with. In the meantime, no more jobs. No more crimes. No guns. No fights. No heavy drinking. I want you all to become model citizens; go through your day as if nothing is happening. You’ll be given your assignments as we go.”
“What do we do first?” Jimmy asked.
“You mean besides getting a better grade of beer? We’re going to find an armored truck to rob.”
SIX
It was easy to justify my behavior to myself. I was getting the Iron Range Bandits off the street—no thefts, no guns, no danger to themselves or their potential victims. I would go through the motions of organizing a stickup until everyone was comfortable, I would convince Roy to lead me to his friendly neighborhood gunrunner, and then I would turn the lot of them over to the ATF, FBI, BCA, Silver Bay PD, county sheriff, and whoever else wanted a piece. In the meantime, I wouldn’t be compelled to participate in any criminal activities myself, which would please Bobby Dunston no end. The more I thought about it, the more clever I felt. Not to mention quick-witted, resourceful, and ingenious. I went to bed thinking I was smarter than Ernest Hamwi, the man who first thought to serve ice cream in rolled-up waffles. When I woke the next morning, I was just as impressed with myself.
This is good, my inner voice told me. You’re doing God’s work.
“You da man,” I said aloud as I did a little dance.
I thought I was alone in the cabin. Josie poked her head around the doorway that led to the bathroom and looked at me.
“Did you say something?” she asked.
“Hmm? Me? No.”
“Thought I heard something.”
She stepped into the living room. Gone were the boots, baggy coveralls, sweatshirt, and ball cap that she used to disguise herself the previous day. They were replaced by flip-flops; khaki shorts that revealed long, slender legs; and a light, pink sweater that Josie had buttoned from her waist to just below her chin. She had allowed her auburn hair to cascade around her shoulders.
“Dyson, what are we going to do first?” she asked.
“Get some breakfast,” I said.
Josie had grilled chicken on the deck the evening before, and I hadn’t eaten anything since, although I had consumed plen
ty of cheap beer. Afterward, everyone except Skarda and myself departed to their separate homes, taking their thin stacks of currency with them. Jill didn’t get a share, and I had asked Josie about that.
“It’s the way Roy wants it,” she told me. I took that to mean Roy was desperate to keep Jill under his thumb. Give her money and she might use it to leave him.
Only Skarda and I had remained overnight. When he wasn’t looking, I took the grocery bags filled with checks and receipts and stashed them beneath the cabin.
Early in the morning, we went fishing, using the late owner’s boat and equipment; he had a nice Shakespeare rod and reel outfit and an impressive tackle box. Yet despite Skarda’s promise of fish, we were both skunked. While we were on the lake, I unceremoniously dropped the Glock overboard, making sure Skarda saw me do it. When he asked why, I told him there was an unsubstantiated rumor that it had been employed in the commission of a felony and I didn’t want the authorities to get the wrong idea should they find it on me. “Never keep the gun, Dave. Never.” He nodded his head in agreement as if my advice had come straight from the mount. ’Course, I didn’t mention that I dumped the Glock to make sure nobody discovered it had been loaded with blanks. (You had to give Bullert credit; he didn’t leave much to chance.)
By the time we got off the lake, the Iron Range Bandits were already gathering on the deck. I went inside and changed clothes. I didn’t have much to choose from, just the stuff we had tossed into the nylon bag in the back of the Explorer before staging the escape. I thought I was the only one in the cabin until Josie appeared.
“What are we going to do after breakfast?” she asked.
“It’s like I told Jimmy last night. We need to find an armored truck and follow it around for a few days. Armored trucks generally have a tightly choreographed routine of stops and starts—supermarkets, bank branches, department stores, casinos, anyplace with an ATM. What we’re looking for is a weakness, something we can exploit. I remember there were these two armored car guards working outside San Francisco a couple years ago. Turned out they always stopped at the same coffeehouse. They’d stop there at different times of the day, but it was always the same coffeehouse. One afternoon a crew met them at the front door with guns, took their keys, forced them back into the truck, drove to a prearranged location, looted the truck, and left them tied up in the back. Feds said the crew got away with the proverbial undisclosed amount of cash. I’m here to tell you that it was nearly eight hundred thousand dollars.”
“How do you know?”
“How do I know what?”
“How do you know…” Josie was watching my eyes. They told her to stop asking questions, so she did.
I’m getting good at this, I thought.
“Where do we start?” Josie asked.
“I’m not familiar with the area, so I’m going to need someone to drive.” I pointed at her.
“Me?” she said.
“Can’t use Dave. He and I are still wanted, and while it’s unlikely that anyone will recognize me, Dave is known up here. All things considered, I think it’s best that Roy and I keep our distance as much as possible. The old man—with due respect, he’s too old for what I have in mind, and Jimmy, he’s a little too enthusiastic. That leaves you.”
“Jillian…”
“I want her kept out of this. She should never have been involved in the first place.”
“You seem to have taken quite a fancy to her.”
“She’s the little sister I never had.”
“Is that it? She’s quite beautiful, you know.”
“I make it a point not to lust after any woman who hasn’t voted in at least three presidential elections.”
“I don’t think Jill’s voted in any yet. Besides, she’s married.”
