He goes on to tell stories about a few robbers they’ve caught recently. The clues they leave! They’re so obvious that I can barely believe they’re for real. One guy wrote his stickup note on the back of an electric bill with his name and address on it. Another guy didn’t check for dye packs and got a face full of bright red dye mixed with pepper spray as soon as he stepped out of the bank.
“Most robbers will try to carry a note to one teller, passing the note to her alone and asking for the money in her drawer. They may or may not have a gun, and in most cases they don’t plan on using it if they do.”
Christian had a gun. He dropped it next to me that day, I think. I’d nearly forgotten, but remembering it now makes him seem more dangerous…and earlier I was taunting him. Smart, Lexi. Real smart.
“While you are here, it is your job to keep yourself and the other employees and the customers safe. Even if the odds of a robber using a weapon are remote, statistically speaking, you should never challenge a robber once he or she passes you a note. Comply as fast as you can with the goal of getting the robber out of the bank as quickly as possible.”
I was feeling smug walking in here, but between recognizing Martin and the training itself, I’m starting to freak out. Most robbers are desperate and careless, but Christian’s group has robbed at least three banks without getting caught. They aren’t a typical heist team. Suddenly, messing with them doesn’t feel like such a good idea, but then I don’t seem to have a choice. Christian knows who I am. He took pictures of me at my house. But then, thinking about the few times we’ve talked…he doesn’t seem like a dangerous criminal. I can’t make myself believe he’s bad. Which is ridiculous, given the overwhelming evidence.
And then I think about all the things I’ve done. The BAMs. Some—okay, most—have been illegal in some way. If I were found out, I wouldn’t look so good, either. True, I’ve never done anything involving a gun. But in all the robberies Christian’s helped commit, the guns were always waved around but never used. Maybe they’re just for show. When he crashed into me that day, he never pointed the gun at me, not once. And he seemed worried that he’d hurt me. I remember it, the concern in his eyes.
Detective Martin stops in front of me. “It seems counterintuitive, doesn’t it?” he asks, ripping me out of my thoughts. He’s studying me the way he probably studies everything—like he remembers every detail. He doesn’t just size me up; he catalogs me and files me away for future reference. Under his gaze I have the intense urge to run screaming and puke simultaneously. Instead, I paste what I hope is an unassuming smile on my face and hope for the best.
“But every bank robbery has the potential of going bad, and when it does, it endangers every single person in the bank. What’s your name?” he asks me.
I swallow. “Angela Dunbar.”
He refers to the papers he has stacked on the table. “UCLA, huh? How’ve your first couple of days here been?”
“Fine. Enlightening…and carb-heavy,” I say, gesturing to the stack of bagels still on the side table. The other interns laugh. I’m not sure if cracking jokes is appropriate, but when I’m nervous, it’s what I do.
He gives me a fatherly smile, meant to put me at ease. It doesn’t. “The most important thing you’ll learn here today is that most bank robberies occur without anyone being harmed, and that’s a good thing. That’s what we want. Because the chances of the robbers walking out that front door and being able to spend the money they take before we catch them are next to zero. We will get them. It’s just a matter of time.”
“But what about the ones who have evaded capture?” I ask. “The Romero Robbers, for instance. If you haven’t caught them by now, what makes you so sure you will?” It’s a bold question, and his eyes narrow.
“Because all robbers eventually get greedy and break from their routine to try and up the take. Plus, based on where they’ve hit in the past, we can predict what banks are most likely their next targets. We are alert to every possible threat.”
And maybe he’s right, but then again, I’m sitting here in front of him with a false ID, fake contacts, and a wig on my head, and he seems to have no idea.
Martin taps the table in front of me and goes back to the front of the room.
“Now, just because we’re asking you to comply with the robbery once it’s in progress does not mean we don’t want you to take steps to prevent one. Many would-be robbers give off subtle and not-so-subtle clues about their intentions before they act. We’re here today to go over the most common ones and what your response to them should be.”
