The waitress pushed two tables together, seated us, and then tried to hand out menus. When she held an extended arm over Ghost’s lap with a menu in tow, he shook his head.
“Glass of water to drink,” he said with a nod. “Prime rib medium rare. Horseradish sauce and au jus. Baked potato. Butter. Sour cream. Whatever the vegetable of the night is will be fine. Please, and thank you.”
She tried to hand a menu to Reno.
Reno raised his hand in protest and shook his head. “Same.”
She looked at Goose.
“Ditto.”
She looked at me. I stroked my beard, gave a crisp nod, and grinned. “Same. Thank you.”
“I’ll follow suit,” Cash said.
“I’ll have the same,” Tito said. “No horseradish, though. Thanks.”
Cash leaned onto the edge of the table and cleared his throat.
Tito shifted his eyes from the waitress to Cash. “What?”
Cash glared. “You know the rule.”
Tito turned up his palms. “It’s a condiment, and I don’t eat the shit.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said flatly. “Leave it on your plate. But, we’re all served the same.”
“Alright,” Tito said. “Horseradish it is.”
Beside the meal, another ritual – or rule – was that we did not discuss our jobs in public. Ever. We made our plans in the office or the clubhouse, and that was it.
No exceptions.
The group meal was a time to relax, get our heads straight, and nourish our bodies.
Cash shook a toothpick out of the holder and clenched it between his teeth. “Bake’s fucking a Brazilian chick.” He glanced at each of the men. “Got a twat the size of a dime, and an ass the size of Alaska.”
I gave him a side-eyed look. “You dumb fuck.”
He fixed his eyes on Ghost. “True story. Say’s she’s got voodoo pussy. Ever heard that one? Voodoo pussy?”
“Had a chick in Japan once,” Reno said. “Had wide hips and a snapper so small she squealed when I put my finger in it.”
“What’d she do when you fucked her?” Cash asked.
“Grunted a lot and cried a little.”
Cash pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “Cried?”
Reno nodded. “Tears ran down her cheeks. Every time. She loved it, though.”
Cash looked at me. “Does your girl cry?”
I lowered my chin and glared. “Change the subject.”
“Our superstitious Prez slipped off the edge of the celibacy cliff?” Ghost chuckled. “Tell us about voodoo pussy.”
Pussy made a man weak. That was my claim, at least. When a man gets wrapped up in fucking a woman, emotions get in the way. Eventually, the small head begins to make the decisions. Undoubtedly, the day comes when the man looks around him and realizes his life – and everything in it – has changed. My fear of change caused the men to view me as superstitious.
I gave Cash a dose of stink eye, and then looked at Ghost. “I’m not fucking her. I fucked her. Past tense. She had a tight pussy. Deep and tight. That’s pretty much it.”
“Tell ‘em what you called it,” Cash spouted. “Called it voodoo pussy, didn’t ya?”
Ghost cracked his knuckles and then grinned a sly grin. “Well? Did ya?”
I massaged my temples with the tips of my fingers. I’d always thought with my big head, not my little one. In fact, my dick never made decisions for me. Somehow, with Andy, my cock became the decision maker. Now, with ten eyes staring back at me in wait of an answer, I began to fill with regret.
“I did.”
“Let’s hear it,” he said. “Why voodoo pussy?”
Andy’s pussy was unexplainable. It felt unlike anything I’d ever had the pleasure of sticking my dick in. After experiencing the feeling it provided, being satisfied by anything lesser was improbable. I hadn’t fucked her for damned near a week. I had my doubts, however, that I’d last much longer.
“Girl’s got a magic pussy,” I said without an ounce of emotion. “What? You’ve never fucked a chick that’s got a nice twat?”
“Is that it? She’s got a nice puss?”
“That’s the beginning and the end of it, yeah.”
He clasped his palms together and locked eyes with me. “Well, if that’s all it is, I guess we don’t have anything to worry about tomorrow, do we?”
