PREDICTABLY, PETE WAS the last to arrive and his embarrassed apology was way too quiet, way too slow to make anyone feel better. Bottom line: if your wheel man can’t turn up on time when all you’re doing is talking about a job, what are the chances he’ll be there when you run out of a bank with a bag of cash in your hand? They all thought it but no-one said it. Pete knew though and that was enough for all of them. The sheepishness of his apology was the most acknowledgement anyone was going to hear. But Pete knew.
There were two items on Frank’s agenda and he knew neither would make the crew exactly happy. So he decided to offer them a shit sandwich.
“Thanks for making your way over here, guys. I’ve got some news for you all. First thing is our intel on the bank continues to be excellent,” and Frank turned his shoulders towards Mary Lou, who again was stood right by him, wearing flats this time.
“Some of you were probably thinking we’d have hit the joint by now,” continued Frank, “and I’d have agreed with you only last week. But if we’d done that, we’d have walked out of the bank whistling Dixie.
“Mary Lou has found out they’ve upgraded their security in the last two weeks so we’ll need to modify our approach once we’re inside the place.”
There was a general murmuring and shuffling of feet to indicate to Frank that, while everyone would really be all right to get the job over and done with, no-one wanted to walk into a steel cage. Mary Lou could sense the men were getting restless, getting itchy to get on with the job and the last thing they wanted to hear was about more delays. They hadn’t been earning since the summer and although Frank Senior had been supplying them each with keeping-safe money, they all knew one way or another they’d have to pay that back out of their end of the bounty. So it wasn’t really earning.
With that downer firmly under his belt, Frank then proceeded to punch them all in the solar plexus with news about the getaway. On the day, after the job, they would all meet up with Frank, hand the takings over to him and then split up for a month or so.
“This’ll give me time to get the stolen cash to Frank Senior, who’ll launder the money. His usual rate is twenty-five cents on the dollar, but we’re getting a better rate as I’m family: forty cents. As you know, the biggest problem with bank jobs is the money’s so easy to trace and that’s how most people got caught. So, yes, it sounds like they we’re losing some money but we’re gaining our freedom.”
Andrew and Brian looked at each other. Pete ground his molars. Mary Lou could see they weren’t happy, yet again, but knew they weren’t as smart as her Frank to see it was the safest way to deal.
“So it’s free money or jail money, then?”
“Yes, babe. And anyway, the bank vault will be full to the brim with cash, because you’re going to find out the best day for us to strike.”
“We’ll be in clover, Frank. In clover.”
Mary Lou smiled and turned her head to make sure she caught everyone’s eye. Reluctantly, everybody nodded. Deep down they all knew bank money was dangerous to have in your pocket. But no-one liked the thought of losing more than half their winnings.
“How much is in the bank?” asked Pete.
“We’re talking around a million dollars,” replied Mary Lou.
“So even after the cash is cleaned up by Frank Senior, who’s been funding us from the start, we will still be left with enough to never need to do another job again. Unless you want to use gold leaf to wipe your ass!” joked Frank.
They all laughed at the thought of that and the tension was eased. Frank carried on describing the getaway and how they’d all hook up again a month later to get their stake and then split up and never see each other again.
Mary Lou looked round the group again and she could tell every damn one of them was imagining how they were going to spend their share of the prize. Frank put his hand round her ass and up her crack from behind, just as he had done on the plane. She turned to him and kissed him on the cheek.
“We’re all going to do just fine,” she murmured to them all and they nodded in agreement.
“Any questions? Okay then, I’ll hook up with Pete, Andrew and Brian separately to talk about the changes to the security. The next time we meet up should be just before the off. See you then.”
As Pete sat back in his car, he thought of the moment when Frank pat Mary Lou’s butt just before they all split up and his mind returned to Lucy’s ass. So he went back along the highway to get another portion of sweet dessert from his favorite waitress.
22
MONDAY AFTERNOON, HE formed his body into a long straight line for a massive stretch along its entirety. His feet stuck out of the bottom of the blanket and his hands banged against the side of the kitchen unit. That’s when he was awake enough to know he was still in the trailer. He turned his head to see the back of Lucy’s and he rolled over to face her and grabbed a nipple between his thumb and first finger to wake her up. He wanted some fun.
She groaned a little and swatted his hand away, pushing it off her breast and onto her stomach. He sent his fingers back upwards and she sighed and grabbed his hand and put it over her bush. If he was going to rummage around, he might as well do something useful, she thought, as the cloud of unconsciousness was punctured by the sharp stabs of pleasure and pain caused by Pete’s fingertips and long nails, respectively.
Without moving her body, Lucy put one of her hands behind her back until she had Pete’s dick and she squeezed until he came all over her back. She had planned to keep him going just a little longer or at least long enough to get him inside her.
Two days ago, she’d tried a similar thing, only then she’d tried sucking him off to harden him up. She let his dick flop out of her mouth and she was moving up his body to sit on him when he came over both of them. This time, she just went back to sleep after licking her fingers. For some reason, which she could never explain or understand, she sure liked the taste of Pete’s spunk.
