“And that’s all you have to do. You are right to ask about this and I am pleased you’ve had the foresight to do so. Also, you are right to spend most of your time trying to figure out all the angles that’ll play out between now and you leaving Lansdowne. Carry on doing that and leave the rest to me.”
Frank smiled, thanked him and shook Lagotti’s hand with both of his. Then he walked out to his car. Lagotti followed him until he saw Mary Lou draped over him in an embrace. Frank Senior thought about the missing magazine time torn from him by this afternoon’s escapade and hopped into his car and headed back to the auto shop.
12
Brian and Andrew motored over to a firing range to get some practice in. Brian liked to go there a couple of times a week if he wasn’t on a job to keep his eye in. There’s nothing worse than taking aim at a cop who’s bearing down on you only to find you’ve pulled the trigger and the fucker is still standing. So Brian came to the firing range twice a week and kept his guns cleaned once a week too. A carpenter keeps his saw sharp, a gunman keeps his gun barrels clean. That’s what Brian figured and he had a point.
Andrew, on the other hand, had a different perspective. He reckoned in his line of work, if you used two instead of one bullets on a guy then it didn’t matter because the jerk was still dead and you were still standing. Brian and Andrew didn’t agree on many things but there was a strong bond between them anyway.
It’d been great the last year or so working with Andrew as well as living with him, thought Brian as he pulled the auto into the parking lot of the shooting gallery. At least he could talk about work with him and he truly understood. No questions asked. At least that’s what Brian told himself as he slipped the shift stick to park and got out the vehicle.
He knew the reality wasn’t quite matching the lie he’d just told himself. Since working together, they had become a tighter unit on the job, for sure. But it was at the expense of their personal lives. Because it’s so intense - life and death quite literally - on the job, they both needed some space away from each other during the long months when they were idle.
And the more time Brian spent separate from Andrew, the less he missed him. Until he reached the point when he actually wasn’t that bothered about when he was going to see Andrew again. Handy Andy. So called because of what he could do to your dick with just four fingers and a thumb.
And the sex was good. Real good. But it wasn’t enough for him anymore. Andrew was safe, for sure, not likely to run off to Vegas with the first guy he met in a bar - unlike Martin who only thought with his dick. And safe was always something Brian had wanted in a relationship and never had. Until Andrew. The trouble was that safe carried with it the risk of dull and Brian didn’t want dull in his personal life. He wanted love and lust and the feeling of the thrill in the pit of your stomach. And what he had was Andrew, a new sofa and a Magnum .38 in his hand, firing at a classic FBI target.
Andrew looked good with a gun, stood next to Brian in the adjacent alley. Legs apart, hands clasping the butt of the pistol firmly and squeezing off round after round. A keen technical eye in his head. With a big heart but little imagination. And I mean little. Andrew’s idea of a wild night out was not to book a return cab home.
◆◆◆
Andrew’s mind wasn’t focused on the practice. He was trying to work out if he could still take out Pete and keep Frank and Brian on-side during the getaway. Now all eyes were on the three of them inside the bank, there’d be very little room for maneuver. Little room for mistakes. And then Andrew would need to show them the getaway was safe by getting behind the wheel and making it so.
He’d need to find a way to get some practice for that without Brian beginning to suspect something was up. Wouldn’t be easy but he’d better get some high speed driving under his belt otherwise the whole thing would come crashing down around his ankles. And he’d have a bullet through his brains.
Brian was just in the zone, standing square to the target, squeezing that trigger and taking out the imaginary cops in his head. Andrew’s cock grew hard just looking at that hunk of meat. He was a beautiful guy and really knew his business. No messing. He really knew his stuff. That could make him dangerous, mind. But sexy too. Real sexy.
Andrew knew better than to interrupt Brian to get a quickie behind the firing range, but he wanted it. He wanted him. Right here, right now. Of course, Andrew stopped concentrating and he fired six or ten inches away from his target.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Brian immediately. He always kept an eye on Andrew on the range because he knew Andrew was more interested in cracking safes than firing guns at sheets of paper.
“Sorry, nothing. Just thinking, is all.”
“Well, think about taking out the cop who’s trained his shotgun at you as you leave the establishment... thinking, my ass.”
“Don’t get snappy with me. There’s no need for that.”
“Well, keep your head in the game then, ya putz.”
“Hey, no need to get like that about it. Jeez. Keep your wig on, you freak.”
Brian put away his pistols and stormed out of the building with Andrew following on quickly behind. He got into the car just before Brian pulled off and squealed down the highway.
Why had he let his mind wonder? He knew how seriously Brian took the firing range and he knew Brian was always watching over him at the range too.
◆◆◆
Brian wondered how much longer they would last as a couple. He’d do nothing before this job was over. After all, he didn’t know Frank well enough to judge whether he’d be whacked just for causing a rumpus. And Frank Senior’s reputation was as much for violence as it was for his money. So, no. Wait until the job was over and then take stock. Not before.
