by BT Urruela
When you have the money, leave a note for us on the back of the dead end sign off Gladney St. After that, we’ll leave instructions at the same spot.
I drop the note to my side, my head shaking. “That motherfucker,” I say, handing it back over to Shane who storms back out of the room with it. Paige and I follow behind him and see Brandi sitting with Irish on the couch, concerned looks on their faces.
“When the hell did this happen?” I ask.
“I have no clue,” Shane replies, running his hands through his hair as he paces the room. “I woke up and she wasn’t in bed with me. I went outside to see if her bike was gone and this shit was taped to the fucking door.” He lifts the note, shaking it before tossing it to the ground.
“Well, they certainly didn’t take her from the house. One of us would’ve woken up,” Brandi says.
“She was probably smoking or something,” Shane responds. “Fuck! I should’ve just taken her with me to Seattle. We would’ve had a better chance than staying here. Goddamn it.”
“Well, what if we see your plan through. We can do it without her. And you said there’s enough in the three trucks to pay them off, right?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, should be. Should be enough for the full one-fifty.”
“So, then we continue forward as planned. What else can we do?” I ask, shrugging.
“Anybody know where this fucker lives?” Irish asks.
“Nah, nobody knows a thing about this motherfucker. Or they just aren’t willing to talk,” Shane says, scratching his beard. “Jimmy may know something though, might be worth a shot, but I say we continue forward as well. So, I’ll be breaching, and Rock’s going to be our point man. Who wants to snatch the loot?” he asks, scanning the room.
“Well, I’m driving… And Brandi, baby, I’m sorry, but you’re staying back,” Irish says, and Brandi backhands his arm in response. He draws back, rubbing the same arm. “Damn, woman!”
“Don’t boss me around then,” she says, shrugging.
“I just don’t want you involved on this level, Brandi. I don’t want anything happening to you.” He wraps an arm around her and she glances up at him.
“And you think I want something happening to you?” she asks, rhetorically.
“Honestly, we need someone on lookout anyways. Pig patrol,” Shane says, looking at Brandi. “If you wouldn’t mind that is.” She nods and then shoots a dirty look at Irish before poking him with a playful elbow.
“I’ll do it,” I say before taking Paige’s hand in mine. “And I’d like you to stay back with Brandi too, babe. Please?” She nods, leaning in for a kiss which I happily oblige.
When she takes her lips away from mine, she looks me in the eyes without a word, as if hoping to pass something on to me. “Be safe. Just be safe,” she whispers.
“I promise, baby,” I whisper back and take her hand to my lips, kissing the back of it before directing my attention back to the room.
“So, when?” I ask, and Shane finally stops pacing.
“Three days from now. The trucks will be right where we need them on Thursday,” he says, letting out a slow exhale.
“Two days before it’s due?” I ask, shaking my head and my mind running wild. “Fuck it. Okay, so Thursday it goes down. Thursday, we get Gabi back,” I say, hoping no one detects my complete uncertainty and fear.
“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Jimmy says, leaning against the bar top.
“Not one fucking bit,” Shane mutters between gritted teeth.
“When the hell did this happen?” Jimmy asks, eyeing Chase, Rock and me before his concerned gaze lands back on Shane.
“Yesterday morning. Not sure about the time,” Shane says, taking a deep breath and then glancing behind his back at the only two other people in the bar, seated at the rear and minding their own. He looks back toward Jimmy. “We’re wondering if you might know where this fucker hangs out. Maybe where they could be keeping her.”
Jimmy rubs a palm across his forehead and shakes his head. “Nah man. Javi’s big time ‘round these parts. He don’t show a lot a his cards.” He leans in which brings all of us in a bit as well. “I tell ya what, though. I can promise ya one of his guys will be in here at some point. No doubt he told ‘em to stay away. Some will anyhow. And I’m sure you could encourage them to talk.” He winks as he buries his hands into the beer cooler to top us off.
“You see any of them recently?” I ask, grabbing a beer from him and returning a nod.