I alternated glances between the men. “If anything happens tomorrow, her pussy won’t have anything to do with it. That much I can guarantee.”
As the words rolled from the tip of my tongue, I almost believed them.
18
ANDY
I had no more than finished the Gala Christmas flier, and the door opened. With an old-school briefcase clenched in his right hand, Mister Greene stepped through the door. Dressed in a dark gray pinstriped business suit and blue tie, he looked cute. After a quick smile, he looked the office over, and then sat down.
He glanced over his shoulder and fixed his eyes on the long brick wall. “Looks pretty bare in here, Andy.”
I realized that during his arrival, I’d managed to stand. I sat down and let out a sigh at the same time. “I’m cash strapped right now. But, as soon as I get a few bills paid, I plan on doing some decorating.”
He shifted his eyes from the wall to me. “It’s not your responsibility to make this office presentable. It’s mine.” He lifted his briefcase to his lap, opened it, and then handed me an envelope. “Get whatever you think you need.”
I looked at the envelope. Chase Bank was printed on the corner, and I wondered if it was a collections notice.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“It’s your company credit card. It came in yesterday. Use it for anything you need where we don’t have accounts established. And for decorating this office.” He cocked one of his out of control eyebrows. “Within reason.”
Excited, I stood and walked to the bare wall. “I was thinking about some black and white prints on the wall. Architecture stuff.” I gestured toward the floor and spread my arms wide. “And then I thought a long table might look nice in the center of this wall. Something clunky that kind of matches the theme we’ve already got going on. I’d put some decorative stuff on it, but not too girly. Maybe announcements and fliers, and stuff. Just things that make it a little more homey and less like an office.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out. If they don’t have a delivery service, ask Mort to pick your things up.”
“I will. Thank you.”
He closed his briefcase and set it on the floor beside him. “Mort tells me you’ve decided to take occupancy of 3A.”
I slid the envelope aside and wondered if the card had my name on it or the company’s name. Maybe both, I decided. “I did,” I said. “And, I have.”
“I prefer that the manager stay on the premises. It encourages the tenants to be responsible. No problems, I take it?”
“None whatsoever.”
He waved his hand toward the door. “I see the door’s been repaired.”
The hand-written bill for the door simply stated repair steel door and gave an amount. I decided a little white lie was in Mort’s best interest. “Nothing more than repositioning a few things.”
“I’m pleased that’s resolved. It was annoying.”
“I thought so, too.”
“There is one other thing.” He clasped his hands together. “One would think it’s common knowledge, but considering the problems we had with the last property manager, I feel compelled to say something.”
“I don’t use drugs,” I said adamantly. “Never have, never will.”
“The thought never crossed my mind. There’s a matter we need to discuss that is outlined in the employee handbook, but no one ever bothers to read it.” His brows raised. “Have you read it?”
“I uhhm.” I lowered my head in mock shame. “No.”
“Fraternization with tenants is not allowed. No exceptions.” He wagged his index finger at me playfully. “D
isobeying that clause will be grounds for dismissal.”
“You won’t have to worry about that,” I said. “I’m a man hater.”
His expression changed to surprise. “I didn’t. I had no idea. We do have two female tenants. I don’t think either of them are, you know. But one never knows.”
“No.” I couldn’t help but laugh at his thoughts, so I did. “Not that kind of man hater. I just don’t really date. I’ve had some bad luck with men, and I don’t really trust them.”
He seemed embarrassed. “My apologies for jumping to conclusions.” He crossed his legs and placed his hands in his lap. “Men are like latkes.”
I was perplexed at his slice of advice. I gave him a confused look. “I don’t understand.”
“I was going to explain, but your mind is quicker than mine.”
“I’ll listen.”