Again, Pete hauled his tired, half-drunk sorry ass out of the trailer and back onto the I-95. When he got home, there was a message Andrew’d called. He went to a phone booth across the street from his apartment and returned the call.
PETE MET UP with Andrew and Brian on Tuesday. This time in a bar Brian chose, so only Brian was happy with the decision. For Pete, the White Horse was a touch upmarket for his taste, selling martinis as well as beer and, for Andrew, there was beer as well as cocktails. Brian smiled because to him, the White Horse was just another bar, so it was perfect. Brian bought them a Bud each and they sat down in a booth far back, away from the door.
Pete wasn’t too sure why the two men needed to get together with him because they were the muscle, Frank was the brains and he was the Wheels. But he figured it’d be worth it in case they had a side deal on the go. So he let the chitchat last a few minutes but got bored and wanted to cut to the chase.
“So, what’s this all about, then?” he slid into the conversation when Andrew inhaled, possibly for the first time since they sat down.
“Well,” said Andrew in an almost whisper, drawing Pete’s head closer to his just so he could hear the dude, “we’re a bit worried, you see?”
“‘Bout what? I want the job to be over and we ain’t exactly rushing into things but I ain’t exactly frettin’.”
“No, it’s not the waiting for the job.”
“What, then?” Pete was getting irritated at this point. If not the job why the pussyfooting around? Spit it out, guys. Man up.
“Well, it’s Martin.”
“Martin?” Pete acted all surprised and quizzical but he’d been waiting for this day for months now. He thought they’d chickened out, but he figured they’d work out Martin vanished in a puff the evening after he and Pete met up. Then again, Pete didn’t particularly want to have this conversation either.
“Yes, Martin.”
“What ever happened to him?” asked Pete, raising his eyebrows.
“That’s the sixty-four million dollar question
, Pete. What did happen to him?” said Andrew, slowly staring straight into Pete’s eyes, boring a hole into his brain. Brain leaned forward, his elbows resting on the booth table.
Pete felt his revolver still tucked into his jeans, ready if things turned ugly. But he sat himself back, put both arms back on the booth, as open as his body language could be.
“I don’t rightly know. We hooked up for a beer, yakked over another one and that was that. Didn’t see him again and never got a call from him neither. Plain vanished in a puff.”
“Vanished in a puff all right.”
“Yep.”
“So what do you think happened to him?” said Brian, also staring deep into Pete’s soul.
“Fucked if I know.”
“No idea at all?”
“Nope. Sure is a mystery.”
“A mystery,” repeated Brian.
“But the interesting thing,” picked up Andrew, “is that you were the last person to see him alive.”
“WAS I? I thought he just skipped town.”
“Why d'you think that?”
“Well, I thought that’s what you said he’d done and you knew him far better than me. And he mentioned he was thinking of checking out California when I chugged a beer with him.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, wanted to check out the Malibu talent or something. Damn good idea if you ask me.”
The conversation meandered this way and that for another five, ten minutes and Pete could tell they didn’t trust him but they didn’t have the cajones to accuse him or do anything real with their mistrust, which was fine by Pete.
A couple of minutes later, Pete made his excuses and left, making a mental note not to be left in a room with those two on his own, in case they decided to do something more about their disquiet. He also decided after the job was over he’d organize the end of Andrew. Pete wasn’t that bothered about Brian any more: rightly or wrongly, Pete didn’t think much of Brian and he certainly didn’t care as much about the nigger Martin as Andrew did. Didn’t have Andrew’s brains neither.
The day after, Pete got in touch with Frank and they arranged to meet up in Frank’s favorite cemetery on the Friday. There was a steel conversation to be had.
As usual, Frank arrived early and Pete arrived ten minutes late.
“Do me a favor: next meet up arrive on time. When we exit that bank, we want to know you’re going to be outside at the right time.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m always there when I’m working. But right now, this is my spare time.” Frank stared at him for a half a second, holding his gaze just long enough for Pete to know how unimpressed he was with Pete’s statement.
“Anyhow ... if we have to cut through to get into the vault, what impact will that have on our vehicles?”
“Well, as I told you right at the start, oxyacetylene cylinders are damn heavy and we’ll need to reinforce the chassis of each vehicle and bump up the suspension or we’ll be dragging our sorry asses along the ground. So the question I’ve got for you is this: what are the chances we’re going to cut into the safe?”
Frank paused for a second, contemplating the enormity of the question.
“We have to assume we’re going to need it. If we don’t bring it with us, we could end up walking out the joint with only our dicks in our hands.”
Pete nodded. He’d reached the same conclusion before he’d arrived at the cemetery and was pleased he wasn’t going to have to convince Frank to change his mind.
Frank explained how the best plan would be for there to be a van at the back of the bank so if they needed the kit they could grab it real easy. Either way, they’d have a second vehicle to leave the scene of the crime with. For Frank, this meant he needed to modify his plans slightly: the best thing to do with the van would be to torch it before they sped away. It would act as another decoy for any cop who got close and would also mean they wouldn’t have to find another driver.
