Dirty Money Honey

by Nisa Santiago

  “Describe the guy again.” Agent Peterson asked.

  “He’s tall and with average weight. I can’t see his face because of the helmet—”

  “What race?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell. He’s wearing gloves. All I remember is that he had a big black gun, and that’s all I see.”

  “So if you can’t see his face, how do you know it was a guy?” Wells wasn’t really sure why he asked the question, or what he was getting at.

  “It was a guy. I just know. The way he moved was like a guy.”

  Officer Anniston followed up with, “And how many were with him?”

  “As I said earlier, I only see him. In my neighborhood you learn that when you hear a gunshot, you run first or you die. I turned around and ran.”

  “When you say tall, like how tall? Six feet? Taller?”

  Jasmine thought about how her eyes scanned up when she heard the shot. The assailant was standing on the loading dock.“I dunno. Maybe six feet. He was standing on the loading dock.”

  “Is that the reason he looked tall?” Peterson asked, pressing her for answers.

  Jasmine couldn’t figure it out. Her head hurt. All she wanted to do was go home and be thankful she was alive. The detectives and agent wanted her to solve math equations, have X-ray vision to see through helmets, and also do their jobs. Las Vegas should have tighter security with all this money at stake.

  She guessed, “Yeah, at least six-three.”

  “Yeah, he looked six-three because he was standing on the loading dock, or yeah, he was six-three?”

  Jasmine didn’t like his tone. She now felt he thought he was better than her. Since he wanted to be a prick, she’d give him a story he’d never forget.

  “Yeah, he was six-three. And you know what? I’m remembering more now. I guess I was in shock when you first brought me in, with all the commotion. But he did lift up his helmet for a second, and he was white.” Jasmine sat up straight in her seat. “I could see his eyes and nose.”

  Peterson’s smile broadened. “Anniston, go and get the police sketch artist. We might be on to something.”

  ***

  When Hernandez and Aponte walked back into the room, Rosie was still licking the food from her fingers. Aponte cleared his throat, which helped the woman focus on the reason she was there.

  “Is there anything identifiable that you could tell us about the assailants that would be useful?” Aponte asked. “Did anyone stand out? Could you tell us the race, gender, height, weight, anything you could think of?”

  Rosie thought for a moment, “There was one of them, perhaps the ringleader, who I swear I’ve seen before.”

  Chapter 12

  Luther made his way over to the safe house, according to plan. The room was somber and each girl held a long face. He could hear the faint moans of Tee-Tee, fully in agonizing pain. Blythe tried to comfort her as best as she could but there wasn’t much she could do for her friend.

  The girls had laid Tee-Tee on a foldaway table that was now saturated with blood. Blythe held her hand tightly, to reassure her friend that she would be OK.

  “I’m gonna make it right, Blythe?” Tee-Tee asked.

  “Of course, you are. Just as soon as Honey gets here, she’ll know what to do.” Blythe hated lying to her friend. But what else could she say? It’s over for you? You’re going to die because we can’t take you to a hospital?

  “OK,” she said, her eyes darting nervously around the room, anticipating that Honey would walk in any second.

  “Honey is OK, right, Luther? She made it back safely?”

  “She’s good. I’m sure she’s fine, but we don’t have much time. We have to finish part three.” He looked at each girl. They looked defeated. He knew he had to take control. “Blythe, give Tee-Tee this. It’ll help her with the pain.”

  Luther tossed Blythe a paper bag with a strong sedative and bottled water. He needed the young girl to be put out of her misery. No need for her to linger around, suffering. Blythe knew that whatever was in the paper bag wasn’t a pain reliever, but she gave it to her friend anyway. She couldn’t bear to see her in such agony.

  Willingly Tee-Tee swallowed the pills.“Promise me you’ll never forget me,” Tee-Tee said, her eyes getting heavy.

  “What you talkin’ ’bout? You’re my best friend. Next week we’ll be spending all this money together. Far away from here, just like we planned.”

  Tee-Tee’s grip loosened, and her eyes fully closed. Blythe just stared down at her friend and shook her head in disbelief. Tears streamed down her eyes that she quickly wiped away. Everyone was frozen waiting to see how Blythe would react.

  “We have to keep moving and finish what we started. Tee-Tee would want that. She was a true hustler.”

  “I was listening to the radio on my way over here to see if we were hot, and I heard there was another heist done this morning at Harrah’s. They got helicopters and FBI on their tails. They done. Ain’t no escaping that there,” Party said.

  Everyone was oblivious that the felons she was referring to not only was connected to Honey by blood, but also were their decoys. Had it not been for their attempted heist, Honey’s crew could have never made such a clean getaway.

  Luther opened up the back of the minivan and began to count out each bag and then tally up each person’s cut.

  An hour later, he said, “With the take divided seven ways—”

  “Six,” Blythe interjected.

  “Tee-Tee still gets a cut, Blythe. That’s how we do things, and I’m sure that’s how Honey would want it. If you could make sure her family gets—”

  “She has no family. Not anyone that ever gave a fuck about her. I’m her only family, as she was mine.” Blythe’s voice cracked at the realization of her friend’s passing.