The expression on his face changed to serious, but he smiled just a little. “Latkes are potato cakes that we eat on Hanukkah. It seems they’d be simple enough to make: potatoes, eggs, onions, salt, Matzo meal, and a little flour. They’re formed into a flat cake, and fried in oil. That’s it.” He turned his palms up and raised one hand slightly higher than the other. “But not all latkes are created equal. And, you can’t tell a good latke from a bad one by looking at it. To find out if they’re suitable, one must get to what’s inside. Only then do you know.”
After a period of silence, I felt like I could speak, so I did. “Let’s say I had a really bad latke.”
“I’ve eaten latkes so bad that they made me ill. The eggs. They must have been raw.” He raised his index finger. “But I didn’t stop eating them because I encountered a bad one.”
I decided I liked Mister Greene. A lot. “One of these days I might try again,” I said, although I didn’t know if or when that day would ever come. “Right now, I still have a stomach ache. The last thing I want to do take a chance by eating another.”
“Sometimes the best latke is the one everyone has left on the platter. The one with no eye appeal. Remember, you must get to what’s inside.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
He reached for his briefcase and then stood. “Send Nadine photos of the office when you’re finished. I’d like to see it.”
“I will.”
As he reached for the door, I stood. “Without taking a bite, how do you know if it’s going to be a good one?”
“You don’t.” He turned around. “But, if it doesn’t taste good, don’t be afraid to spit it out.”
19
BAKER
Using three ten-foot-long pieces of steel pipe, we lifted the air conditioning unit onto four pneumatic tired carts, and then rolled it out of the way.
Tito peered into the ductwork that was exposed by the unit’s absence. “If there’s a silent alarm, I’ll let you know. If not, come in on my signal.” He checked his harness, and then slipped the rope through the carabiner.
Cash planted his feet against the air conditioning unit’s framework, gripped the rope firmly, and gave a nod. “Get in there before the cops get here.”
After climbing inside the L-shaped section of duct, Tito removed the fasteners and handed the individual sections to Ghost. He looked at Cash. “Slow-ly”
Cash lowered him into the building a few inches at a time, giving Tito time to inspect the facility for backup alarms. With my stomach twisted into a knot of apprehension, I waited, hoping a silent alarm didn’t send the small-town cops screeching into the parking lot with guns at the ready.
Thirty seconds later relief washed over me as his voice echoed through the opening.
“Clear!” Tito shouted. “Drop the equipment.”
As Ghost lowered the gear through the opening, I looked at Reno. “Get out of here,” I whispered. “Make it newsworthy.”
He pounded his gloved fist against mine. “Newsworthy? You got it, Bake.”
The jewelry shop was positioned in the center of a small six-unit strip mall. The front of the building had a parapet wall extending up from the roof, giving each storefront a location to mount a sign over their respective business. The wall was only four feet tall, but it provided sufficient shelter to make viewing our activities from the street almost impossible.
As the tone from Reno’s exhaust faded in the distance, three of us disappeared one at a time into the jewelry shop, leaving Cash on the roof to act as lookout.
To thwart thieves, the facility left lights on over the jewelry cases. To keep from raising awareness that the place was being robbed, we’d illuminated the darkened sales floor with battery-powered lights immediately after killing the power supply.
Our camouflaged faces and black coveralls made us stand out like Ninjas in a Neman Marcus. Within seconds, the four of us were out of sight – huddled in the narrow corridor that led to the vault.
Goose looked at the vault’s steel door and then at Tito. “Go through it with the plasma cutter?”
Tito handed him a sledge hammer. “Plasma cutter will set off the sprinkler system. The flow sensors will activate an alarm at the fire station. We’ll go in through the block wall behind you.”
He removed another hammer from the long canvas bag, handed it to Ghost, and then checked his watch. “Seven minutes.”
I grabbed the last hammer and joined the other two in their effort to break through the eight-inch-thick concrete block wall. Like convicts on an Alabama chain gang, we took turns swinging the hammers into the exact same location on the wall.
After what seemed like an hour of pounding, we’d made no progress whatsoever.
“Six,” Tito barked over the commotion.