They left via different exits. Pete went straight to a scrapyard and bought some steel girders for soldering.
THE DAY AFTER, Pete got in touch with Frank and they arranged to meet up in Frank’s favorite cemetery on the Friday. There was a steel conversation to be had.
As usual, Frank arrived early and Pete arrived ten minutes late.
“Do me a favor: next meet up arrive on time. When we exit that bank, we want to know you’re going to be outside at the right time.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m always there when I’m working. But right now, this is my spare time.” Frank stared at him for a half a second, holding his gaze just long enough for Pete to know how unimpressed he was with Pete’s statement.
“Anyhow ... if we have to cut through to get into the vault, what impact will that have on our vehicles?”
“Well, as I told you right at the start, oxyacetylene cylinders are damn heavy and we’ll need to reinforce the chassis of each vehicle and bump up the suspension or we’ll be dragging our sorry asses along the ground. So the question I’ve got for you is this: what are the chances we’re going to cut into the safe?”
Frank paused for a second, contemplating the enormity of the question.
“We have to assume we’re going to need it. If we don’t bring it with us, we could end up walking out the joint with only our dicks in our hands.”
Pete nodded. He’d reached the same conclusion before he’d arrived at the cemetery and was pleased he wasn’t going to have to convince Frank to change his mind.
Frank explained how the best plan would be for there to be a van at the back of the bank so if they needed the kit they could grab it real easy. Either way, they’d have a second vehicle to leave the scene of the crime with. For Frank, this meant he needed to modify his plans slightly: the best thing to do with the van would be to torch it before they sped away. It would act as another decoy for any cop who got close and would also mean they wouldn’t have to find another driver.
They left via different exits. Pete went straight to a scrapyard and bought some steel girders for soldering.
23
WEDNESDAY WAS THE day when Frank, Andrew and Brian hooked up in a Baltimore bar, Finian’s Rainbow, where the locals knew each other but tolerated strangers by ignoring them and hoping they’d go away as quickly as possible. This suited the three of them down to the ground as they weren’t planning to stick around very long.
Frank kicked off proceedings after he’d bought a round of Budweiser for them all and made sure he’d left a tip, but not too big as he really didn’t want to be the kind of customer who’d be remembered.
“Down to business, then.”
“What’s the story?” asked Andrew.
“The simple truth is someone’s gone and robbed a different branch of the First Baltimore and they’ve gone ape shit as a result.”
“What the fu’”
“I know. What’s the chances, eh?”
Frank took a swig of his beer.
“Trouble is they picked the wrong branch. Bad timing is all. What it means for us is that we’re just going to have to be a bit more careful and be slightly more prepared than originally planned. We can still take this bank, for sure.”
“How?” asked Andrew, who was still far from clear that the risks hadn’t gone through the roof.
“Well, it’s like this. There’s still going to be the old guard at the door. Point a gun at him and he should be fine. Then there’s the staff door which leads to the vault. Before it was just a flimsy piece of wood; now it’s got steel attached to it and Mary Lou says the lock has been swapped out for a five lever deadbolt. That might sound like a hassle, but it’s still the same cashiers behind the tills and if we threaten anyone on our side of the door, they’ll open it up for us because they are the same bank employees who are told not to put their lives at risk or the lives of their customers just for the sake of the money. They still have insurance to cover them for the loss of the theft and they still have a reputation to protect. At this point, all that’s chan
ged is the material the door is made out of.”
Andrew and Brian nodded, because despite himself, Andrew could see the logic in all of Frank’s words.
“And once we’ve got that door opened, we walk down the same corridor we were going to walk down before. This time, we know we need to keep our balaclavas on the whole time because the cameras are going to be working, recording what we look like.
“So before the day of the job, we all need to go and get some brand new jeans, black tees and a long brown coat and a black balaclava. If we all look the same, it’ll be harder for witnesses to distinguish between us.
“When we get to the meeting point, we can change and burn the clothes. But make sure they are new and that you haven’t worn them before: that way, no-one will be able to say they recognize what you’re wearing.”
Again, nods all round because, after all, that made perfect sense - even to cautious Andrew.
“FINALLY, THERE’S THE vault,” said Frank. “This is the only thing where I can see potential problems in as much as they are likely to have the safe closed instead of open like they’ve done all these months up to now. It really was a walk in, walk out job until last week.”
“So why didn’t we hit it last week?” asked Brian, with a hint of a snarl. Frank responded with a vicious, dirty look and carried on.
“As I see it, there are two ways we can play it. Option one: we take an acetylene torch to the fucker and cut our way in. Option two: we take the bank manager and threaten to cut off his dick until he opens the safe for us. Option one might take longer but is clean. Option two means we might have to cut off the guy’s dick or the tits off a cashier until the dude sees sense, so it could get very messy. That said, in theory there is still bank insurance and none of them are meant to turn into Superman. But civilians respond to stress in strange ways sometimes. How do you think we should play it?”
The Lagotti Family Series Page 11