“I’m... I’m looking for Frank Senior?” faltered Carter.
Matchstick guy pointed to a door to his right in the far corner which Carter hadn’t noticed until now. He nodded to acknowledge Matchstick Charlie and proceeded to Frank Senior’s door, rapped on it with two short bursts, opened it and walked inside.
◆◆◆
Frank Senior was at the far side of the room, sat in a leather swivel chair, leaning back with his feet on an antique desk, etched in what looked like gold but was probably off-yellow paint. Frank Senior didn’t look up and carried on reading his magazine. Carter couldn’t see what it was, but it sure had a lot of full-page photos, some of which Frank Senior needed to turn sideways to see properly.
After a lifetime or about twenty seconds depending on who was counting, Carter gave out a little cough, but Frank Senior ignored him. Carter looked left then right, not too sure what to do. Should he start speaking or should he wait for Frank Senior to be ready?
The problem was solved for him while he was asking himself the question. Frank Lagotti Senior put his girlie magazine down, opened a drawer and brushed it in, closing the drawer with a slam. He leaned back again in his chair, placed his elbows on the armrests so each finger tip touched its counterpart on the other hand.
“Well,” he said quietly after a spell of staring at Carter like he was shit on his shoe. “What do we have here?”
Carter cleared his throat and mumbled his name, eyes facing downwards. They both knew why he was there and neither really wanted to spend any longer in each other’s company than was absolutely necessary for the transaction of the day. Carter put his hand into the top inside left pocket of his jacket and Frank Senior tensed ever so slightly, but not enough for Carter to notice or understand why a man like Frank Senior would be concerned about a stranger reaching into an inside pocket and whipping out anything.
He held the envelope and placed it on the near side of Frank Senior’s desk. Frank dropped his feet down onto the ground, reached out and grabbed the envelope. Tore it open and pulled out the greenbacks. Licked a forefinger and quickly counted up all the notes.
“Good,” he intoned, “I don’t like being short-changed with my payments. Make sure you remember that. If you ever have a problem making a payment: beg, borrow from a friend, steal. I don’t care. Take the money from your mother’s purse or from your girlfriend’s snatch. I don’t give a fuck. Just bring me my money every week and you’ll walk out of here every week. Got it?”
“Yes... sir,” stuttered Carter. Frank beckoned with a dismissive hand for Carter to go. Then he took the cash, rolled it into a cylinder shape and stuffed it into his trouser pocket.
Carter turned around and walked out. This was one scary mother to be dealing with and they were going to be seeing an awful lot of each other unless Carter could think of some way of getting a very large amount of money together in a very short amount of time. Maybe he should go to Atlantic City and try his hand at poker. But gambling’s what got him into this situation in the first place.
◆◆◆
A week later, Carter was back but this time with a slight spring in his step. He’d met Mary Lou only the day before and even though she was just a girl looking for a savings account, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He’d felt a real connection with her and couldn’t work out why. They were meeting in a local coffee shop a short walk from the bank tomorrow and maybe he’d figure it out then. Meantime, there was Frank Senior’s payments to contend with.
If he could explain things to Rita then maybe her family could help him out. After all, they were well off and they spent almost all their time telling her how much happier she could be without him. Well, maybe if they handed over some money, he’d suggest a divorce. Maybe.
But Carter knew this was not a realistic scenario because, firstly, his in-laws would never agree to paying off his gambling debts even if it meant increasing their daughter’s happiness because they despised him so much. Secondly, he couldn’t get divorced because then his prospects at the bank would be shot to hell. They only promoted married men and if he waited it out a year or two then Mr. Cranford might retire and then he could end up as the Assistant Bank Manager. And who knows where after.
So he was left making payments to Frank Senior from now until the year after next. Of course, if he could get the girl to put a large sum into the bank then he could ask for a raise or something, which would at least ease the weekly burden a bit.
But within two weeks Carter was short in a payment and didn’t know what to do. He was spending money on Mary Lou that should have been earmarked for Frank Senior. He was besotted with her and spent most of his time at the bank thinking about the next time they would see each other. Thinking about the curves of her breasts and the scent of her rose. She smelled of sex and he wanted more.
Instead, he needed to figure out a strategy to deal with Frank Senior because he had virtually nothing in the envelope this week. He could try running away. No, really. If he left the state Frank Senior couldn’t possibly find him. If he changed his name, left his wife, he could start again with Mary Lou. They could live off her investment money until he got himself sorted. They could go to Florida. But he’d only just put a down payment on an apartment for the two of them and deep down Carter knew Frank Senior would find him wherever he went. Even Mexico.
Instead he went to the repair shop with an envelope which had only an insult of cash in it and hoped he could survive the inevitable beating or get to a hospital fast enough to get the end of his finger sewed back on.
◆◆◆
Inside Frank’s office, Carter stood near the door, waiting for Frank to look up and acknowledge him. Frank always made him wait.
Eventually, Frank said: “Well?” and Carter took out his ever-so-thin envelope out of his jacket pocket. Unlike the previous times, on the previous weeks, Carter didn’t place the envelope on Frank Senior’s desk.
