by Ian Truman
“Wanna go and steal some ATMs?” he said.
Ryan’s eyes flashed. Phil’s and mine, too. Shit, even Karl looked half-excited, which, for Karl, meant a lot. We just started laughing.
This felt like me and the guys going up to a cabin for the weekend. A bunch of fucking teenagers going to camp, I swear to God.
“Nuh-uh!” Patricia said. “You keep promising me some alone time.” She was both serious and toying with me. “Tonight is when I get my alone time.”
“Ah!” I said. The guys laughed.
“The guys got this one,” she said. “They can go without you. Right, guys?”
“Oh, absolutely, ma’am,” Ryan replied.
“Yeah.” Karl piled on. “Family first, right?”
I looked at Sean.
“Hey, don’t be looking at me. You know damn well I’m scared of that woman.”
“You better be,” she joked. Sean smiled back.
My balls were in a vise grip. A funny one, but a vise grip still.
“We’re going to Costco with your ma in twenty minutes,” Patricia added.
“Costco’s not alone time.”
“Then dinner and a movie. D’Arcy Kennedy. J’veux un film moi, bon!”
The guys laughed some more then Ryan hurried to the corner store and walked back with two cases of twenty-four. “Move the fucking tools out of the way,” he said. “I got one last one coming.”
“You got Kilkenny?” Phil asked
“It’s coming Jesus Christ give me a minute.”
Ma got her head out the second-floor window. “What the heck is going on?” she yelled. “And why is there an armoured truck in front of the house?”
“Can you babysit tonight?” I tried.
“D’Arcy Kennedy, what the hell are you up to?”
“Can you babysit tonight?”
“I thought you guys were going to see a movie.”
“We are, Mary,” Patricia said. “Costco first.”
“Good, I need some toilet paper while we’re there. I’m on the last half of my last roll.” Her head disappeared back inside.
Ryan was done loading the beer. The armoured car’s heavy doors slammed shut. Patricia handed me Liam. Everyone was on the go now.
Karl sat up front with Sean, told him, “Maybe you should cross to the South-Shore then back up the tunnel and into Laval, avoid all the construction.”
“We’re taking the forty,” Sean replied.
“But why?”
“There’s a seven-dollar toll on the twenty-five.”
Karl hesitated. “I’ll give it to you.”
“I ain’t paying that toll.”
We looked at each other. When a man was set in his ways…
Ryan slid the tiny window of the back section open, handed me four bottle caps just to bust my balls.
“Get rid of these, will ya?” he said as he dropped them in my hand. “Take care of yourself now,”
“Yeah! Bye-bye, osti,” Phil added.
I smiled.
My ma came down with her large grocery bags. “Now, where is that car of yours?” she said. “You know I’m not walking all the way there.”
Sean shifted into gear. It felt like we were good, responsible adults seeing off their kids for a weekend at the lake.
I sighed. Sean shouted, “I ain’t paying that toll!” again.
I looked at my ma. She shoved the bags in my arms.
“Can’t have fun all the time.”
Chapter 26
The job went perfectly, they told me. Sean didn’t have to pay the damn toll, either. They drove up to Lanaudiere without a hitch. There was nothing much going on up there. It was not special or hard or dark or industrial or tough. It was just standard, boring, lower-middle-class. Honest people living a modest life where land was cheap and jobs were just good enough.
They found the string of ATMs and the rest was easy as cake. Sean had an impact drill and tools and a die set to unbolt the ATMs from the ground. They had little brown jumpsuits with company tags on them and little company pads. Sean would hop out of the truck and ask for the owner while two of the guys unloaded the tools.
Whoever was less drunk at that moment.
Sean would say that some cards had been cloned in similar models out in British Columbia and they had to take the machines out of circulation. The new machines weren’t in yet, so there was a credit for missed sales that should appear on their next statement.
They asked how much, and Sean made up a story about a daily percentage of their last three months’ average that someone in accounting would figure out.
Like any good lie, it was perfectly believable, and no one in such a small business could afford the bad press of a cloned card, not in villages the size of those fucking villages.
“None of them complained?” I asked.
“Well. They complained. We left with the machines anyway. It’s insane what people will let you do if they think you belong somewhere.”
This one was a con for the ages: nine hours, five guys, twelve machines. At least forty thousand in there. Not the largest sum around, but it made for a damn good story, and that counted for a lot.
Sean was going to take them back to a machine shop to get to the exact count.
“Four thousand per machine if they’re full,” he said. “So maybe less, but shit! You guys are fun.” He had this smile on his face no one recognized. Too satisfied for normal. “That was a lot of fun,” he repeated. If all it took to take his grin away was to steal forty thousand dollars in ATMs, we would have done it earlier. “Shit,” we thought. Sean Cullens liked us for a minute. That couldn’t be a bad thing.
“Here,” he said, pulling a couple of hundreds from his wallet. “It’s gonna take a while to clear all of that, so here’s some petty cash for tonight.” I took the money. “That was good work, man,” he said as he smiled. “That was good fucking work.”
