The Conway's Conspiracy

by Joubert Richardson

  “This must be taken into consideration,” Jonass seemed nervous and worried. “On several occasions, Pete and Ed had visited Joe in the bank and the supervisors might have seen them together. Some people have prodigious visual memory and can recognize a person by a simple reflection of physiognomy. The brutality of the action adds to the necessity of avoiding such a dangerous circumstance. Joe, what do you think we should do?”

  “I don’t know…” the baby shook his head. “I don’t see how to prevent that eventuality… Maybe we should be more creative in our disguises.”

  “I’m confident that appropriate disguises will be enough,” Edward reassured them. “Surprise and speed will be critical.”

  “Exaggerated care is often a mistake,” said Peter. “I’m quite sure none of us will be identified…”

  “I don’t want to argue with you,” Jonass appeared incredulous. “Anyway, think of something...”

  “What about the cars…?” asked Edward. “Do we’ve a meeting point?”

  “Sure,” Jonass’ voice was powerful. “Here, take a look…”

  The brothers turned toward the map.

  “The first cars will be abandoned at the intersection of Condor Avenue and Jasmine Street,” Jonass explained cautiously. “From Socco and Goma, our action will form two

  diagonal lines west to east… It means that Garry and Ed will deploy toward Chaatanou Street. From there, they’ll end up at Condor, here...”

  He pointed to the place on the map.

  “Where will we meet with you?” asked Edward.

  “From Socco,” Jonass went on steadily, “Pete and I will take it toward Minsky; and from Minsky to Condor…”

  He stopped, stayed thoughtful for a moment, and linked up, “I’ve given much thought to the determination of our meeting point… I chose a short distance for security reasons... The probability that somebody identifies the cars is a major concern... A third vehicle, parked at the intersection of Condor and Jasmine, will serve to drive us to Morton Street, five blocks away. We’ll then take place in my Chevrolet Corsica.”

  “The second phase of the plan will unfold immediately,” he nodded and stared anxiously at his brothers. “Modified military belts will be used to transport the money… We know how to get rid of the rifles and erase the marks of our trail... Tomorrow will be used for practical matters related to the action.”

  He smiled eloquently. “Brothers,” he said with a sharp voice, “the operation will take place in three days. We’ve time for a complete review... Are we in command?”

  “We are!” they yelled in unison.

  * * *

  That evening, after a rough day at work, Jackson Collins went back home and caught his wife with a lover. They were kissing when he entered the room. His brother had told him Maria was a slut but he never believed it. He was now facing the naked truth. Amazed and shocked, he could not calm down, which allowed the macho man to get away.

  As it often happens in such a situation, the unfaithful spouse showed more boldness than the dupe. Maria cried, yelled, and threatened, so much that a neighbor thought she was in danger and called the police.

  Astounded, Jackson could not enunciate a clear word. When the cops arrived, he was still gesticulating and stammering. Asked why the couple was making such a racket, Maria answered that her husband had tried to kill her. One of the policemen invited Jackson to answer the allegation. Out of control, the poor devil gestured stupidly and started screaming. The officers found his attitude suspicious and placed him under arrest. He tried to resist but was bluntly struck with a baton. With great force, the cops thrust him on the backseat of a patrol car.

  “Do you intend to press charge?” they asked Maria.

  “Do whatever you want with him…” she cried stridently.

  The policemen got back in their car and drove Jackson downtown. He was quickly booked and confined in a cell filled with hardcore criminals. As he made a move to sit down, a drunkard seized him on the neck and punched him on the face. The guard on duty quickly intervened and took him to an interrogation room. The poor man collapsed and cried like a baby. A detective entered and asked why he was crying.

  “Maria…” he answered with tears in his eyes; “my wife, Maria… I caught her in my bedroom with a vagabond…”

  “A vagabond?” the officer looked at him sarcastically.

  “Yes,” replied Jackson. “I caught them red-handed…”

  “What do you mean?” asked the officer.

