Pete spent the next three days and nights in his Glen Burnie yard, partly because he’d stolen a day from himself getting some R ‘n’ R with Lucy and partly because he just wanted it all to be over. There could be no job until he’d done this work and he was getting quite impatient with all the waiting. Hanging around before a job was his worst time.
Some might worry about all the things that could go wrong and figure out how to mitigate against those risks. Pete just got bored and that’s generally when he did stupid things. Like the time he stabbed Willie Bob in the eye with a screwdriver for looking at his woman funny. Pete didn’t really have anything much against Willie Bob, but he was bored and an anger welled up in him that would never have seen the light of day if he’d had something proper to do, like drive a getaway vehicle that day instead.
So he worked damn hard on those cars: tweaking engines, replacing shocks, increasing the size of gas tanks. Anything to give the guys an edge on the day, should they need it.
The yard had a small one-room building, which housed a zed bed, a fridge, a sink and a chair. Pete kept the fridge well stocked with beer and a carton of smokes were placed on top of the fridge to cover all of life’s eventualities. And there was a transistor radio tuned into the best Country and Western station Pete could find.
◆◆◆
Frank appeared on the fourth day of Pete’s hermit-like retreat into grease and auto parts. The good thing about the yard was that it was in the middle of fucking nowhere, so no-one was going to stumble onto Pete’s projects without an invite. The bad thing about the yard was it was in the middle of fucking nowhere, which meant even if you had an invite, it was a bitch to find and Frank normally ended up stumbling upon it by accident, having zigzagged his way around a thousand units in an industrial wasteland known as Glen Burnie, caught between the I-97 and the 176, by the south-east corner of Baltimore airport. If you didn’t like the stench of the oil and gas, you could always inhale the diesel fumes from the planes flying feet above your head. At least, it gave Pete an excuse to play country music as loud as he did on the radio.
Frank tooted his horn twice as he and the jalopy arrived in the yard. Pete stopped and cleaned his hands on a rag tucked into the top of his jeans. By this time, Frank had parked and was heading towards him, hand outstretched for a firm shake. Pete looked at his own greasy fingers and laughed.
“No need to stand on formalities round here,” he jeered, “you can buy me a beer sometime if you want to say hello.”
Frank put his hand away and asked how things were going, no smile. Pete didn’t quite know how he did it, but there was always a way of interpreting what he said to Frank as though it had a sharp corner. It was rarely something he did intentionally and he could see it annoyed Frank much of the time. But Frank never said anything about it, apart from give him the odd filthy look, so Pete didn’t pay no never mind to it. But he knew he pissed Frank off.
First, the workaday van Frank would use to take Andrew and Brian to the bank. The floor had reinforced steel to take the weight of anything they caught in the haul as well as the gear they’d be taking with them to cut through the vault door and the safe itself if needs be. There’d also be enough gasoline canisters to blow the thing off its chassis if the cutting gear wasn’t needed as part of the exit plan.
Second was a sport sedan which Pete intended to use to take them from the bank to the split up point. Because its top speed was only 100mph, Pete had tweaked it to give a bit more bang for their buck. Just in case. Again, it would be torched to disconnect them from the tools of their crime.
Next were three getaway cars: white, blue and a red high-performance number for Pete himself; these were family saloons, nothing fancy, nothing out of the ordinary. All the same brand because Pete noticed Frank liked them and Pete knew they just needed to be reliable. All the group needed was a full tank of gas and no-one to break the speed limit or drive with a broken tail light. Pete made sure there were a spare set of bulbs in each vehicle. The man might not turn up to their meetings on time, but he sure as hell took care of his end of business.
Finally, there was a high-performance convertible Mary Lou would use to drive through Lansdowne in the morning, plant the C4 and head off to the split up point.
“That’s one beast of an automobile for a girl to drive, isn’t it?”
“Yes and no, my friend.” Frank stared at him, waiting for a fuller response which would contain some information or explanation.
“Thing is she’s going to have half a dozen blocks of C4 in the back and if she has to hightail it outa there for any reason, we don’t want the whole fucking thing blowing up now, do we?
“Also, if she gets stopped, she’ll have half a dozen blocks of C4 in the back, so we don’t want her to be stopped neither. Ways I sees it is she needs to have a lotta power under them hood to see her stay clear outta trouble.
“If that ain’t enough for ya, if all the other cars go to shit on the day - they shouldn’t, mind, but stranger things’ve happened on jobs before now - then we’ve got one hot rod to snake our way outta Dodge.”
Frank grinned and winked at Pete. “Only asking.” Pete smiled back, pleased Frank was trusting his judgment and checking his auto knowledge.
“Just make sure she wears flats. Her feet’ll slip right off them pedals if she’s in them fancy heels of hers.” Frank nodded and they moved on to the next, then the next.
Once they’d checked out all the vehicles, Frank stopped and asked: “And where do you hide them at night?”
“In plain sight, here in the yard, but they’s covered by tarpaulin so they want be receiving no unwarranted attention.”
“Good man. We’re close now, Pete. Just need to wait for the next big haul and then it’ll be show time.”
