by David DeLee
On the verge of hyperventilating, the young man took in great gasps of air. He couldn’t answer.
Tara pushed Enrico’s gun away. She patted the young man on the back. “Calm down. Calm down.” When he got his breathing under control, she said, “Good. What’s your name?”
“Chad.”
“Okay, Chad. Listen to me. No one’s getting hurt today. Do exactly as you’re told and everything will be good. Just tell me which key gets you back into that room.”
“None,” Chad gulped. “None of ’em.”
Enrico pressed the gun to Chad’s forehead again, harder this time.
“Bull,” Enrico said. “How you supposed to get back in there?”
Chad pointed toward the door. “Him.” A large figure filled the glass from the other side, looking out. “He’s gotta let me in.”
Enrico pressed the gun to Chad’s temple again.
“Open that door,” he shouted. “Open it or I’m putting a bullet in this guy’s brains.”
Skyjack McMurphy stared back out at them from inside the locked room. He opened the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bannon pulled the minivan into the alley behind the row of stores.
Narrow, with barely enough room to navigate the vehicle between the dumpsters and the large rubber and metal garbage cans lined against the dark brick walls, he drove slowly. Trash and empty cardboard boxes spilled into the roadway were crushed and popped under the tires as he ran them over. He found the back door to the CCB store, an unmarked gray steel door second from the corner, and pulled to a stop. There was a camera on the side of the building angled toward the cash checking store door and area surrounding it.
Bannon eyed it with a concerned expression.
“Don’t worry,” Dom said. “We’ll disable it when we’re inside.”
The man was smart but not smart enough. The type of surveillance that amount of cash would warrant, Bannon suspected, would include off-site recordings uploaded via the Internet to a data storage facility. The stolen van with its stolen plates would be captured on tape. So would Dom and Bannon as soon as they exited the vehicle and approached CCB’s back door.
Bennie entered the alley ahead of them on foot.
Bannon pulled slightly forward of the back door.
“That girlfriend of yours sure is a feisty one,” Dom said.
“She’s not my…forget it.” Bannon glanced over at Dom. “This is the part Alex did for you?”
“Yeah. Ada’s usually our damsel in distress.”
Bennie squeezed in between the side of the van and a collection of dented, smelly trash cans on Dom’s side. Dom checked his watch. “Shouldn’t be long now. Keep the engine running.”
“I know the basics of driving a getaway car,” Bannon said. He had his window rolled down despite the chill in the air. Better to listen for any kind of trouble.
Dom opened his door, but before he got out, he said, “Just remember. We don’t need Steve McQueen. Drive like normal. Don’t do anything to arouse suspicion.”
“Got it.”
A buzzer sounded. The back door opened. Dom and Bennie looked up. Bannon watched using the van’s large sideview mirror.
Enrico stuck his head out and looked up and down the alley until he saw the van. With a broad grin on his face, he reported the obvious. “We’re in.”
Dom slapped the edge of the door. To Bannon, he said, “Keep the engine running.”
Bannon didn’t reply. He just hoped everything inside had gone according to plan.
-----
McMurphy had opened the door. Now he and Chad stood in the space between the two rooms. Chad looked on the verge of crying while Tara held Enrico’s gun on them, covering them.
McMurphy needed him to hold it together. Everything was going along according to plan. McMurphy was there to insure no civilians got hurt. Tara and Bannon were ingratiating themselves with this Dominick Bonucci character. Everything was going to be just great, so long as Chad didn’t give up the game.
Earlier, McMurphy had been parked in his Hummer two blocks down the street from the Exeter Lounge while Bannon and Tara went inside to meet with Dom and his crew.
He sat in his vehicle clenching and unclenching his fists, anxious, waiting for Bannon’s call. His phone was on a cradle attached to his dashboard. When the call came in, he put it on speaker phone. He could hear clearly everything that had been said inside the Lounge. When Dom told Bannon the target location, McMurphy ended the call and drove like a bat out of hell to the CCB in Southie.
McMurphy arrived pounding on the front door.