“A few the night before last. Started some shit with some locals,” Jimmy says, sipping a beer of his own. “Just a little secret between us gentlemen right here,” he continues. “If y’all find out where this fucker’s keeping her and decide to go in, I’ve got plenty of unregistered toys for y’all to play with. You’ll go in that motherfucker like Wounded Knee, ya know what I mean?” He wiggles his brows and a brief pause follows. “Like y’all will kill everyone, s’what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Shane says, grinning. “We get it.”
“Cause the US cavalry killed one hundred and sixty-five Sioux injens at Wounded Knee,” Jimmy continues, giving an affirmative nod.
“Jesus, Jimmy, we’re tracking,” Shane says, chuckling. “You don’t always gotta keep going with the joke, man. You gotta stop it at the punchline.”
“Hey, you do you, I’ll do me. Ya know what I mean?”
“You’re going off track again, Jimmy,” Shane says, motioning for him to come closer.
“Now, how much C4 you got?” Shane whispers, glancing at me and behind his back again, before his eyes shift back to Jimmy, who leans in closer.
“What’s your interest?”
“Can we call it need to know basis?” Shane asks, shrugging.
Jimmy scratches his patchy beard, his eyes roaming over each of us before he eventually shakes his head. “Nah, I can’t do that. I’m in the need to know if I’m providing the bang,” he says, his hands meeting his hips.
“Breaching,” Shane says. “Armored truck.”
Jimmy’s eyes light up. “Ohhhhh! Me likey,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Yeah, I got something for y’all.”
The sun creeps ever so slowly over the horizon as our rented Charger with fake temp tags cruises down the barren highway. A few vehicles pass us here and there, but as early as it is, morning rush hour is still a few hours away. Chase mans the steering wheel and maintains a tight focus on Xander, Rock and Shane on Harleys ahead of us. I was lucky enough to sneak into Chase’s vehicle undetected by Xander, and after working an expert pouty face with Chase, he kept quiet.
The sharp click and fizzle of his walkie-talkie startles me. He lifts it to his mouth.
“I didn’t get that. Say again, over.”
“Chase, babe… it’s Brandi. You’ve got police coming up your ass about a mile back. Cheyenne PD,” she shouts into her walkie-talkie. Doing her best to overpower Rowdy’s barking in the background as they trail us from a few miles back.
“Roger, thanks, love,” Chase responds and sets the walkie-talkie to the side.
“All good,” Shane’s voice says over the line. “We’re ten minutes out. Plenty of time. Brandi, just be sure to let me know when you spot the cash truck, over and out.”
My heart is racing. Regardless of how cool, calm and collected everyone else seems to be, I’m scared shitless. I’ve never done anything like this in my life. There’s something else there too; mixed in with all the chaos and bundled nerves is an exhilaration I haven’t felt before. It’s a tingling sensation sweeping across my body.
“Chase, do you think this will work?” I ask him, and he glances over at me, a wrinkle of concern in his brow.
“I wanna tell you everything is gonna be alright,” he says, his eyes meeting the road again, hesitation taking over. “But, Paige, you’re like a sister to me. I love you to death,” he says, and I put a hand to his shoulder and smile.
“Aw, I love you too, big guy.”
“Well, then you k
now I can’t lie to you. This is ugly business. Any number of things could go wrong…” His voice trails and he seems to grip the steering wheel tighter now. “We’ll get through this though, right?” He tilts his head to me, his eyes landing on mine and he smiles. “Like we have everything else.”
“You’ve got it,” I say, smiling, my focus shifting out the window to the passing trees. As we cross paths with a large lake, stretching out into the sea of pines, my mind wanders to my father, and all the time we used to spend at Twain Lake. All the memories that will never be made again. All the times my mother and father proved to me their unconditional love, and all the times I’ll never experience it again. And then I think about Xander, and the possible outcomes of today, him lying dead in the middle of the freeway, or cuffed and dragged to prison for good this time, and I bawl, unable to control the feelings anymore.
“Paige…” Chase says, wrapping a big paw around the nape of my neck. “What’s going on, hun?”