Besides, it wasn’t as though Brian didn’t like Andrew, he was just a bit bored by him. Bored with him. But he still gave the best hand job on the Eastern Seaboard and that certainly counted for something. Quite a lot really. And the lunk did love him and treat him good - and there were very few men you could say that about. Most just wanted some guaranteed sex from a warm and willing body. Shit. Andrew wasn’t all that bad. He was just safe. Very safe.
The other important thing about Andrew was that he was Brian’s connection to Frank and all that implied. Frank might have been in jail longer than he’d been out these past few years, but he had a cool head on him and some good ideas. Most people would just barge into a bank, but Frank had been smart enough to get that toots to fuck the bank manager for information. And being close to Frank Senior was no bad thing. Brian reckoned if he did well in this job Frank Senior might be a great source of regular income. The man funded almost every job of any scale in the area and you can always trust a man who’s looking to share his winnings with you.
Which thought made Brian’s head turn towards Frank and Martin. He’d done nothing about the guy’s disappearance as far as Brian could tell. Nada.
This begged the question whether Frank got Pete to hit Martin. And if he did then how can you know Frank won’t want you whacked, thought Brian. The next step was to wonder what would happen after the job. How sure could Brian be Frank wouldn’t tidy things up later on and grab a bigger share? There sure were quite a few people dipping their snouts in the trough.
This was the moment when Brian first hatched the plan to kill Frank and Andrew on the same day but for different reasons. He figured if he could take out Frank and Andrew when they were in the bank he’d end up with more money and fewer problems back home. And no-one would be any the wiser because Frank, Andrew and Brian were going to be the only ones actually inside the bank. And the rest wouldn’t care provided the money got out and they got their cut.
They drove home, parked and went into the apartment without a single word being spoken. Brian sat down at one end of the sofa, leant his head back and shut his eyes, covering his face with his hands. Hiding in plain sight.
Andrew sat down next to him, facing him. And sighed.
> “Sorry,” he said and he kinda meant it. He was certainly sorry he’d lost concentration and he was a little sorry he’d annoyed Brian. Andrew put his hand on Brian’s stomach, leant forward and started nibbling his ear. His hand headed south and Andrew earned his nickname. Handy Andy. After all, he did kinda owe him for the trouble he’d made this afternoon.
Brian then knelt on the floor, facing Andrew and unzipped his jeans. He sucked Andrew off and didn’t spit, to say thank you.
Later they lay in bed together, curled up and comfortable, each planning a way to place a bullet in someone’s skull. Each getting hard again at the thought of someone else’s demise.
13
Two minutes later, the two Franks walked out of the factory together, shook hands and Frank unlocked the car and opened the door for Mary Lou. Then he gunned it out the weed infested parking lot and headed towards their Halethorpe apartment.
What Pete had said was still running around Frank’s head. While the wheel man had been joking around, there was no smoke without fire and Frank wondered what Mary Lou was getting up to with Carter and what that thought really meant. It sent a shiver down his spine and he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.
“What did you have to say to Frank Senior?” she asked.
“Business, is all.” Frank flipped on the radio and rock ‘n’ roll burst out the speakers. Not because he didn’t want to talk, but because he wanted to get the image out of his head of the point where Mary Lou and Carter’s bodies met.
“What kind of business, babe?”
“None of your never mind, hon’.”
“Aw, shucks. I thought we were in this together. I mean, I’m busting my chops trying to get all I can out of the bank clerk.”
“You can call him Carter. That is his name,” interrupted Frank.
“I’m busting my chops trying to get all I can out of Carter,” she emphasized his name, “so I figure the least you can do is to tell me what’s going on with the big man.”
“I don’t rightly figure that’s the case. We are all doing what we need to do to get this job to work, right?” he replied.
Mary Lou was starting to fume, so she decided not to answer him.
“Right. I had business to do with Uncle Frankie and that’s all there is to it. An’ you have business to do with Carter. I don’t ask you about your business with Carter, so you don’t ask me about my business with Uncle Frankie.”
Mary Lou thought for a short spell. Initially, she hadn’t been too bothered really what the hell Frank had been doing, but his reticence to tell her spurred her on to want to find out. Frank could tell he’d made her mad because her breathing had changed, got faster, more nasally. For some reason he couldn’t understand, he opened up the conversation some more.
◆◆◆
“I have business with Uncle Frankie and you have business with Carter. I’m not asking about what you get up to with Carter and you don’t ask me what I get up to with Uncle Frankie, right?”
“You can ask me anything you want about what I do with Carter and that’s fine by me.”
Frank had told himself when he first got Mary Lou to go into the bank and find a mark he wouldn’t delve too deep into what she was going to get up to, because in his heart of hearts, he knew it would end up involving her fucking the mark and, as much as he told himself it wouldn’t matter, he actually knew it did. And this conversation - of his own making - was going to be all about precisely what he told himself not to think about.
“It’s just business between you two, right?”
“Just business Frank. Of course.”
“You sure? You hesitated just then,” Frank heard himself say.
“Jeez, yes Frank. Just business.”
Frank still had no idea where he was taking this conversation, but it was gaining a very unpleasant edge. One from which there was no going back.
“And in the evenings? What happens in the evenings?”
