by Robert Ward
“You looking for Wade?” Mary said.
“Yeah,” Bob said.
“Inna back.” Mary pointed and the snake looked as though it might strike at Bob’s face.
He sat in a worm-eaten booth next to Ray, who had come to the party dressed in his usual black shirt and black Levi’s. Across the table from them was the big safe expert, Cas Jankowski. Cas wore a red shirt with black penguins on it. He ate a monstrous triple burger with double fries and worked on his second schooner of beer. His massive body had a serious triple layer of fat, but one look at his enormous wrists convinced Bob that he was nobody to fuck with.
Sitting next to him was a ferrety-looking guy named Tony Hoy. Tony was a diminutive half-Chinese man who wore an open shirt so he could show off his curly chest hairs. Around his neck he wore a thick gold chain with a pendant hanging off it.
“Ray tells me you’re a head doctor,” Tony said.
“That’s right,” Bob said. “I—”
“So tell me something, Doc,” Tony interrupted. “Why is everything so fucking lame?”
“Why don’t you tell me,” Bob said.
Hoy looked at Jankowski and the big man smirked.
“All right, I will,” Tony said. “No matter where you look, things are less than they used to fucking be.”
“Take the NFL,” Cas said, absorbing another fry. “Few years ago when the Ravens won the Super Bowl, that was exciting, but since then there has been a … falling off.”
“The team’s rebuilding,” Bob said. “I think they’re going to win the Super Bowl again.”
“Really?” Tony said.
Ray was working on a mayonnaise salad sandwich with a shrimp hiding somewhere in it. He looked at Bob and laughed without making a sound.
“But I’m not talking about building or rebuilding,” Tony said. “I’m talking about, you know … bad shit. The feeling that the world is slipping by, the kind of thing where even if say Johnny fucking Unitas came back to Baltimore tomorrow, it wouldn’t amount to shit.”
This was met with a general stunned silence. In Baltimore, Johnny Unitas was a secular saint and it was generally agreed if God ever did come back, he would have number nineteen on his back and be wearing black high-tops.
“That’s a very harsh thing to say,” Ray said, shaking his head. “Very, very harsh.”
“Tell me one thing’s as good as it used to be,” Tony said.
“Pussy,” Bob said, trying to keep the party upbeat. “Pussy’s still good.”
“But not as good as before,” Tony said. “When I was a young man it was a great mystery, right? Now pussy is, like, on the Internet. You can do a Google search for pussy and come up with ten million sites. You can click a key for it, just like Domino’s.”
“But wouldn’t that be, like, a good thing?” Bob said.
“No way,” Tony said. “Supply and demand. When there’s that much going around, where’s the mystique? Now you get e-mails with girls doing horses. Nah, there’s a relaxation of standards. I think it’s the decline of the fucking West.”
“Well, there’s a lot of truth to what you boys say,” Ray said. “But I know one thing that’s as big a kick as ever.”
“And that would be?” Tony said, with a belligerent stare.
“That would be bypassing a guy’s alarms, entering his house, cracking his safe, taking away his shit, then fencing it off for a considerable pile of cash. That’s still as big a rush as it ever was.”
Tony hesitated a second, then smiled with his big white teeth.
“You are a hundred percent right,” he said. “Thank you, Raymond. You’ve restored my faith in the criminal subculture.”
“Yeah,” Cas agreed. “So when do we go?”
“Soon,” Bob said, surprised at himself for jumping in. “But before we do, we have to get the deal straight. I’m offering you guys fifty thousand apiece. That seems like good pay for one night’s work.”
Tony and Cas exchanged a look and then both of them glowered at Bob.
“Let me explain reality to you,” Cas said. “I get a hundred grand on a big heist like this. And a percentage. Usually five percent. Reason is, I’m the best. Now you’re gonna ask what that means exactly and I’m gonna tell you that it means I open the tumblers without having to use nitro, you see? You get a guy who uses explosives and you might blow the shit out of your mask in there. You don’t want that, and you don’t want to use some punch-and-peel joker using a cheap-ass hammer from fucking Pep Boys who is gonna take two hours, do you?”