Phil got the rest of the beer from the back. He was pig-eyed and pretty wasted. There wasn’t that much beer to bring home after that trip. Phil tapped the back of the truck twice and said, “Heille! C’est beau! On est all good.” Then Sean drove away without a word, Phil walked over and that was that.
The rest of us were just chilling on my sidewalk. It must’ve been midnight. I didn’t care to check. We were all a bit shit-faced and tired but happy. My wife had had her dinner and a movie, and she was in a good mood. I was chilling on my steps. Karl was leaning against the lamppost, Phil and Ryan sat on the nearest car. Didn’t know whose car it was, and it didn’t matter right now.
It was warm, and the moon was up, and it had been good day. Beers were going around. Liam was upstairs with Ma. Patricia came out to meet us, and for a first time in a long while she didn’t look like she was pissed at me. She walked over to the case, picked herself a beer, and smiled at me. I could get used to that fucking feeling again.
No one said much for a while. Then Ryan opened his big mouth and said, “I think I’d want to date a cop.”
We all smiled and looked at him.
“What?”
“I said I’d want to date a cop.”
“What is this? Some guilt trip you’re having?” Karl asked.
“Nah, no guilt. I just had a thought,’” Ryan replied and paused. “What? Is that so fucking weird?”
“You mean you got a specific cop you want to date?” Patricia asked. “Or is it more of a general statement?”
“Nah! I mean I wouldn’t date just any cop. But I’d want to date a cop.”
“What it is? The handcuffs?” I asked.
“I’ve had handcuffs before. I can have handcuffs pretty much any time I want. This is something else.”
“Like opposites attract?” Patricia said.
“I don’t know. There’s just something there.”
“I think he’s right,” Phil said.
“Yeah, but you don’t count. I said.
“Heille!” Phil replied in French. He laughed about it, too.
“Grudge fuck,” Karl said.
Patricia slapped Karl, saying,“Ahhh, that is so rude.” Then she laughed and so did Karl. Now the world had fucking seen everything.
“What do you mean?” Ryan asked.
“You want to fuck a cop. It’s a grudge fuck, simple as that.”
“Is that what it is?” Ryan said.
“Simple as that, yeah.”
“Would you fuck a soldier?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“So it’s not a woman-in-uniform kind of thing?” Patricia said.
“Nah, not it. I’ve had uniforms, too.”
Too much information.
“So it’s got to be something else. It’s grudge fuck.”
“There’s two or three of them in my yoga class,” Patricia said. “Cops, I mean. I think one of them just got divorced.”
“Wanna hook me up?”
“No.” She smirked and brought the beer to her lips without drinking any. She had that sideways smile and that one crooked tooth and the little wrinkles at the edges of her eyes and her lips. I loved her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ryan laughed.
“That means you’re kinda shitty,” Phil said.
“Oh, I’m kinda shitty?”
“Well, you’re no complete shit, but still shitty enough, you know? Too much for a cop.”
“But they’re the worst of the worst.”
“So why do you want to date one?”
“I think it’s the ponytail,” I said.
“Oh, it’s totally the ponytail,” Karl said. “A grudge fuck and a ponytail.”
“I’d go for that,” Ryan admitted. “All right. All right.”
“Go right ahead, then,” I said. “Date a cop. A divorced yoga cop. Why not?”
“Ryan Duncan Scott doing yoga?” Patricia laughed and took a sip.
“We could buy you some of those tight black yoga pants,” Phil said.
“Oh, if you get him to wear one of those, I’ll fucking put it on the company tab,” I said.
“You serious?” Ryan said.
“Fucking right, I am.”
“Get him a pair of Patricia’s. Right there in the house.”
“Heeeey!” I said. “Keep it classy. I don’t ever want to see Ryan in my wife’s pants. I happen to enjoy watching my wife in those pants.”
“Thank you.” Patricia smiled and almost winked.
“You have an amazing ass in those pants.”
She smiled, and I smiled. Life was good, all right.
“So let’s get him some new ones,” Phil said.
“How much do these things go for? Good pair, I mean.”
“Anywhere from ninety to two hundred bucks,” Patricia said.
“Two hundred.” I grunted and took out my wallet. I had plenty of money. It was just the old-poor inside me thinking that wasting two hundred bucks on a joke was expensive.
“I don’t know if Ryan getting laid is worth that much money,” I said.
“You’re just doing it to watch my sexy ass,” Ryan said. “Admit it.”
“I want pictures, posters, mouse pads, mugs, a fucking T-shirt, everything.”
“You got it,” Phil said.
“Oh! I’m down,” Ryan added. “First thing tomorrow, when the store opens. What time is the class?” he asked Patricia.
“There’s one at ten.” She was a bit scared now. The guys meant fucking business.
“All right. Come on, bitch,” Ryan said to Phil as he was getting up. He slapped Phil’s ass, hard, and said, “Time to go to bed.”
“I might still be drunk by ten.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” Ryan said as they walked away. “Of course you’ll still be drunk by ten.”
“Maybe it’s time I made it home, too,” Karl said.
Patricia looked at him. “You have anyone in your life?”