  “Then you get her share.” Luther exhaled. “With the take divided seven ways, we all walk away with six point three million dollars of unmarked money.”

  There was a thunderous roar of emotion as the whole room erupted.

  Finally, Party spoke, “Dang! We could have had more if we had time to remove all the bags from the truck.”

  Luther was disappointed with her lack of wisdom, and greed.“Are you stupid, or stupid? If everyone thought like you, there’d be more than one dead girl.”

  Party lowered her eyes. “Sorry,” she said. “That didn’t come out as planned.”

  The massive warehouse held five untraceable used cars. Tee-Tee and Blythe were to ride away in one, and Luther, Party, Mercedes, and Cinnamon would each take one. Each person loaded their cash into the back of their trunks and had less than an hour to get out of Nevada before the police put up roadblocks and began checking identification and the trunks of people’s cars. Everyone was headed out except Honey, who needed to remain in Vegas until the heat died down.

  Luther thought he heard someone coming. “What’s that?”

  Everyone began running to pick back up their pistols in anticipation of a raid, until they heard a familiar voice.

  “I’m coming in,” Honey stated.

  Everyone was relieved.

  Honey walked in and ran directly toward Tee-Tee.

  Before Honey made it to the table, Blythe said, “She didn’t make it, Honey.”

  Honey stopped in her tracks and sighed. “Is everyone else OK?”

  “Yeah, we all straight,” Party said. “But what are you doing here?”

  “I figured as much, but they closed down the casino due to the fact that it’s a crime scene, and said we’d all begin getting calls this week to go into the precinct.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Mercedes asked.

  “I’m rock-solid, Mercedes. You know how this goes; the first 48—the heat gets hot. The only thing that’s happened that wasn�
�t part of the plan was Tee-Tee getting hit. I told y’all I’d have to go to the precinct.”

  “Another thing that wasn’t part of the plan was the security guard. What about that? You knew him, didn’t you?”

  “He was a casualty of war. Collateral damage.”

  “Well, you could have told me. I froze up. What if he hadda put a bullet in my head?”

  “What the fuck is your problem?” Honey approached Mercedes. “I did what I had to do to keep the plan running smoothly. This heist was on a need-to-know basis. You didn’t need to know shit about that guard.”

  Mercedes didn’t know why she’d just blown her top. Because of Honey she had nearly seven million dollars to spend. And what about how Honey held her down at the heist and made sure she got out of there before the bullets began flying? Mercedes realized she was dead wrong for trying to pick a fight.

  “I’m sorry, Honey. I guess I’m still pumped up off adrenalin and still a little scared.”

  “It’s all good.” Honey nodded. “I just want y’all to know that I’m proud of each and every one of you. Everyone kept their heads under extreme circumstances. And please note that whatever I kept from anyone of you was for your own good, and it was part of the plan. Had I exposed too much, we all might not be standing here.”

  “So I guess that means that you’re not going to tell us why you had me take pictures of Mercedes and her two kids duct taped?” Party really didn’t care. She was all about the bottom line. And her bottom line was almost seven million. But if Honey wanted to spill the beans, she’d listen.

  “Exactly. I’m not gonna tell you. Just note that it played an intricate part of us getting away with this heist.” Honey ran her hands through her hair and exhaled. “I just want to go over a few more details before we torch this place. Remember what I told y’all. Once you get settled, divide and hide your money in several areas, from bank safety deposit boxes to buried treasures in your private backyards. Never choose a bank that’s attached to a mall or next door to a store. Always find a stand-alone bank. Thieves always choose to rob the safe deposit box of a bank that’s attached to another unit. It’s easier for them to drill straight through. Also, once your money is secure, never, ever transport more than nine thousand dollars at once. Any currency ten thousand dollars or over, the IRS needs to be notified, and the feds could get called in. And don’t be a smart-ass and transport nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars. When you get settled, find a part-time job.”

  A few girls grunted.

  “I’m telling y’all to heed these words. Find a job in a Starbucks or something where you put in twenty-one hours a week and get medical insurance. Keep those checks going direct deposit into your accounts and use your heist money to pay modest bills. Always buy money orders but not always from the same place. And you can only buy up to three thousand dollars worth of money orders at one time. Anything more than that and guess what? You have to fill out a form for the IRS. Put a down payment on a modest house—not more than nine thousand dollars—and pay your mortgage each month with a money order. And last, don’t go buying extravagant cars, no matter how tempted you get. It’s not worth it. You don’t need a Bentley to make you feel good about yourself. You have almost seven million dollars. That should keep a smile on y’all faces for the next fifty years if you budget it correctly.”

  Everyone promised that they wouldn’t fuck up.

  As each girl hopped in their ride, one by one, they all gave Honey a big squeeze.

  “Mercedes, don’t forget I’m going to contact you in a few days on the throwaway cell phone to make that transaction we discussed. Make sure you hack in on a secure, untraceable Gateway.”