  “She was fucking...” babbled Jakson. “She was doing it right there, under my nose…”

  “You mean…she was having sex with another man?” inquired the officer.

  “Yes…” Jackson replied with a disdainful nod.

  “And you wanted to kill her?” asked the officer.

  “Never!” he yelled stridently. “I was shocked…”

  “What did you want to do?” insisted the officer.

  “I was going to leave…” mumbled Jackson.

  “Are you sure?” the officer stared at him.

  “Absolutely…” he replied with a nervous jerk.

  The detective remained silent for a moment; he then said in a dubious tone, “We pulled your sheet, Jack… You’re still a virgin... We want to give you a break…”

  Jackson seemed flabbergasted.

  “We want to give you a break,” the cop repeated boringly. “But you must stay away until further notice…”

  “What about my clothes?” he asked anxiously. “How am I going to get them?”

  “Come back here tomorrow. An officer will give you access to your belongings, okay?” the policeman sounded disdainful and arrogant.

  “Okay,” Jackson replied humbly.

  “Be good, Jacko…” said the cop. “We’re watching…”

  He left the police precinct, haggard and scared. Just yesterday, he was happy with his wife and kids. It was Sunday and the family had barbecued in an attractive corner of the neighborhood park. Back home, Maria had taken a bath and perfumed with the goody, her favorite brand. She had then lain down and made love to him.

  “What’s going on, Jesus…” he cried in the middle of the street.

  Livid and still in consternation, he took a room in a motel but could not calm down. Defying the police order, he went to his address and roamed around the house. He saw his son on the balcony and waved, “Bobby… Hey… Bobby!”

  The toddler looked at him and quickly disappeared inside.

  Returning from the store, Maria saw her husband hunched in a corner. She threatened him with her fist, “You, wicked man… What are you doing here?”

  He wanted to speak but words would not come out from his mouth.

  “I’m going to call the police…” she yelled harshly. “You’re a bad person!”

  Alarmed and frightened, he speedily walked away.

  * * *

  Charles Becker was home, alone in front of a television. Eyes focused on the screen, he seemed delighted.What captivated him so much was Clint Eastwood, principal actor in the film. Charles was watching the famous western:The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

  The movie in which Clint plays the role of the good, opposing the bad and the ugly, fascinated Charles. The cowboy’s boots, slow steps, and hands’ speed threw him in great enthusiasm. From time to time, he stood up and mimicked the actor’s intriguing demeanor.

  Was his admiration for Clint the reason why he passed a test enabling him to carry a gun? Charles considered the legendary star as a performer in his own class.

  A security guard at Jensen & Jensen for five years, he was addicted to firearms. Despite the frightening aspect of that passion, they pretty much liked him. His professionalism was unquestionable. He cultivated the quality to being incorruptible and was proud of his reputation. A black man, Charles could not suffer the spectacle of chaos under any form or circumstance. The cavalier way in which Clint destroyed the bad and the ugly exhilarated him.

  As usual, the movie ends with
the victory of good over evil, which was great satisfaction for the security guard.

  Standing up, he went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed the rest of a sandwich. He started to eat it cold when the telephone rang. He quickly picked up the receiver.

  It was Jackson Collins, his white colleague at Jensen & Jensen. They had met at the firm and become close associates. A little older than him, Collins was kind of naive, but the pair had something to share: they were inflexible on all matters related to order and discipline.

  Calva Jensen, owner and manager of the firm, often said he was relieved the two men took care of his business. Their implacable self-control was both a cause of mockery and respect. The two agents often visited each other and partook in some kinky habits. They regularly enjoyed The Crown’s Babies, a bar infested with all kinds of prostitutes.

  A bachelor, Charles lived alone and liked to take his friend and colleague to the shady cabaret. They brought back prostitutes to Charles’s apartment and usually feted until dawn.