It took some convincing but he got, Chad, to come out to the waiting area and talk with him through the locked front door. He showed the young man his Coast Guard Special Agent badge and ID. He, Bannon, and Tara weren’t officially part of the Coastie’s Investigative Service but Elizabeth Grayson had wrangled a few badges and IDs in their names. As Secretary of Homeland Security, she was in charge of the Coast Guard, too, so she could do things like that.
Finally, Chad had let him come inside.
With Chad had been a second clerk, Brad. McMurphy told them what was about to go down. They wanted to know why he didn’t just call the police. McMurphy explained there was a bigger game at stake. That it was part of a large, federal undercover sting operation but he needed their cooperation to make it work. He laid it on thick and heavy. He said they’d be helping to capture some very bad men, top ten most wanted men. He told them, they’d be heroes. A ticket tape parade would be held in their honor.
Brad, who seemed to be a bit of a stoner, said, “You had me at I could go home and still get paid for the day. I’m outta here, dude.”
McMurphy took Brad’s place in the store, after securing a promise from him he would tell anyone about what was going on until it was all over.
Now McMurphy worried Chad was losing it. When Enrico went to the back door and opened it to look out, McMurphy put a reassuring hand on Chad’s shoulder. He gave him a nod. Everything’s gonna be okay.
Two men came in through the door from the alley. From the descriptions Bannon and Tara had given him, he recognized Dominick Bonucci and Bennie. McMurphy smiled inwardly seeing Bennie’s taped nose and two black eyes. Blades strikes again.
McMurphy said, “Don’t hurt us. Take it all. We don’t care.”
“Very smart of you.” Dom read his nametag. “Brad.”
He nodded toward Enrico and Bennie. “Load it up, boys.”
The cash was laid out in bundles across the service counter. Chad and Brad had been in the process of counting and verifying the receipt, having stacked the money in bundles so they could stock their tills before securing the rest of the cash in the safe in the corner, the door hanging open.
Enrico and Bennie scooped the cash off the counter and into two large gray plastic bins. When they were done, they flipped the tops closed and carried the bins to the van waiting outside.
When they came back in, Dom gave the place a final look over.
Tara said, “We need to go.”
“One minute,” Dom said.
McMurphy watched him carefully. He was looking for something but McMurphy couldn’t figure out what until Dom found it.
“That the surveillance system?” Dom asked, pointing at a computerize device under the counter.
“Um, yeah,” Chad said. “Yes.”
Dom yanked the device out from under the counter. In doing so, he tore several wires out with it. The machine whined, the lights on it blinked. Dom smashed it against the counter. Bits of plastic casing broke from it. He smashed it a second time and ripped the remaining wires from the wall. He tucked what was left of the damaged device under his arm and moved toward the open door. There, he froze. They all heard the sound of approaching sirens.
Enrico pointed a gun at McMurphy, excited and shaking. “You hit the alarm! You tripped the silent alarm!”
McMurphy put his hands in the air. “How, genius? You had us standing
right here the whole time.”
“Liar!” Enrico shouted, becoming more enraged.
The sirens were getting louder, fast. Dom pushed Enrico toward the exit. “We’ve gotta go.”
Tara and Bennie rushed for the door, too.
Enrico swung is arm around and fired a shot at Chad and McMurphy. “Liar!”
McMurphy jumped on Chad and tackled him to the floor, smothering him with his large body. The bullet chewed through the plaster wall. Dom grabbed Enrico and threw him toward the exit. “Idiot!”
Dom shouted, “Go! Go!”
At the door, Tara—the last one out—turned. She exchanged a look with McMurphy on the ground covering Chad with his body. He nodded. We’re good. Go.
Outside the van doors open and close. The police sirens were getting louder.
From the open door, McMurphy heard the tires of the minivan burn rubber Then vehicle roared as it took off.
He looked down at Chad who was staring at his phone.
“What the hell?” McMurphy asked. “You’re Instagraming this?”