He explains that we’re supposed to pay attention to people as they enter the bank. If we get the sense that there’s something off about them, we should speak to them before they can speak to us, pretending that we’re just overeager to help a customer. Something about being overly friendly can throw robbers off and convince them that something’s up. Hobbs says it’s because they’ve been noticed before they’re ready, and the job starts to feel wrong. It can make them rethink the robbery and leave. But this technique doesn’t work for all cases, especially if the person doing the robbing becomes aware of it.
I raise my hand. Sometimes a BAM can be as simple as asking a risky question.
“Angela?”
“But what about the robberies where there’s more than one person and they come in with guns pointed at you, yelling for everyone to get down?
“What you’re talking about is a takeover. In those cases there is nothing you can do except comply and work to get the robbers out of the bank as soon as possible. These robberies have the most potential for violence and, in most cases—not all, but most—the perpetrators are experienced criminals. The only thing you can do to aid us with these investigations is to remember as many details about them as you can. Any conversation that they have, the time they entered the bank, their approximate height, distinguishing physical features that you might notice, clothing, tattoos, that type of thing. Even experienced thieves leave clues. The more information we have from tellers and other witnesses in the bank, the easier it is to track them down.”
Detective Hobbs puts a hand on my shoulder. “Most tellers never encounter that type of robbery. The note jobs are the most common and usually happen so quietly and quickly that only the targeted teller is aware that a robbery is taking place at all.” She turns to Trisha. “When you worked downstairs, did you ever experience a takeover?”
Trisha shakes her head.
“See? Even though the Romero Robbers hit the Bank of America just down the street, the odds of them targeting LL National while you’re here are slim to none. There’s too much heat this close to the last target. Every employee here has security pictures of them and is watching for men matching their description.”
“I can say unequivocally that we’ll get ’em no matter where they show up,” Detective Martin says, his blue eyes like frozen fire. “Because I won’t give up till we do.”
Rosie drops me off at the Madison Street house after work. She keeps trying to lure me into a conversation—has been all afternoon. I’m not biting. I haven’t been able to focus since my meeting with Lexi.
I keep going over it in my head, looking for some way to make sense of how she acted—that and replaying the moment when she dropped out of the sky and onto the car that first night. More and more she fits the Bond girl profile: mysterious, bold, and up to something. She’s one very sexy puzzle, and all I want to do is put the pieces together. Except I can’t. Not yet. Soldado’s called a meeting. He’s never done this before. Usually all his communication is done through Gabriel. The less we’re all together in one place before a job, the better. I don’t like it. Everything feels out of my control and risky as hell.
The house is dark, the windows papered over so you can’t see inside, but there is a weak arc of light bleeding into the backyard, barely visible from the food truck. There are a handful of cars scattered along the street. I spot Soldado’s and Gabriel’s right off. And then
there’s the one that Twitch was driving the other day. I don’t recognize the fourth car.
“I’m not going in,” Rosie says as she idles at the curb. “Gabriel’s driving Benny home. You can hitch a ride with him.”
“You don’t want to say hi to your boyfriend?”
She shakes her head. “Not here.” Her face tightens as she gazes up at the house, but she doesn’t say anything else. Lips pursed, she taps the steering wheel impatiently.
I slip out of the car. The minute my door’s shut, she pulls out onto the road again. Breathe and focus, bro, I tell myself as I walk up the driveway with a confidence I don’t feel, and knock on the front door. Twitch opens it almost immediately, a forty in his hand. He tips it to his mouth and drinks deep. “S’up, vato?” He motions me in and saunters to the back of the house. It’s quiet. No music. No talking. Unsettling as all get-out.
I round the corner into the main living space, where Soldado, Gabriel, Carlos, Eddie, and Benny are all sitting on camping chairs. Everybody but Benny’s got a forty, too. Benny’s like me. Neither of us drinks much. At all, really. Alcohol withdrawal is no joke. I have memories of my dad going through it that I can’t ever get rid of. I can barely smell the stuff without my stomach turning. Benny doesn’t drink because he says he hates being out of control.