“Mr. Senior,” Carter began, “I know we are both going to be disappointed by what I’m about to say, but I want you to know I mean you no disrespect and I have surely tried my hardest to get matters... sorted.”
Lagotti let the legs of his chair slam down onto the ground to show his displeasure at this unpleasant turn of events. All Carter had done past weeks was to take out the envelope, wait for Lagotti to count the wad and leave. Now the pip speak son-of-a-bitch was making speeches. And that meant only one thing: he was short and was trying to cut a deal.
Usually, this would mean Luigi and Paul next door would have to drag his sorry ass out of the office and beat the living shit out of the pen pusher. But today was Carter’s lucky day and he didn’t even know it. His besotted angel, Mary Lou was going to save him having a new asshole cut out where his kidneys used to be.
Lagotti had already heard of the plans for the job from his step nephew, Frank. And he knew Carter was their mark. Lagotti also knew what kind of man Carter was: a coward, a weakling gambler who stole money from his wife to place bets on baseball games he knew nothing about. But he worked in a bank and that was a place with lots of money and now Lagotti had some real leverage with this pin head. Leverage Frank need never know about.
“Young man, before you say another word, stop,” said Lagotti quietly, slowly and sternly. “I told you when we first met that the only thing you had to do each week was bring me my fuckin’ money. And I’m guessing you ain’t planning on doing that this week.”
Frank put a hand up to prevent Carter from responding, which was exactly what Carter had been intending to do.
“I’m going to give you a chance to play double or quits. While you really need to have got me my fucking money,” slamming his fist on the table and making Carter flinch where he stood, “I am prepared on this one occasion to give you a second chance before I ask my friends to rearrange your body parts and throw you into a dumpster.”
Lagotti held back saying anything for a second or two to let that image sink in. Then he continued: “You can take th
e beating and double your debt or you can wipe it out and maybe make some money on top too. Which’ll it be?”
“Wipe it out please, sir,” whispered Carter, his throat so dry with fear he daren’t swallow in case he choked.
Lagotti explained what Carter had to do. There would come a morning when he would get a visit from Luigi or Paul and the next day, he would go into the bank just like any other day. But before the bank opened for business, Carter would go into the vault and transfer the cash into a case, which he would then hide in the bank. At no point during the day should Carter do anything unusual, Lagotti made that very clear. Also, Carter had to find a way to take out the case when he left that day. He’d receive further instructions in the evening to tell him where to go with the case.
Lagotti told him if he did as was told and kept his end of the bargain then his debt would be wiped clean and if there was more than enough in the case, he’d get to keep a couple of thousand for himself. Happy days. If he didn’t do what he was told he could guarantee his body parts would be spread across the greater Baltimore area and his death would be slow, painful and full of unbelievable agony.
Carter was convinced without a moment’s thought. This was a big break he couldn’t ignore. For the first time in his life, he could end up with his own scratch and a chance for a new life with Mary Lou. And then the rose popped into his head again and he scurried out of Lagotti’s office in case Frank Senior changed his mind.
4
They had arranged to meet in the Lansdowne cemetery and Frank had arrived a few minutes early to find a quiet spot, away from the roads that lined two of the graveyard’s triangular sides and off the main path that ran through the middle of the cold, gray slabs.
Frank found a bench, hidden under a tree he figured would do just fine. It faced a row of graves with no flowers near them, which showed they were unlikely to be visited this afternoon. Frank Senior arrived in the cemetery bang on time but it took Paul and Luigi a little while to find Frank and his bench. By the time Frank Senior was sat next to Frank, the clock in the tower struck a quarter past two.
“Hi, Uncle Frankie,” said Lagotti’s nephew, with a quiet, contemplative smile on his face. Lagotti nodded by way of acknowledgement and sat back on the bench, passing his arm round the back of Frank’s shoulders.
“Hey you. Good to see you again,” he said warmly, wanting the boy to know everything was alright and that, even though he wasn’t a blood relation, Frankie would give him more than just the time of day.
“You too, Uncle Frankie. Real good to see you. I mean, it’s fucking great to be out the can, y’know?”
They sat and talked about the good old days for a spell, Frankie letting Frank find out the latest gossip about their mutual family members. Then they were silent, staring at the graves representing the dead and buried from many years ago.
“Stir was tough, Frankie. I mean, I kept myself clean and all, but it’s tough. Always watching your back, never knowing who to trust. The only ones you could be sure of were the screws. You could always rely on them to be a bunch of mothers. Apart from that, you just never knew...”
“I know my boy, I know. But you did well. No drugs inside, right?”
“I stayed clean, sir.”
“Good boy. And did your girl come and visit you?”
“Every weekend like clockwork. And she wrote me a letter every week too.”
“Good girl. You’ve got a keeper there, mark my words. A keeper there.”
“Yessir.”
“And all that unpleasantness with Louis, that’s all over right?”
“Yes, for sure. Louis got his before I went inside, anyway. So what’s done is done, I say.”