Frank punched Pete affectionately on the shoulder, greasy hands were still greasy hands, and drove back to Halethorpe to wait for the time to finally kick off the job.
31
Pete finished up his work on the convertible’s engine, which he’d started before Frank’s arrival. Slammed the hood down and covered each auto with a tarpaulin. The only thing left to do was fill each with gas and drive them in rotation each day until the job. That would keep him busy enough to not get bored, because when he got bored, he did stupid things. And he didn’t want to fuck things up on this job, not with Frank Senior watching so closely.
Pete went inside to clean his hands, locked up the yard and went home to take a shower and eat a burger.
After his shower - but before the burger - Pete slumped down on his easy chair, the towel still wrapped around his waist.
With all the hustle and bustle of sorting out the autos, Pete hadn’t had much time to think about Andrew and Brian and their little conversation. They were getting dangerous and like a mangey old hound, they didn’t appear to want to let go of that bone.
For now that was okay. The important thing was the job at hand and having enough people to take care of it. If he moved on Andrew, now that could set back the job by weeks or months and Pete sure had had enough waiting around already. He didn’t need to stretch things out any longer than they had to be.
So he knew to do nothing at this point but after the job was a different matter. If he did nothing, there would definitely come a day when there’d be a knock on the door and that coon-lover Andrew would be on the other side of it with a sawn-off shotgun and a snarl on that face of his. Bad idea.
There were only three obvious opportunities for Pete to take matters into his own hands: during the job itself, at the scatter point or after he’d got his split of the take and freely track down Andrew and do whatever he wanted to the motherfucker.
The problem with tracking him down was that gave Andrew exactly the same opportunity to track him down at the same time and those odds didn’t sound so good to Pete. If he used the scatter point, he’d also have to deal with at least Frank and Brian, if not Mary Lou too. The girl was not going to be an issue for him. He could tell on
e slap would send that bitch flying. The issue was going to be Brian more than Frank. Clearly, Brian’s allegiance was to Andrew: the guy had brought him into this job and they worked together. Sounded as though they’d been working together well for quite some time. Brian would be a problem. Frank wouldn’t be pleased if he whacked Andrew but it wouldn’t be a big deal to him because he’d already have done his part.
There was the option of hitting Andrew before the end of the job. Maybe if he clipped him either when he was on his own taking money out into Pete’s car or just as they were leaving. Brian would still be a problem and Frank might not be happy. If things turned nasty with Frank, he could always clip him and take the proceeds to Frank Senior himself. That way, he’d keep all the winnings and there’d only be Mary Lou to deal with. Or to clip. Whatever.
And so the plan began to form more solidly in Pete’s head to kill Andrew and Brian, either at the job after the money was in the car or when they all hooked up before the month’s hiatus. Best case? The guy takes a bullet in the line of duty and Pete doesn’t have to lift a finger. If he drove carefully enough and near enough to a cop car that could happen quite naturally.
All this thinking made him tired, so he jerked himself off, wiped himself down, put some clothes on and headed out to his local diner for that burger he’d promised himself.
◆◆◆
The following week Luigi visited Pete’s rundown apartment and knocked on his door.
“The boss wants to see you,” said Luigi factually.
“Um ... Now?”
“Nah. Tomorrow will do.”
“Okay. When ‘n’ where?”
“Not that fucking launderette again. He was most displeased with that location. Why not use the derelict factory, Frank’s favorite, y’know?”
“Yeah, of course. When?”
“Let’s say noon.”
“Suits me, I’ll bring my own chair,” said Pete with a smile on the corner of his mouth.
“No need,” replied Luigi, “you won’t be standing for long.” Pete looked at him, shook his head and closed his front door.
“What a mook,” he thought.
So he throttled down the I-95 to get to that shitty factory to have a talk with Frank Senior. Standing in the remains of that building, Pete couldn’t see how this could be any better than a Glen Burnie launderette, but apparently it was. At least there were seats in the laundromat.
Them Lagottis sure picked crumby places for business meetings. Derelict factories, cemeteries. Jeez. But he knew better than do anything other than keep those sorts of thoughts in his head.
“Glad you could make it, my boy.”
“Hey, anything for you Frank Senior.”
“How’s tricks?”
“All good, thanks.”
“Excellent news. And how’s our Frankie doing?”
Pete hesitated. Not because he had anything particularly negative to say about his nephew, step nephew, but because it was concerning to hear Frank Senior might be concerned.
“All’s fine. The job’s going fine.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Well, we’d all like the business to be over with by now but we also know it’s better to plan and wait for the right moment rather than rush in all guns blazin’.”
Lagotti nodded. Frank was right to wait. A bigger haul due to land in their laps next month was proof. And clearly the Wheels had yet to hear the good news on that front. Lagotti would let Frank be the bearer of those glad tidings.
“And is there anything about the organisation you think I should know about?”
“Um, no?” Pete was getting more confused because he couldn’t work out quite what Frank Senior was after. What or who was he trying to nail?
“No. Nothing more then?”
“Not that I can think of. I mean, is there anything in particular you want to know from me? I’m not being funny, I just don’t know what you’re getting at.”