“We talk. So he can trust me, so I can find out what I can about the bank. So I can walk round the bank without anyone blinking at me. So’s we can rob the fucking bank.” Clearly Frank had pissed off Mary Lou and he didn’t need to be a professional psychologist to figure that out. He noticed how she was gripping the passenger seat, nails gouging into the leather.
“And what about when I was inside. What did you do then?”
“I came and visited you. Nearly every weekend. Every weekend I could.” What did she mean ‘when she could’? All she had to do was turn up and see him. What could have been so damn important in those odd weeks to stop her from visiting? Who was so damn important to her, he wondered.
“What about when you weren’t visiting? Like in your evenings?”
Mary Lou swallowed hard. This moment had been inevitable from the second Frank had walked out of that jail, but she hadn’t expected to be sat in a rusty old heap when it happened. The truth was Mary Lou had been faithful in her mind but not with her body. There had been a string of one or two night stands but they were never more than fillers until Frank’s return. And Ron had floated around for six months but she had finished with him two weeks before Frank got out.
“I’d go to the movies sometimes, meet up with my girlfriends, stuff like that. Other times I’d stay in and watch the Ed Sullivan Show.”
“The Ed Sullivan Show?” Frank couldn’t quite decide if Mary Lou was jibing him or not.
“Yes. He’s funny.”
“Right. And did you see anyone while I was away?” Frank couldn’t believe he’d just asked the one question he didn’t want to hear the answer to.
“No, Frank, I didn’t.”
“You sure? Sounds like you just hesitated again... So you didn’t see anyone while I was gone? You didn’t sleep with anyone while I was gone?”
There was a silence in the car. Even with the radio station blaring out, Frank was certain he could hear Mary Lou grinding her back teeth.
“No, did you?”
◆◆◆
Frank saw red. Slammed the brake and span off the road. Him fuck someone when he was in the can? What was she thinking? Who the fuck did she think he was?
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he yelled near the top of his voice spit flying onto Mary Lou’s face, his eyes like slits and pure anger on his breath, not able to believe she’d accused him of having queer sex.
Whatever Mary Lou was thinking, she knew she’d stepped over the line. She, too, didn’t want to be having this conversation and she, too, had plenty of opportunities to close it down. She was silent for a spell and tears started to well up and trickle out of the corners of her eyes until they became a torrent.
“Nothing, Frank. You’re freaking me out with your insinuations. I didn’t know what I was saying. Didn’t mean what I was saying. I wasn’t thinking straight,” and the crying went up a notch.
Despite his anger, Frank knew he’d gone too far. He knew she had only been verbally retaliating because he’d got under her skin. And now he’d made her cry and that was not part of his plan. He moved her left hand away from her face and gently stroked her red cheek with the back of his hand, touching her neck and wiped some of her tears away from her left eye with his thumb.
“What’s done is done. For the two of us. No more questions, eh?”
“No more questions, Frank.”
Mary Lou eventually stopped her crying and smiled her cute smile at him. Then she turned to him, kissed him on the mouth and slipped her hand under his shorts and jerked him off.
Despite the histrionics, Frank had got no further knowing what Mary Lou did with Carter and the bottom line was he couldn’t face finding out. The mere potential of the truth was more than he could actually cope with. But what would happen with Mary Lou and him once they’d done the job? How could he be sure he could trust her? What would he do with her if he couldn’t trust her anymore? She knew too much about him to let her just walk away if they split up. If he couldn’t trust her after the job, he’d have t
o put a bullet in her brain.
Frank pulled back onto the highway and drove back to Mary Lou’s apartment. She cooked them some linguini bolognese, Frank’s favorite, and they settled down to watch some television. After the Ed Sullivan Show, they went to bed.
14
The call from Pete came through a couple of days later. Pete was a great driver, really excellent wheel man. But he had issues. He had very specific attitudes which didn’t always help him get along with folks. And he had a very short fuse, which meant he could be quite unpredictable. And dangerous. But he was a great wheel man.
Lagotti agreed to meet up with him if only to find out what was going on inside his head. He’d known Pete for about five years and they had first met when Pete came into the auto shop looking for a loan to buy a new set of wheels. Lagotti could tell Pete was no ordinary car freak and hired him for jobs a few months later. Since then, Pete had been on four heists, sliced two throats and shot one guy in the eye. Serious driver with serious problems.
Under these circumstances, Lagotti decided to bring along Paul and Luigi, in case Pete was going through a troubled phase. They met in a launderette downtown, in the kind of neighborhood where no-one is stupid enough to listen into anybody else’s conversation.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me.”
“Di niente.”
Pete shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and looked down at his shoes.
“Well,” interjected Lagotti after about five seconds of silence.
“I’ve got something to ask you and I don’t know how you’re going to react.”
“If you don’t ask, you’ll never know will you?”
“No... But...”
“Pete, don’t sweat it. Whatever you have to say, I will not be angry and it will go no further than this damp room.” Luigi nodded to Pete, but they both knew if Pete put a foot wrong with Frank Senior, Luigi would be the one to break his neck and chuck his body in the nearest sewer.
The Heist Page 6