“I just—” I take a deep breath, wiping my face of tears and keeping my weeping eyes from his full view. “I just miss my parents, that’s all…” My voice trails as I allow the moment to take me away from here, away from the fear of what today will bring, away from the misery of losing my parents, to a place much better. When their smiling faces were met with a long warm hug. When Mom used to lie with me and hold me when a boy would do me wrong. When Dad would take me out hunting, teaching me all he knew, and a beaming proud smile on his face when I’d get a kill. I wish I could go back so damn bad.
“I’m so sorry, Paige. I really am,” Chase says, giving me a good squeeze. “But Xander will be okay. I promise.” He hesitates for a moment and then continues, “I’ll make sure of it.”
I smile at him, leaning into his hand when the radio cuts on again.
“I see the truck,” Brandi’s voice says from the other end. “Coming your way now. About five minutes out.”
“Roger that,” Shane says, his voice cutting out for a moment before coming back over the line. “The bang will go off at mile marker one sixty-five. Brandi, hang back a bit to keep eyes on our six and set up the cordon, over and out.”
There’s a still, uneasy silence in the rental as Chase returns both hands to the steering wheel.
“Welp, here we go,” I say, and Chase lets out a nervous chuckle.
“Here we go,” he repeats.
A few stomach-churning minutes later, the Loomis cash truck cruises past us. Chase’s hands are so tight against the steering wheel that his knuckles have turned white as the truck pulls past the three bikes and continues down the road.
“It’s go time,” Shane’s voice calls out over the radio. My toes instinctively curl in anticipation.
As if on schedule, a small explosion erupts from the side of the road and the armored truck jerks and sputters as it slows to a stop, smoke pouring from the engine. Shane pulls up directly behind it, parks, and reaches into his saddlebag. He riffles through it for a moment as we slow considerably behind him, and then he pulls out a small black object. He slaps it right in the middle of the back doors of the truck, it sticks, and then he circles back around to Xander and Rock’s position. The three of them slow to a stop a few hundred feet behind the truck just as there’s a subtle explosion, a burst of light, and the truck doors pop open. Rock dismounts his bike, helmet and shades still on, with a gun drawn and walks with it aimed at the driver’s side window as he slowly side-steps to the front of the vehicle.
Meanwhile, Xander and Shane dismount their bikes and snatch two empty duffels from each of their saddlebags. With them in tow, they hop into the back of the truck. I glance in the side view and spot Brandi about a quarter mile back with the freeway blocked off using her rented Explorer and setting up the road closed sign we acquired yesterday. A few cars are already behind her, but not enough to raise concern, Chase is sure to mention.
We come to a stop in the rental just behind the Harleys as Shane and Xander rush out with the duffels now full. Shane calls something out to Rock, who waits for them to stuff the duffels into their saddlebags and mount their bikes before he moves himself. He jogs to his own bike and hops on and they race away as fast as they can. We follow close behind in the rental and when I look in the rearview and spot Brandi climbing back into the Explorer and racing away, I breathe a sigh of relief.
A trail of us follow Shane as he speeds off the next exit and races down the two-lane road. I grip the armrest tightly as we’re thrown about the weaving rental. Shane takes several turns, guiding us deeper into a sprawling suburbia just outside of Cheyenne.
“Chase, Brandi… This is Shane, over,” Shane says through the walkie-talkie.
“Here,” Chase says, the walkie to his mouth as Brandi confirms the same.
“This is where we split off,” Shane continues. “You guys take eighty-five south. We’ll take twenty-five. Back roads all the way down after that. Remember we need to be off interstate twenty-five, exit fifty-six in Ventura promptly at nine forty-six a.m. We’ll then only have twenty minutes to get set.”
There’re okays and rogers all around as the bikes split off on three separate roads, and then we follow suit, taking our own designated road as Brandi passes us to take hers. Shane had this planned to a tee, with directions for each of us scribbled on notebook paper. I can only hope the remaining two go as well as the first.