I take a seat on the low wall that separates the kitchen from the living room.
“Christian.” Soldado tips his beer in my direction. “Okay, now that we’re all here, let’s get to it.”
Twitch disappears into the other room and brings out a stack of maps and blueprints that he spreads across the floor. No telling who Soldado had to bribe to get them.
“This one here shows the pipe system beneath the financial district,” Soldado explains. “LL National is here.” He points to a Sharpied-in black rectangle right above a section of pipes and access tunnels. “My dig crew’s breached this tunnel here and is digging a path from there right under LL National. We got maybe another two weeks of digging before they’re underneath it. That’s about five days before you go in to do the job. I need the exact location of the vault way before then so we don’t waste time we don’t have digging in the wrong spot.
“Christian, you have until the end of this week to get the interior layout of the bank’s lower level. Gabriel, you ask your old man to give you the name of his phone company connection. We need him to reroute the alarm calls that come in from the bank to one of our guys from now until you leave the bank. So that way when we dig right up under the vault itself and the alarm goes off, our guy’ll be the one interceptin’ those calls. Already got the cops managed. Paid off two to make sure they work that part of the city exclusively and can make an appearance at the bank to check things out so the bank managers don’t get suspicious. Benny and Eddie, you two run down to San Diego and snag the supplies your crew’s gonna need once you’re in. Here’s the dude’s contact number. The meeting’s already set. They got you tools to jimmy the safe-deposit boxes open. Ammo. Extra guns. Camping lanterns. You’ll have at least one full day inside the vault—that Sunday—to empty it. Take everything not nailed down. The only thing we leave is the night deposit and the ATM.”
Soldado looks up at us. “You enter the tunnels early Sunday morning. You gotta walk to here.” He stabs a finger at the map. “We’ll have four ATVs gassed up and waiting in this side tunnel. You ride ’em to the tunnel under the bank. My guys blow the vault floor. You climb up. You get it all before sunrise Monday morning and then you load up the ATVs and drive the haul out. There’s an abandoned warehouse a mile from the entrance to this access tunnel. Ditch the ATVs there. Twitch will take care of them. Then you get into the getaway car and come straight here. We split the take same as always. Launder it a little at a time. Use the usual places.”
“And then we retire?” I ask. “We just walk. The Eme lets us go.”
Soldado stares at me. “That’s what I said, right? The heat from this one’s gonna be intense. They’ll be looking for you. When this heist is done, consider yourselves free, but don’t be stupid. You got my word this is it long as you pull it off right.” Soldado looks me right in the eye and smiles. “Go to college if you want. Hell, whatever. Sky’s the limit.”
I’ll get to go to UCLA. I’d be excited except for the one giant, glaring catch: first I have to help pull off the biggest heist this city’s seen in decades. As organized and easy as Soldado’s made it sound, there are about a million things that could go wrong, nearly half of them out of our control. More than a few with Lexi’s name on them.
“So where you at with getting the bank information we need?” Soldado asks, obviously eager to get back to the planning.
“I’ll have it by Saturday night,” I say. “Middle of next week at the latest.”
Soldado leans back in his chair, and the whole thing creaks in protest. “No kidding? Well, well, looks like you rediscovered your enthusiasm. You gettin’ it from the girl?”
I stiffen. “What girl?”
“You think Rosie and I don’t talk? The girl interning at LL National. Angela. Rosie said she’s some college intern gringa.” He whistles appreciatively. “Cute, too. I underestimated you, son.”
“Absolutely you did,” I say. Better he thinks I’m just charming her into getting what I need. I don’t want him to know it’s blackmail.
“And you’re sure she’s not suspicious?” Soldado asks, his eyes sharp.