  It was an aspect of Jackson’s life that enraged his wife. She deplored to being exposed to infectious diseases and was terrified. Jackson never showed much concern over her preoccupation. He attributed her terror to precocious senility.

  Charles supported his friend’s derogatory inference, insinuating that, at a younger age, Maria was traumatized by poverty. Raised in a village of Peru, she lived in dire economic deprivation. Charles did not hesitate to say she was confused by the United States’ abundance of food.

  When he threw those offensive words, Jackson became nervous. After all, Maria was his wife!

  Charles tingled when his colleague said, in a shaky tone, that Maria was no more with him. The security agent had kicked her butt.

  “You really did that?” Charles asked joyfully.

  “Yes,” answered Jackson. “I slammed the door behind me…”

  “It was time, man… I’m happy for you... You’ve been duped for so long… ” Charles was viciously crude.

  “That’s not all...” Jackson mumbled hesitantly.

  “What…?” asked Charles. “What else did she do?”

  “Guess!” said Jackson with a bit of trepidation.

  “What…?” inquired Charles.

  “Maria was having an affair...” Jackson’s voice was alarming.

  “Ah… The piece of slut… I knew that! Did you catch her

  in the act?” Charles sounded cocky and disdainful.

  “Yeah... Red-handed…” grumbled Jackson.

  “Who is the rascal?” asked Charles with a hint of sarcasm.

  “A vagabond...” Jackson mumbled in a doubtful tone.

  “Do I know him?” insisted Charles.

  “No,” replied Jackson.

  “Where are you calling from?” inquired Charles.

  “I’m in a motel...” he answered timidly.

  “Why don’t you come over here?” said Charles.

  “Later,” countered Jackson. “I’ve a few things to do…”

  “What do you’ve to do?” asked Charles.

  “I must prepare for tomorrow…” he answered dubiously.

  “Ah yeah… It’ll be great...” acknowledged Charles.

  “I’ll come at eleven,” promised Jackson.

  “Come earlier,” replied Charles. “We need time to plan our game…”

  “I can’t. I’ve important things to do…” said Jackson.

  “Don’t let the whore drive you crazy…” yelled Charles. “She is the devil…”

  “Never...” Jacskon answered haughtily.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Charles.

  “I’ve to run to the dry-cleaners,” he replied anxiously. “All my clothes are at home…”

  “Why don’t you go get them?” said Charles.

  “They ordered me to stay away…” mumbled Jackson.

  “Who…?” Charles sounded incredulous.

  “The police…” Jackson’s voice was almost inaudible.

  “You’ve been arrested?” asked Charles.

  “Yes...” he answered nervously.

  “Oh damn… She cornered you...” shouted Charles.

  “Yeah,” said Jackson. “I was in jail for a few hours…”

  “She is a monster…” screamed Charles. “You’ve got to make her pay…”

  “I’ll see you later,” Jackson replied doubtfully. “I must prepare for tomorrow.”

  “Come stay overnight…” said Charles. “We’ll leave together.”

  “Okay…” muttered Jackson.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Push

  Jackson Collins and Charles Becker looked in the mirror and smiled confidently. What a memorable day! Among the fifty-four employees at Jensen & Jensen, they were chosen to accomplish the most important mission the firm had ever had: The Hauss & Caust Consortium had designated Jensen & Jensen to ensure a transfer of eleven million dollars to the Commercial State Bank, in Palm Beach. The two men were entrusted the critical duty to physically secure the operation.

  Members of the Board had spent days speculating about the best way to accomplish such an extraordinary task. While some of them sustained the idea of a strong escort, others warned that a public show could attract unwanted attention. Amilcar, Calva’s oldest son, came up with the idea of a routine operation, which, according to him, was a proven way to thwart curiosity.

  Calva decided to entrust the dangerous mission to two of his toughest security agents: Jackson Collins and Charles Becker. When the manager called them and revealed his plan, the two men puffed themselves up. They looked at each other and thanked the owner for his trust. Calva shook their hands and warmly praised their impeccable tenures. Impulsive, as usual, Jackson patted Charles’ shoulder and said candidly, “We’re here for that, boss!”