The second armored truck, one Shane said was headed to a recreational marijuana facility and full of the kind of green we were looking for, was taken with ease south of Fort Collins. As soon as we were through, we met here off a highway smack dab in the middle of Aspen. The armored truck, last delivery of the day as Shane insisted, is on its way to a casino. It’ll have more than any other truck we’ve taken so far. As we sit and wait for word from Shane, Chase beats his thumb anxiously against the steering wheel, our vehicle parked on an overpass.
“What’s wrong, Chase?” I ask, drawing his attention.
“Busy area,” he mutters, looking out his window. “Way too busy.”
“Don’t we have enough already?” I ask, shrugging.
“For the original amount? One hundred K… yeah. One fifty? I don’t think so,” he says, shaking his head.
“Isn’t there another truck?” I ask. “One that’s not in such a populated area?”
“Shane says no. He’s been trailing them for weeks and has the schedule of every cash truck delivering on any given week within a hundred and fifty miles. This is likely our last opportunity.” He pauses a moment, swallowing, his nervous eyes glancing around. “I don’t think he would’ve picked here otherwise.”
There’s a brief nerve-rattling silence before the walkie-talkie clicks and fizzles.
“Fuck, guys. There’s an accident up here off twenty-five. Traffic is down to one lane. I think I spot the cash truck, but it’s a ways back,” Brandi says. “Let me check again though.”
There’s a short pause and then Brandi continues, “Yeah, I can see it through the binocular thingies, but it’s at a dead stop. There’s a three-car pile-up right before it that doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere soon.”
Chase scratches his cheek. “This isn’t good,” he says, pulling the walkie to his mouth.
“What’s next, Shane?” he asks, concern etched on his face.
The walkie cuts in and out for a few seconds before Shane’s voice comes through. “Let’s just see what it looks like once the truck gets through. Maintain position.”
Parked on the overpass with hazards flashing, I worryingly look from Xander, Rock and Shane on their Harleys in front of us ready to take the on-ramp, and then out the window, waiting with bated breath for the cash truck to come through.
“It’s coming, Shane,” Brandi says. In a matter of minutes, I see the armored truck barreling toward us, but along with it comes several other vehicles, speeding through the post-accident openness of the freeway.
“Fuck,” Shane says, pulling his bike onto the freeway and motioning for Xander
and Rock to do the same. He pulls the walkie to his face. “Let’s go back,” he says, sighing heavily into it. “There’re too many other cars around. I’ll disable the bang and head out. You guys go back to home base now.” There’s a click and then a short pause before Shane comes on again. “Take the route we talked about last night. Don’t speed. If you get wrapped up, text or call with coordinates before shit goes down. Over and fucking out.”
Staggered, and in separate groups, we rode back to Trinity, making it back nine to ten hours later, just as Shane planned. After the necessary showers and alcoholic distractions, the six of us are now seated around Gabi’s living room in solemn silence without her here. Beyond some hellos, there haven’t been many words passed. Defeat is thick in the room and I can understand why. We’re a little over a day away from deadline and fifty thousand short.
“So…” Xander says, letting his words linger as he leans just a bit closer against me, his hand rubbing my knee. “What’s next?” he asks, his focus on Shane who has his head in his hands across from us on the loveseat.
“A hundred grand is a lot of money,” Shane says into his hands before lifting his head from them. “I think, considering we’re out of time, we offer them what we have,” he continues with uncertainty tainting his words. “It’s a lot of fucking money. I think they’ll take it.”
I’m not sure how long I’ve been in here, the darkness is constant, but I know I’ve never been hungrier or thirstier in my entire life… and I’ve been through the most hardcore military schools there are. Still… this is the worst. I’ve been curled in a ball on the concrete floor, my hands cuffed to a pipe in the middle of the room, for God knows how long, without the strength to do much else.
I’m at an interesting little impasse as the delusions that come along with hunger overtake me. I know what it means if they come in this room… I know what will be done to me will be ugly dirty things. But I don’t know how much longer I can lie here in the dark, with only my thoughts and this gripping pain in my stomach to keep me company.