“There’s that, too.”
“If you need a woman…”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying…”
“Josie, are you offering yourself to me?”
She blushed, actually blushed—you don’t often see that in a grown woman. Her eyes grew wide, her freckles sparkled, her mouth opened, and she took a step backward.
“No,” she said. “I should say not. I mean—I meant a married woman, Jill is a married woman, and Roy—Roy has a temper and, and there are others who would be willing, that you can, but not—dammit.”
She spun on her heel and quickly walked out of the cabin, letting the door slam behind her.
“Oh, well,” I said.
* * *
I joined her on the deck a few moments later. The Bandits watched me expectantly. I didn’t want them to think too much, so I told them what I had in mind.
“Josie will be my driver,” I said. “Jimmy, you’re the tech guy.” Jimmy grinned widely and jumped up from the picnic table as if he had been chosen first in a game of dodge ball. “I want you go to your computer and locate all of the cash-intensive businesses you can. I don’t mean in a ten-mile radius, either. I mean throughout the Iron Range. Compile a list. Afterward, I want you to mark their locations on a map of the area. A big map.”
“I’m on it,” he said.
“Roy, you’re my procurement officer. We’re going to need vehicles, coveralls, gloves, masks, nylon restraints like the kind cops use, weapons, of course—I’m not sure exactly what we’ll need, but I need you to think about where we’re going to get this stuff, anyway.”
“Are we going to buy or steal?” he asked.
“We’ll steal the cars.” Roy’s pupils grew larger. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you how.”
“You should have seen how he stole the Jeep Cherokee,” Skarda said. “It was beautiful.”
“Dave,” I said. “You talk way too much.”
“Sorry.”
“Try to work on that.”
“I will.”
“Which reminds me—I don’t need to tell you all to keep quiet about this, do I? You’re conspiring to commit a major felony. You can be arrested just for that alone. Please, please don’t tell your friends. Don’t tell your relatives. Don’t get drunk and brag about it in a bar. If you want to stay out of prison, this is a secret you take to your graves.”
“Hear, hear,” said the old man. He seemed to have recovered nicely from the Silver Bay raid. He was wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and sitting in his frayed lawn chair at the head of the picnic table. An unlit joint hung from his lips. The look in his eye suggested it wasn’t his first of the day. I asked the obvious question.
“Are you smoking dope?”
“It’s medicinal marijuana,” he said.
Does he have cancer? my inner voice asked. I glanced at Josie for confirmation. She was rolling her eyes. I guess not.
“It’s important that we keep a clear head,” I said.
“You got a job for me?” the old man asked.
“Not today.”
He spread his arms wide. “Still say you look like a narc.”
“Keep it to yourself.”
“What do you want me to do?” Skarda asked.
I gestured at the old man again. “Take your father fishing. And keep out of sight. You’re hot, remember?”
“So are you.”
“No one will recognize me. You, on the other hand, are known hither and yon. Don’t worry about it, Dave. You’ll have plenty to do when the time comes.”
“Should I be doing anything?” Jill asked. Her voice was so soft I barely heard it. I found her eyes. They betrayed her apprehension.
“No,” I said. “I won’t ask you to do anything on this job. You’ll be left completely out of it. All I want you to do is go home and pretend that you’re not surrounded by a bunch of lowlife maniac thieves, okay?”
She didn’t quite smile, but her face seemed to brighten a bit just the same. “Thank you,” she said.
Roy glanced from Jill to me to her and back to me again. “What do you mean, she’s out of it?” he asked.
I ignored the question, although I knew it would come u
p again, and soon.
“One more thing, people,” I said. “I’m not a big believer in this honor among thieves BS. Everything you heard about being a stand-up guy and not snitching, not informing—forget that. It’s okay to look out for yourself. I highly recommend it. All I ask is that you give everyone the same courtesy that the CIA asks of its operatives—a twenty-four-hour head start. If you’re arrested, don’t even give out your name, rank, or serial number. Keep absolutely quiet for twenty-four hours; give the rest of us a chance to run and hide. After that, I advise you to do whatever you need to to protect yourself, and good luck to you.”
“Hear that, Roy?” Skarda asked.
“What’s that suppose to mean?” Roy said.
“Your gun dealers—you’ve been keeping their names a secret so that you have something to trade to the cops if you get arrested, make a deal to help yourself while the rest of us go to prison. Well, now you’ve got our blessing.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dave,” I said. He looked at me, and I ran my thumb and index finger across my lips like I was closing a zipper.
“I was just saying,” he said.
“Okay.” I clapped my hands together and rubbed them back and forth. “Let’s get to work.”
Josie and I left the deck and circled the cabin to where Josie’s Taurus was parked. We were going to take her car because my Jeep Cherokee, after all, was stolen. Roy followed us. I kind of figured he would.
“Wait a minute, Dyson,” he called.
“What do you need?” I asked.
His fingers curled into fists as he approached, and his eyes darted from my hands to my chin, nose, eyes, throat, groin, and knees—they were target glances, something I was taught to look for when I was at the police academy. The sonuvabitch is going to throw a punch, my inner voice warned. I waited.
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