“I told her I’m trying to be a writer and that I have this story idea about a bank heist I need her help with,” I lie. “Said I’d name a character after her if she did. Besides, she’s hot for me, so I’m takin’ her out this Saturday. A couple of dates, she won’t care what I’m up to, trust me.” I sound like a first-class jerk.
“You’re brainy enough to pull that off, no doubt,” Gabriel says, half impressed, half resentful.
“Dude, hell yeah!” Carlos laughs, coming in for dap I only halfheartedly return.
“All right. So we’re square for now. Gabriel’s got the map. He’ll be my go-between with you guys after today, same as always. Do your jobs. Just because I ain’t meeting with you after this doesn’t mean I don’t got my eyes on you twenty-four/seven. Eme’s orders.” Soldado tosses his beer can in an empty box and walks out without looking back, Twitch trailing after him. Suddenly Psycho knocks on the sliding glass door leading into the room we’re sitting in. He puts his face right up to the glass and grins. Soldado must’ve had him walking the perimeter. Anger, lava-hot and explosive, courses through me. I don’t care that he was following orders; he didn’t have to hold that gun to Maria’s head. I would’ve gotten the point. I don’t like that he’s here. Soldado should have never let him get jumped in to Florencia Heights. He likes the threats and violence too much.
I make a move toward the sliding glass doors, breathing hard, my hands balling up into fists.
Psycho watches, smirking. I kick the door, rattling the glass, and he doesn’t even flinch.
“Ease up, man. You don’t want to start something with him, ’cause he’ll finish it,” Benny says, grabbing my arms, holding me back. “He’s packing right this minute and you’re not. What’re you gonna do? Shoot him with your finger?”
Psycho pats the glass one time and then turns around and disappears into the shadows. I can hear faint laughter and then a car horn from out front. Even if Soldado’s got faith in us, it’s obvious the Eme’s got Psycho keeping an extra eye out. And he’s just dying for me to screw up.
“You’re not going back. It’s over.” Quinn is practically yelling at me as he paces around the bonfire. We’re in Leo’s backyard, which just so happens to be the beach, the whole crew gathered on bright red Adirondack chairs, our feet in the sand. I had everyone meet me here after I finished up at LL National so I could tell them about Christian and the Romero Robbers. And it’s going exactly how I thought it would. Badly.
“But I haven’t gotten anything on Harrison yet!” I yell back, frustrated.
“Because there isn’t anything to get. I’ve been listening in on him nonstop, Lex. I hacked his home computer last week. I’ve been reading through every single file, and nothing. Nothing. Oliver and I even went to his house and looked through his home office the other night just in case he’s so generationally handicapped that he still keeps paper files. Still nothing. We had to con our way in with a dozen heart balloons and a story about wanting to put them in Bianca’s room to convince her to date me again. Ask me how much fun that was.”
“Better have been no fun at all,” Whitney says, arms folded.
Quinn stops behind her and puts his arms around her neck. “You have nothing to worry about,” he says, nuzzling her.
I feel like someone hit the fast-forward button on their relationship. Two days ago they were teetering on exclusive; now they’re all in. It makes me feel weird to have been absent for the transition. It’s one thing to feel removed from the kids at school, but I couldn’t handle it if that happened with my friends.
“Look,” I say, “I’m not planning on meeting him without you guys there to back me up. And I’ll let him know right away that I have my own evidence—the pictures of him in the van—and that I’ve got copies that I’ve arranged to be sent directly to the cops if he tries anything. Also, I’ve been doing some thinking. We need money, Quinn. So why not blackmail him to give us some of the take? I get the security information he needs, and in return he gives us a cut. We get the money but assume practically none of the risk.”
“Yeah? And how do we manage to explain the sudden windfall to Mom and Dad?” Quinn asks.
“We don’t. We use the money a little at a time, so gradually that no one notices. It won’t be all that much anyway, just enough to keep us afloat. I sat in on a seminar today with the LAPD, and they talked about Christian’s robberies. By the time his team splits the take after a job, they don’t even clear ten thousand dollars each.”
Smash & Grab Page 15