Lagotti peered at Pete for a long moment. He knew the Wheels was a bit of a joker but he also knew Pete wouldn’t fuck with him or be intentionally disrespectful. Pete might have the habit of clipping the odd guy unnecessarily, but he wasn’t a disrespectful psycho, otherwise Lagotti himself would have sent the guy to hell many jobs ago.
◆◆◆
“How comfortable are you with the information you are getting about the bank?”
“You mean from Mary Lou and the mark?”
“Exactly, my boy!”
“Oh ... She’s got a lot of useful intel for us from the mark, for sure. I dunno if she could have got it faster as I’ve never even seen the mark. Don’t know how easy it would be to get him to talk. But,” sly dirty smile erupted across his face, turning his mouth into a nasty grimace, “I’d slash my old mother’s face with a bolo knife to get at those tits and ass.”
Pete’s words trailed off as he and Lagotti started mentally undressing Mary Lou to the point where she was standing before them in just her undies.
“I understand what you are saying,” and Lagotti raised his eyebrows to show Pete her breasts and tuches were also on his mind.
“And is there anything you are concerned about with this job?”
“Not much. Just getting the money out of the safe. I mean, we’ve planned and planned, but knowing it could be all locked inside a vault means we won’t have much time for fucking about. Apart from that, nothing.”
Lagotti thought to himself the fellas wouldn’t have to worry about getting the money out of the safe, simply because he knew Carter would have removed it all before they opened the door and walked into the bank in the first place.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” he said with a straight face, “it’ll all work out fine, my boy.”
Lagotti patted him on the shoulder and walked away back to Paul in the car who drove off as soon as Lagotti shut the door.
◆◆◆
Pete made sure Lagotti was the first to leave and he waited at least ten minutes before traveling in the opposite direction. As he was relatively close to Joppa and the I-95 beckoned, he decided to pay an extra visit to luscious Lucy, his dessert delivering doll.
He parked in the lot and headed straight for a booth so he could grab some food and take a pinch of that ass. He perused the menu slowly because reading was not his strongest skill and some of the more tricksy items didn’t come with pictures.
“What ya havin’, lover man?” asked a pair of tits in a waitress uniform that was definitely not his Lucy.
“Coffee. Burger. Fries. Where’s Lucy?”
The waitress chuckled. Pete caught sight of her name badge thrusting at his face. Glenda whistled.
“Gee, honey. It’s our Lucy’s day off. Still be wantin’ the burger and fries?”
“Sure thing, Glenda. I’ve got a hunger on me.”
“I’m sure you have babe. I’m sure you have,” and the rest of Glenda’s sentence trailed off into silence as she winked at him, turned and walked over to the kitchen to deliver his request to the short order chef sweating buckets by the hot plate and frying oil.
Pete left a five buck tip for Glenda, wiped the grease from his lips and teeth and got back into his auto. Then he drove round the corner to Lucy’s trailer and saw there was a light on inside. Quietly, he closed the door of the car and tiptoed to the trailer so he could hear if Lucy had any visitors - he was turning up unannounced and there was nothing between them enough for her not to fuck other guys. But there was just the sound of the television set and the heehaw sounds of a game show host and audience.
Pete pushed open the door of the trailer and stepped in with his back heel still holding the door ajar. He smiled and pulled his tee shirt off over his head.
“Hi mama, I’ve come for some of your lovin’.”
“What you doin’ at the door, papa? Close it ‘n’ come inside your mama, now.”
Lucy pushed down on her jeans and panties until they were below her knees, let her knees separate and Pete whipp
ed off his pants and shorts and lay on top of her, pumping hard, while she carried on watching the TV, occasionally slapping his ass and making an appropriate moan or two. It was good to keep her men happy, she found. That way, she got punched a lot less later on.
◆◆◆
Back at the Kitkatt Club, Lagotti went to his usual table and ordered a vodka lime. There were two beauties on stage, working the room hard. One was naked except for a headscarf and a belt around her waist where the Johns could hang notes. She was bending over and slapping her ass. She had brown hair on top but her bush was black. The other blonde one was still in her knickers and was collecting a pretty penny just by walking around with her thumbs in her panties, letting the members get a glimpse of her pubes. “America is a wonderful country,” thought Lagotti, as he took a twenty from his roll and went towards the stage to give the blonde her tip. She recognized him and made sure she was at the edge of the stage by the time Lagotti had wended his way around all the tables. Unlike the other Johns, Lagotti was allowed to touch the merchandise, so he pulled at her thong, holding the greenbacks that were already there and pushing his Jackson down the front so he could give himself an excuse to have her bush brush past his hand. He smiled up at her as he patted her knickers back into position and she carried on with her performance.
When he sat back down, he beckoned for the waitress who scurried over and he asked: “What’s the blonde’s name?”
“August.”
“Find a room for August and me when she’s finished in a few minutes, my dear.” He pushed twenty dollars into her bra and patted her ass as she left the table.
Ten minutes later, Lagotti and August were alone in a private members room. Lagotti had a fresh vodka lime and August was wearing a faux silk dressing gown. There was a table, a couple of chairs and a sofa. Lagotti was sat on the sofa and he placed his drink on the glass table top.
The Heist Page 15