Louis was the bright spark who’d led his gang into a supermarket safe job without knowing there were two separate phone lines leading out of the building. When they grabbed the bags of cash and left by the back door, the cops were waiting for them. Frank might have only just turned thirty, but he wasn’t that much of a greenhorn, despite always being called a boy by his step uncle. He knew Louis had fucked up even before they started crouching behind their getaway car and firing back at the cops. Frank and Louis survived but the rest of them bought it that morning.
After Uncle Frankie posted his bail, Frank went round to Louis’ apartment and threw him out of the eighth floor window. There was no open casket at that funeral because there wasn’t much solid to bury.
“What’s done is done for sure.” Beat. “So you got any plans now you’re out?”
Lagotti was happy to see Frank but knew the guy would take up the whole of his afternoon if he let him and there was business to attend to other than his nephew Frank.
“I’ve got one plan, for sure. But I might need your help...”
“Oh? Tell me about it.”
And Frank did. He explained about the bank he and Mary Lou had picked only a few yards from the cemetery entrance. And how she had already started to case the place and had connected with a bank worker, Carter something. And how they’d go in first thing after the safe was unlocked, grab the cash, create a road block at the T junction and head out of town.
“Sounds just fine, but let’s get down to business, what do you want from me?” Lagotti’s tone had turned slightly harsher, because this next bit of conversation involved money and that was always a serious topic of discussion. Frank explained to do this right, he’d need people and to get people he’d need money and trust the people he’d get were good people and not a bunch of mooks.
Lagotti said he understood exactly and was pleased Frank had come to him for assistance. He could find him a driver first, because that was key and that he’d fund the job, but he’d need appropriate tribute. They’d agree the exact amount later. Frank thanked him and agreed to his terms mainly because he had absolutely no choice whatsoever. He had known whatever Frankie wanted, he got and Frank was in no position to haggle. He’d been out the joint three days and only had a hangover and aching balls to show for it. A slice of something sounded a hell of a lot better than a whole load more of nothing. Nothing he could get by himself. And if the take was as big as he thought it might be, he and Mary Lou could still settle out west somewhere without any problems, anyway.
They shook hands and had a big bear hug to seal the deal, then Frank sat back down to let Frankie leave first. Twenty minutes later, Frank left the cemetery in the opposite direction, taking the west, Saratoga Avenue, exit. Then he hopped on a bus and headed back to Mary Lou’s apartment.
When Lagotti returned to the auto shop, he made a single follow-up phone call to Pete “The Wheels”, the best getaway driver he knew, who wasn’t doing time right now.
“Pete, how’s you? I’ve got a job for you. Yep, driving away from a bank. Yep, should be a simple enough job. Just one thing: it’s being run by that kid nephew of mine and I’d like you to keep an eye on my investment... Yeah, Frank as in Frank-and-Louis, rest in peace. Bad business, yeah. Let me know if I should be concerned, okay?”
5
Pete sat in the Butterfly Arms for a quarter of an hour. He hugged his Heineken bottle slightly more than he would in any other bar. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but something didn’t quite feel right. If Pete’d been more aware of his surroundings and had a stronger level of knowledge of local bars, he’d have noticed there were absolutely no women in the Butterfly. And there was a simple reason: it wasn’t that this was one of those coincidences and that sometime in the next hour, the gender balance would be realigned. No, the reason was that the Butterfly Arms was and is a gay bar and was well known as such by everyone who lived within fifteen miles of the joint, because it was the only gay bar within fifteen miles.
Why Pete had not known this before he arrived early for the meet is beyond explanation for a man like Pete. But not only did he not know before he entered the establishment, he really hadn’t noticed how close some of the men were once he settled down and hugged his beer.
And despite this amazing oversi
ght of Pete’s, if he had figured things out, he would have been mildly annoyed but not upset, because while he might have felt slightly uncomfortable at the thought of being that close to a bunch of queers, Pete was enough of a Republican to believe in freedom of choice even if it creeped him out.
Martin had chosen the place when they spoke on the phone. Frank had told them to hook up before everyone met so they could get to know each other a little better. Two key guys for the job were the driver and the crowd control. The former gets everyone out safely and the latter keeps everyone safe inside so if they both connect the whole thing goes much more smoothly. Safety first; safety last.
Martin had sounded okay on the phone, nothing special, nothing out of the way interesting to Pete. So when Martin sat down opposite him in his booth, Pete nearly wigged out totally. Because sat in front of him was one of the meanest looking niggers Pete had ever cast his eyes on. And for choice-loving Republican Pete, this was a problem, a serious problem. He wasn’t going to have no coon in his vehicle.
◆◆◆
He knew complaining the guy was as black as the ace of spades wasn’t going to do him any good. Pete might have been a racist, but he was a rational racist. If Frank had already picked him to be on the team, he must be okay with this black son-of-a-bitch. And if Frank was okay with this black son-of-a-bitch Pete couldn’t throw his toys out of the stroller just yet. He’d need to speak with Frank Senior and find out what he thought of the dark situation he was in.
Meanwhile, Pete made small talk with Martin and waited. They covered a few war stories from raids gone by, each trying to gently outdo the last tale from the other. After two beers, Pete had more than enough of this black cocksucker and left the Butterfly Arms.
The Heist Page 2