  “Honey, you can count on me. I was born to ride and override systems and passwords. Whatever you need, consider it done.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  Honey and Luther were left to clean up the mess and cover everyone’s tracks. They torched the warehouse with Tee-Tee and all the other evidence, including the FedEx minivan.

  “Well, I guess that concludes part three of our plan.”

  “Isn’t that the last chapter?” Luther asked.

  “Not at all.” Honey smiled. “Not even close.”

  Chapter 13

  Luther was supposed to be our fuckin’ decoy—”

  “What the fuck happened to him and Cinnamon? You think Honey had something to do with this shit? You think she told them you smoked Meech?”

  Chief refused to take the blame for shit going sour. “This ain’t got shit to do with Big Meech. That bitch set us up!”

  “But why? And, if so, Luther and Cinnamon had to be down. So why would they all turn on us? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “How you asking me to make it make sense? Nigga, I’m fucked up just like you.”

  Delano and Chief had driven the hostages into an abandoned used car lot and was held up in an empty office close to the Arizona border. They had run out of gas. The place was surrounded with law enforcement, and the feds had officially taken over the case. The small town was now buzzing with drama. No doubt this heist would put the small town on the map.

  The head of the Nevada division, Special Agent Randall Scully, who was in charge of hostage negotiation got on the loudspeaker attached to the local police car. They still didn’t have any intel on who the robbery suspects were. They’d lifted so many prints this morning and were still processing names. And although they gave the news media a grainy picture of both suspects, none of the calls from the tip line had garnered any hits, leading them to believe that the suspects were from out of state.

  “This is Special Agent Scully. I’m going to toss a telephone inside so I could speak to the man in charge. I’m going to walk, unarmed, about twenty yards in and then toss the phone. Would that be OK?”

  Chief smirked. He crawled to the window and yelled, “Hell muthafuckin’ no! That ain’t OK. You tryin’ to set us up with some sort of explosives! You toss anything and, before it hits the ground, I’ll splatter each one of these hostages’ brains out before we take our own lives!”

  Delano looked at Chief.

  “I’m just fuckin’ with them. We ain’t gonna kill ourselves. Hell muthafuckin’ no! I’m a Christian. The only way I’m leaving here is blazing!”

  ***

  Meanwhile, back in Las Vegas, FBI agents were still reviewing the footage from both heists. The second heist from the Bellagio was what intrigued them most.

  “Do you think it just started out as a robbery?” one agent commented. “Because we all know robberies tend to turn bad.”

  “No way! Look at this one. Boom! He takes down the armored guard without provocation. This was premeditated murder. The goal was robbery and murder. Look at how he moves,” Peterson commented, getting animated. “He’s the ringleader. He doesn’t hesitate to put a bullet into the guard’s head when the other guy hesitates. He’s a cold-blooded muthafucka.”

  “Do you think these are men?” another agent asked. “They’re all so tiny.”

  “One of the witnesses swears she saw the face of the ringleader,” Peterson added. “She’s confirmed white male. And look at the size of this guy’s feet. Agent Scott, zoom in on that guy there who got the drop on the driver.”

  Agent Scott zeroed in on the Chuck Taylor sneakers. “What size would you say that is? At least an eleven in male. A ten or eleven.”

  “We’ll need to send this footage to NASA and have them give us the accurate height and weight of each suspect. Also, having the correct shoe size will be the cherry on top.”

  The room soaked in the intel.

  “Mexicans. They have to be a Mexican gang.” Agent Peterson got excited. “Agent Scott, get on the phone with headquarters and see if they could send us any information state or federal on Mexican perps in the area with a hard-on for robberies of this
magnitude. Anyone with a background in bank heists, or snatch-and-grab type of robberies. Anyone that could fit this MO.”

  “So you’re thinking that the two heists aren’t related, since the other perps are two black males?”

  “I know for a fact that the two aren’t related.” Agent Peterson continued to study the footage. “This isn’t a typical heist by any stretch of the imagination. This crew here has a level of sophistication that isn’t present with the two black perps. Their heist was planned to the very last detail. The two from Harrah’s are low-level punks who probably took all of a day to plan their heist. That’s why they’re cornered in a used car lot, and this other group is probably on their way out the country.”

  The police sketch artist had drawn the face of a white or Hispanic male with a black helmet, the goggles lifted up. His hair color and shape of mouth were unknown. This would be given to the federal agent in charge for the pending press release at eleven o’clock.

  “Agent Peterson?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have a dead male found burned at the Super 8 Motel off South Koval Lane,” Detective Hernandez stated. His supervisor, Aponte, thought it could be related and wanted to share as much information as possible with the feds. “The motel was set on fire early this morning.”

  “So?”

  Hernandez didn’t like his tone. “So, this could be related to the two heists pulled—”

  “Thank you, Detective. We’re working on our own leads and don’t want to be disturbed with innuendo. Adiós, Hernandez.”

  “Innuendo?” Hernandez asked.

  “Yes, innuendo. That means speculation.” Agent Peterson felt like he had a hot lead on the Mexican gang and didn’t need to be constantly interrupted by Las Vegas PD.

  “I know what the fuck it means, asshole!”

  Peterson looked up. “You still here?”