We swung the twenty-pound chunks of steel with such force that the floor beneath us shook each time they slammed into the wall. Just as Tito belched out the five-minute warning, a section of wall gave way.
Seeing it energized me. I swung the hammer into the weakened spot, moving it an inch upon impact. When I lifted the hammer, Ghost’s came crashing down, moving the section two inches. Then Goose’s slammed into it, sending large chunks of concrete flying into the adjoining room.
I swung the hammer a foot above the opening. A two-foot square of concrete disintegrated. After Ghost and Goose took a swing, a four-foot by three-foot void was staring back at us.
Tito looked at his watch. “Four and a half.” He gestured toward the opening. “Let me take a look.”
He got on his knees, looked inside the room with a flash light, and then stood. His eyes were as wide as saucers. “Jesus.”
“Jesus what?” I asked. “Are we clear?”
He nodded slowly. “There’s nothing in there.”
“There’s nothing in there?” I shouted. “What the fuck are you talking about? Nothing?”
“No motion sensors,” he said. “But there’s no way we’ll get everything out. That room’s tiny, and it’s packed. Fur coats, televisions, there’s even artwork.”
I motioned toward the opening. “Goose, Ghost, get in there. Goose hands to Ghost, Ghost through the opening to me, and I’ll give it to you, Tito. Get moving, fellas.”
After Tito handed them flashlights, Ghost and Goose disappeared through the hole.
I heard Ghost whistle through his teeth and then give his opinion. “Holy fuck.”
“Stop gawking and start passing shit out here,” I said through my teeth.
Goose’s head emerged through the opening. “Two small safes. Both steel. Need to torch holes in the top. We good?”
I looked at Tito. “You hear that?”
He exhaled slowly and then clenched his jaw. “Make it quick, fan the smoke, and keep your fingers crossed.”
I’d be damned we were going to take the risk for fur coats, televisions, and artwork. I looked at Tito and raised my eyebrows. “We gonna be alright?”
“The sprinkler heads are activated by temperature or smoke. Temperature won’t be a problem, so as long as the smoke doesn’t get to them, we’re good.”
I ex
tended my arm. “Hand me the torch.”
Tito handed the portable torch to me, and then a pair of goggles. I pushed the equipment through the hole. “Brother Ghost, take off that shirt and fan that motherfucker like your life depends on it.”
“Roger that, Bake.”
Light from the flame flickered through the opening as the sound of the torch cutting steel hissed in the background. With my asshole puckered and my muscles tense, I waited for the fire sprinklers to engage, the cops to show up, or the fire department to come crashing through the front door.
“Three and fifty,” Tito said.
My bowels ached from the nervous tension. As I counted silently to calm myself, the sound of Goose’s voice broke the eerie silence.
“We’re in,” he shouted. “So far, we’re good.”
In a matter of seconds, three gold bars were placed at my feet. It was one and a half million dollars’ worth of gold. I picked up two of them and grinned to myself at their weight.
I refrained from expressing emotion as I handed them to Tito. “No more than eight bars to a bag.”
“Got it, Boss.”
I picked up the third. Before I handed it to Tito, the clank from three more being placed at my feet caught my attention. My heart began to race at the thought of making a three-million-dollar haul. I picked up one of the three and handed Tito the two bars.
Before I grabbed the remaining two, there was another clank. Then another. And, another.
I looked down.
Five bars were on the floor. My heart raced as I did the math in my head.
Jesus.
Four and a half million.
I knelt and peered into the dimly lit vault. “How many more bars?”
“Three,” Goose said. “And a hell of a lot of cash. And jewelry.”
“We’ve got two and thirty,” Tito said.
“Two and a half, fellas,” I shouted through the hole. “Let’s get to cracking.”
Three more bars were set at my feet. Then, Goose shoved a backpack through the hole. “Probably weighs one fifty. Gold and diamonds.”
“Cash?” I asked.
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