“It’s not a big need right now.”
“I’m gonna find you someone,” she said. “Life’s better when you have people.”
In the distance, Phil and Ryan were give each other piggyback rides, slapping each other and shouting loudly in the drunken night to the great dismay of the new rich who lived here now.
Life really was better when you had people. I looked at Patricia. I smiled and tanked my beer.
Next fucking morning, they did it. They got up somehow, nine in the morning, and fucking did it. Ryan and Phil got up the hill to one of those fancy athletics stores. Ryan bought a pair of tight yoga pants, Lululemon ones, purple and pink texture with the matching shirt that didn’t fit Ryan at all.
He walked into the yoga class dressed like that, with his fat gut sticking out, that hairy belly button of his, and that proud fucking Scottish smirk. Fucking Scotland had been wearing kilts for centuries; it would take more than an hour of yoga class to take away Ryan Duncan Scott’s manhood.
He got right in the middle of the room, and people laughed, and others thought it wasn’t funny. He didn’t give a shit. Patricia pointed to the newly divorced cop, trying not to look too suspicious.
Ryan just walked over, said, “Hey,” and dropped his Scottish ass right next to her with the grace and charm of a whale flopping on a beach. That made her laugh, and that was always a good start. For about an hour, Ryan Duncan Scott did the tree and the mountain and whatever else they called the movements up in that shit. Sometimes blunt and daring worked best and this was one of these times.
Maybe she thought he was on the force. The cops had been wearing all sorts of weird or camo pants for two years now as a form of protest. Ryan could have been a cop wearing one of those things to make the whole department look like buffoons, which was the point in the first place. Maybe she just liked him.
Whatever it was, it worked. She was thirty-seven, two kids, divorced and in the best shape of her life. She was blonde with a ponytail and had a good ass. She gave him her contact info after the class. The booty call came later that night.
Kids are at their father’s, she texted him. That was code for go!
That’s how the story went anyways. We liked to yank his chain about it, but he did get some tail that night and Patricia heard some gossip the next week. That’s how legends were born, and Ryan Duncan Scott was right up there now.
Less than twenty-four hours after stealing forty-plus thousand dollars, Ryan Duncan Scott was fucking a cute blonde cop because he had worn pink and purple pants to a fucking yoga class.
People were gonna have a hard time believing that. They were gonna say, “That’s impossible. Get out of here.” And, I’d smirk because I knew better.
I was there that day, and it happened, all right.
Chapter 27
The ATM theft did rattle the cage as we expected, but it turned out to be expensive in other ways. What happened next left me in bad shape, Phil was done, and Karl lost his car and his driver’s licence. It got expensive in manpower, material, money, and lawyers’ fees, and it cost us certain freedoms we could no longer enjoy away from the attention of police. I’m not even entirely sure it was worth it but it happened, alright.
We were parked on Young, and it was noon, and we were having some food and a smoke in front of the boss’s office. We were waiting for orders or another job or some news or anything.
An engine whining and roaring in the street startled us. Before we knew what was happening, a grey Audi had smashed into Karl’s BMW. It smacked the right rear bumper, and the BMW jumped the curb and caught Phil’s leg at a weird angle against the sidewalk.
We heard him scream that one massive growl. If the crash hadn’t been so noisy, I’m sure we would have heard the rotula snap out of place. The BMW wobbled to a stop.
Phil slumped to the ground, the angle of his leg completely fucked up as it was still stuck between the BMW and the sidewalk. It looked painful as fuck.
“Get him!” I shouted.
Ducas tried to ram the car again, but he was out of momentum. The BMW settled back, and Phil screamed again. Ducas clenched his jaws in frustration. Mind you, this all took no more than a few seconds to unfold. Things happened fast.
Ducas was angry, and angry people make mistakes. This was our chance.
Ryan went for the BMW’s passenger handle as Ducas kicked the gear. Ryan swung the door open, then fell as the car started away. I threw my coffee against his back window out of anger. Ducas stepped on the gas, then stopped the car to close the door.
Karl got into his car, Phil screaming at him to do something or not do something or do something again. There were lots of tabarnaks thrown around, and it looked painful all right. Karl backed the BMW off the curb releasing Phil’s leg.
I looked at him there, forehead against the sidewalk, panting against the pain. You had to recognize Phil was a tough motherfucker, but there was no time to think about that now.
If Ducas took a right on Ottawa, he be gone on the wind. When he didn’t, me and Karl looked at each other instantly and knew we had a chance. There was construction up ahead, and Ducas would have to come back to Wellington once he hit William Street.
Ducas couldn’t have known that, or maybe he had forgotten or been careless. Maybe he never thought Karl would go against traffic on Young. He was wrong. I jumped into Karl’s car, shouting “Help Phil!” to Ryan.
That’s when it hit me that I was in a car chase. At first it felt exactly like it was supposed to: raw, exhilarating, impossible.
Karl backed up, U-turned like a goddamned stunt driver then stepped on it. There were two cars between us and Peel. Karl maneuvered around the first one on an abandoned gravel lot and sent the second one backing frantically into an empty spot.