  The manager smiled cunningly. From the seventeen

  thousand dollars he was going to receive for the operation, the guards will get two hundred each.

  Despite the honor to carry out that important mission, Jackson was not a happy man. Underneath his joyful appearance, there was a person in deep mental distress. Maria’s unfaithfulness had broken his heart and he was in a state of obsessive uncertainty. He tried to avoid Charles’ disdainful attitude but his friend would not let go. Arrogant and spiteful, the man came back to the issue, again and again.

  With typical sarcasm, Charles spouted all kinds of insults about Maria. He was so good at it that Jackson felt like punching him on the mouth. As the two men paraded in front of the mirror, Charles shouted with a tinkling voice, “You’re stupid, Jack... Maria had been messing around for a long while… You’re such a damn idiot…”

  Jackson dashed forward and seized him on the neck. “Stop, you, devil…” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Shut up or I’ll bust your head!”

  Charles turned loose and ran to the kitchen. “Sucker… Do you want to kill me?” he mockingly yelled at Jackson.

  Taking a glass of water, he drank it and complained about his friend’s ridiculous behavior. “It’s not on me you should be beating,” he jumped around like a child. “While you’re in hell, Maria is having fun with another man…”

  Jackson stared him down and walked toward the door. Charles blocked the way. “Come on, man. I’m just joking…”

  “It’s time to leave…” Jackson was nervous and impatient.

  “What time is it?” asked Charles.

  “Twenty past five,” Jackson answered anxiously.

  “We’ve plenty time, man…” said Charles. “It’ll take us thirty minutes to get to the bank.”

  “I want to be there before six,” replied Jackson.

  “Okay… Let’s go…” Charles grabbed a jacket, paraded once more before the mirror, and they left.

  Twenty miles away, down in a bush, Garry scrutinized the large perimeter surrounding a construction site, east of the American Mall. A morning breeze gusted through the landscape and his hands, wrapped around a rifle, sweated cold. From
time to time, he raised a telescope and focused on the massive building facing the hillock: The Hauss & Caust Bank.

  Over there, behind a wall, his brother Edward was on the lookout with a rifle in his hand. What about Peter…? Jonass…? He envisioned them in the canal, small, frail, and horrid.

  What a moment for the Conway brothers! Further they went back in memory, less they understood why they had followed the path of such a terrible criminal career.

  Down in the bush, Garry remembered the trauma of his first years as an outlaw. He saw himself, chained with robbers and assassins. Once more, society had punished him for a swindle. As in a dream, he heard the Prosecutor’s voice enumerating his heinous offenses. Prison, trial and punishment, the familiar images of his life, formed a disparate collection of shame and infamy.

  He had a poignant sense of moral failure and, suddenly, wept like a wounded child. In a daze, images of his past displayed a film describing the story of a fallen bastard.

  It was the need to being rich that had driven them toward death and destruction. Garry was in agony. The imminent danger weakened his confidence and he quivered like a leaf.

  He softened until the moment the armored car turned around the corner. He then stiffened. The rhythm of his heart went with the pace of his thought. Lying flat, he raised his telescope and took an adequate position.

  Charles Becker and Jackson Collins arrived at The Hauss & Caust Bank at five minutes to six in the morning. As planned, they stopped in front of the back door. They stayed in the wagon for a few minutes, got out, and walked quickly toward the entrance. Marvin Johnson, the bank’s Vice-President, opened the door and welcomed them. “You’re punctual…”

  “Always,” Charles answered proudly.

  The trio stepped quickly toward the main vault. Shariff Ganoot and Granola Donino were present. The President patted Charles’s shoulder and asked them to go in the waiting room. The Vice-President walked toward a large safe, knelt down, opened it, and took out four large full sacks. They then went to Charles and Jackson.