“No,” Chad said. “It’s a text from Brad. He thinks you’re bogus. He’s called the cops.”
McMurphy groaned, repeating Dom’s sentiment. “Idiot.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Once Dom and Bennie had gone inside, Bannon remained in the stolen van. With the motor running, he tapped his foot, with an anxious eye on the back door via the sideview mirror. He watched Enrico and Bennie come out and load two gray plastic containers into the back of the van. They slammed the rear hatch closed and without a word went back inside.
Bannon made note of the time, waiting and now began to drum his fingers on the steering wheel. What are they doing in there now? What’s taking so long?
The delay worried him, especially when he heard the sirens.
He stiffened and sat up straighter. Random, he thought. It’s Boston. South Boston specifically. The cops could be responding to a call anywhere.
But the sirens grew louder. They were definitely getting closer.
If he wasn’t mistaken, there were more than one, too. Approaching fast.
Tucked in the alley as he was, sounds could be distorted, echoing off the surrounding brick walls, reverberating, difficult to pinpoint. Still, he was pretty sure the sirens were coming from different directions.
He pulled the door handle open, about to go into the store when he heard the gunshot.
He threw the door open, hitting the garbage container he was parked next to as Enrico and Bennie ran out of the store. They yanked the van’s side doors open and tumbled inside, rolling across the van floor.
“Where you going?” Enrico shouted.
Dom ran out only a few steps behind them, cradling the surveillance device. He ran around the van and pulled the passenger side door open, kicking the garbage cans near him out of the way. The cans tipped over and rolled with a reverberating metallic crash.
“Drive! Drive!” Dom shouted slapping the dashboard as he pulled the door closed.
Bannon glanced at his side view mirror. Where the hell was Tara? His heart skipped a beat as he waited.
Dom shouted, “Drive!”
“Not without Blades,” Bannon shouted back.
Bannon caught sight of her running out of the store. She jumped into the available captain’s seat and slammed the van door shut. Bannon shoved the gearshift into drive and hit the gas pedal hard. The back tires spun, spitting up clouds of burning gray smoke. The tires caught and the van surged forward.
“Better buckle up,” Bannon warned.
They hit the end of the alley. Bannon spun the wheel to the left even as he saw the Boston patrol car driving straight at them from the right. Lights and sirens full on.
Dom saw it too. “Crap!”
“No problem.” Bannon blasted through the stop sign on Dorchester and hooked a hard right. Doing so, he cut off a delivery van with roses painted on the white side panel. Tires screeched as the delivery van slammed to a stop and the driver blasted his horn.
In the sideview mirror, Bannon saw two patrol cars barreling up Dorchester coming at them from the south. One squealed to a stop in front of the CCB. The other continued going, pursuing the speeding minivan even as the patrol car from the alley fishtailed out onto Dorchester, cutting off the flower delivery van again. The driver slamming on his brakes again.
Bannon banged a left on Tudor.
A one-way street.
They were going in the wrong direction.
Dom cursed and closed his eyes.
At the next block Bannon zigzagged his way north. Left on F Street—going in the right direction this time—left on 6th Street, right on E, left on Bowen, then right on D Street.
Hopeful he’d lost ’em, Bannon slowed to a reasonable speed as he made the turn onto West Broadway. Luck wasn’t smiling down on them. A patrol car further east saw them and began to give chase, speeding up.
Their description, possibly the stolen van’s tags, too, must have been broadcasted over the police band already. Every cop in the city would be looking for them now.
“What are ya gonna do?” Dom asked.
“Oh, this is on me now?” Bannon shouted.
“You are the getaway driver, aren’t you? Get us away.”
Bannon gunned the engine—a 3.5-liter V6—hoping it had the horsepower to outrun the supercharged Ford Police Interceptor which came equipped with a 6.8-liter V-8 engine. Doubtful.
By some miracle they made it to the Back Bay without getting caught. Bannon crisscrossed through the neighborhoods making random left and right turns and even doubling back in his attempt to lose their pursuers.
