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 changed 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?”
Brian responded quickly and surely: “Cut off the guy’s dick then tell him to open the safe. Saves all the hassle and gets to the point real fast. I can’t think what fella’s going to get argumentative if you’re holding his manhood in your hand.”
“Good point,” said Frank, curling up his mouth in a near smile, “but maybe we shouldn’t replay the Tet offensive.”
“Well, we don’t want to be hanging about,” noted Andrew carefully choosing his words because he didn’t want to annoy or upset either Frank or Brian, “so maybe we threaten the bank manager first of all as that should be the fastest way to get the safe open. If he refuses, we start cutting. If it takes too long, we take a knife to his dick and see if the pinhead will speed our progress out of there.”
Now it was Frank’s turn to nod in agreement as this was probably the most sensible approach.
“And how do we all feel about dragging an acetylene torch and all that gear into the bank?”
“Well,” said Andrew slowly, thinking as he was speaking, “we could have the gear in the car with Pete and bring it in if we needed it. But if we don’t, we won’t be wasting time hauling it in or out or drawing undue attention to ourselves as a result.”
“Makes sense to me,” commented Brian, who almost always liked Andrew’s plans because they were simple and generally worked.
“Is that it, then?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Sure does. Here’s to the job. Get in, get out, get rich.”
“Get in, get out, get rich!” and they clinked their glasses, because Finian’s Rainbow only served beer in glasses. It was that kind of upmarket dive.
On that note, they left - first Andrew and Brian with Frank waiting ten minutes before his own departure.
◆◆◆
Driving back, Andrew turned to Brian, puncturing their silence, and said: “Frank still hasn’t talked about Martin, has he?”
“No, he hasn’t,” responded Brian, deadpan.
“Well, it’s just not good enough. Martin hasn’t gone off to AC and debaunched himself to oblivion. He’s been killed and Pete was the last to see him alive. And I don’t intend to forget that fact.”
“No, but Frank’s not gonna bring it up again and Pete looks like he’s gonna get away with it.”
“Well, let’s not get too hasty,” added Andrew, “all we know is that Martin was with Pete in a bar. Someone could have jumped him after they parted. But as they left out the back door, I agree it sounds as though Pete did for him.”
“So what do you think we should be doing then?”
“Let’s go to Atlantic City. If we don’t find Martin then Pete’s gonna die.”
“Yep,” intoned Brian.
The following day, they set off and Brian drove all the way. They stopped only once, just to stretch their legs, and were in a casino before the sun had set.
Most of the next couple of days was spent either playing Blackjack, Andrew’s fa
vorite card game, and the one-armed bandits, Brian’s gamble of choice - or in a men-only drinking club, which they’d been introduced to by a friend on a previous trip to the city. It was called Birds of a Feather and they’d drink and dance until breakfast time and go into the VIP suite and party on.
This was a totally darkened room where you could see nothing but feel everything. Brian loved it because he felt truly free in there. Andrew was less comfortable with the randomness of the encounters but he always warmed up by the time he’d had his second blow job. Nothing quite as liberating as feeling a stranger’s slobber running down the shaft of your dick and dribbling over your balls.
After they’d refreshed themselves, they were able to start asking their contacts about where Martin could be, if indeed he was in AC in the first place.
From bar to bar, club to club, Andrew and Brian showed their photo of Martin to anyone who would give them the time of day. But three days and two nights gumshoe work had delivered them zip. Nada.
Sipping coffee in some dive bar at two in the afternoon, they sat opposite each other, waiting for the energy to continue. A grilled chicken sandwich and fries had been downed by both of them but the entire meal had tasted of stale grease. They were tired and were no nearer to finding Martin than when they’d first driven into the city almost a week before.
“He ain’t here, y’know that, right?” said Brian, breaking the silence between them.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess? Really man, he ain’t here.”
Brian put his hand on Andrew’s, knowing this meant there was no doubt in their minds that Pete had offed Martin.
“I know. I just don’t want him to be gone.”
“Yeah, well ... he is. And we need to be going now.”
“Sure thing. Let’s leave this town.”
“Shall we go back to the Birds of a Feather for one last night?”
The Heist Page 11