“You ain’t thinking of going back to the Lounge?” Dom asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bannon said. “We’ve got to ditch the van.”
Dom stared at him. “You think?”
Bannon ignored him. They reached Exeter Street, four blocks south of the bar.
“I’m warning you, we can’t go—”
“I’m not,” Bannon insisted.
He pulled to the curb and slammed on the brakes, finding an empty space behind his F-350. He parked.
“What are we stopping here for?” Dom asked.
Bannon ignored him, shut off the van, and got out. “This is my truck. Put the crates in the bed and get in.”
Enrico and Bennie bristled at being given orders by him, but Dom said, “Do it.”
“Blades rides up from with me,” Bannon said. Then, he addressed Dom. “Tell me where we need to go?”
“The girl’s in the back,” Dom said. “I’ll give you directions as we go.”
“No,” Bannon said.
Tara stepped between them. “There’s no time to argue. We need to get out of here.”
Bannon gave in. Enrico and Bennie put the crates into the bed. They climbed in and Tara did the same.
“Stay down and out of sight,” Bannon said, climbing into the driver’s seat.
Dom jumped into the cab. He ditched the black baseball cap he wore to conduct the robbery and smoothed back his oily black hair. Bannon pulled away, driving just a few miles an hour over the speed limit so as to not attract any unwanted attention.
A Boston police car screamed past them as they stopped at a stop sign. Dom turned white as a sheet.
“Relax,” Bannon said. “They’re looking for four people in a minivan.”
Dom nodded. “I know. That’s the closest we ever got to getting caught.”
“What was with the shooting? You guys kill someone back there?” Bannon did his best to sound unconcerned, but worry for his friend and any civilian they might have put in harm’s way churned in his stomach, like an ulcer.
“No,” Dom said. “A mistake. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“You don’t say. I thought the whole point was to not hurt anyone.”
“We didn’t. It is. No one’s hurt, okay?”
Bannon held up his hands, as if surrendering.
“Just
drive,” Dom said.
Relieved, Bannon indicated the road ahead. “Where?”
“North End.”
“An address?”
“When we get closer,” Dom said.
They reached Commercial Street, a road that looped around to Atlantic Avenue near the wharf and Aquarium. “Make a right on North Street.”
Bannon did so. They continued until they reached Lewis Street.
“Take a left here.”
About halfway down the block, he pointed. “In there.”
He’d indicated a large brick, mix-use building with retail and office space on the ground floor and residential apartments on the upper floors. The building was still under construction, but almost complete. Construction material and equipment littered the area between the street and the building itself. A chain link fence surrounded the property but the vehicle gate was open.
Around the side of the building there was access to an underground garage controlled by an electronic arm. Dom directed Bannon to pull up to it. He handed Bannon a keycard. Bannon waved it over the square black reader and the arm went up.
“Inside,” Dom said.
Bannon pulled into the dark garage, wondering what had he gotten them into.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Once they’d parked, Enrico, Bennie, and Tara climbed out of the back of the truck. Bannon keyed his fob, locking the F-350 with a flash of lights and a beep of the horn. Stacks of lumber, sheetrock, and metal studs were staged in the underground parking area. There were two forklifts. Several large metal toolboxes were chained to columns, as was a partially constructed scaffolding rig and paint splattered ladders.
Enrico and Bennie each took a grey container. Dom led them all to the elevator, which they took up to the third floor.
They stepped out into an unpainted hallway, the carpeted floor covered in plastic.
If Bannon had his bearings right this was the first residential floor. The apartment entries lacked doors. Instead they were covered over with plastic duct taped to the door frames overhead.
Dom led them to an apartment near the back.
Inside, the apartment had been built out to the sheetrock, the walls were taped and spackled but not yet painted. A counter to their left revealed a large kitchen. No appliances yet, only the rough-cut outs where the refrigerator, sink, and stove would eventual go. The counters were installed, but covered with tarps to protect the granite tops. Blueprints were rolled out on the kitchen island. A tool belt and a small lunch cooler pinned the edges down, preventing the plans from rolling back up.