“Not at all,” Bob said. “But I know a guy over in D.C., an ace safe guy, and he does it by manipulating the tumblers. Uses high-tech equipment, has his own scope.”
Ray raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected Bob to know anything at all about safe cracking. But then he hadn’t been with Bob to the library for the past five days doing his homework, either.
“Good luck,” said Cas. “That can take maybe forty-five minutes. You want to sit in the guy’s house that long, be my guest.”
“No,” Bob said. “It doesn’t take forty-five minutes. I’d rather use you, Cas, but if you’re stuck on a percentage, I’m going to have to go with the other guy.”
“D.C. guys are all assholes,” Cas said. “They don’t even live where they grew up.”
“True, but I guess I can live with that,” Bob said. “Fifty thou. You in or out?”
“I don’t know….”
“I definitely get a percentage, usually six percent,” Tony said. “You don’t want to hire some second-rate alarm man, risk the bells and whistles going off inna gendarmes’ station house, now do you?”
“Same deal for you,” Bob said “I was a psychologist down at Jessups, so I know three security systems guys who served time. Any of ‘em will do the job. So what do you say?”
Tony looked at Cas. They looked away, down at the table, then back at each other.
“Sixty,” Cas said.
“Yeah, or go spread the news to D.C.,” Tony said.
Bob sighed and looked frustrated.
“Okay,” he said. “You guys are tough. Sixty each.”
He reached across the table and shook hands with each of them, trying to keep a straight face in the process. But inside he was ecstatic. All that morning he’d had a serious attack of the jitters just thinking about facing career criminals. But now that he was sitting here in this sleaze bar, he was cool, just like he had been years ago when he was Bobby the Street Guy. If he got through this in one piece, he really ought to write a monograph based on the premise that social activism was a wonderful training ground for a second career in crime.
“I have four clean SIGs for us,” Ray said, lighting a Camel.
“I use a thirty-eight police special,” Cas said. “I don’t fuck around with no SIGs.”
“You’re using the guns I got us,” Ray said, staring hard at him. “They’re clean.”
Cas looked at Ray, but then quickly down at his plate.
“Okay, Ray-Ban,” Cas said. “We’ll play it your way.”
“Good,” Ray said. “I also have the gas we need and the masks. Do we know where we make the exchange?”
“I find out tomorrow,” Bob said.
“Okay, then. That’s all for now,” Ray said. “We’re gonna meet again in two days. Then we go. I’ll call you.”
The four of them shook hands again and slid out from the booth.
“You coming, Ray?” Tony said. “We’re going down to Glen Burnie, to the fights.”
“Not tonight, Tone,” Ray said. “I gotta discuss a few things with Bob.”
“Okay,” Tony said. “Later. Nice meeting you, Doc.”
“Yeah,” Bob said. He liked saying “yeah.” You could say it in a way that made it sound like “a real pleasure to meet you, as well, shithead.” Being a criminal was big fun. Like being in a movie, only better.
When the other two partners had gone, Ray shook his head.
“You’re a natural, Doc. Yo
u handled those two real well.”
“Thanks,” Bob said.
“Only one thing,” Ray said. “Don’t try to handle me. Our deal is firm.”
“Right,” Bob said. “Totally firm.”
“That’s good,” Ray said. “ ‘Cause I hate guys who try and rip me off. It’s almost a physical thing, like an allergy. I get this itchy feeling everywhere, and then I go nuts and just start fucking people up.”
“Got it,” Bob said.
“Good,” Ray said. “You bring the ten Gs for the gas?”
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Right here.”
He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and slid it across the table to Ray.
“One more thing, Bobby,” Ray said. “If by chance your boy, Emile, comes back early that night, all bets are off.”
“What do you mean?” Bob said.
“I mean, Emile could end up very dead,” Ray said. “We’re not into being ID’d.”
“Hey, wait,” Bob said. “No killing my patient.”
Ray laughed and lit a cigarette.
“That’s not so useful, Doc,” he said.
“What’s not?”
“Thinking of Emile as ‘your patient.’ “
“Oh no? How am I supposed to think of him?”
“More like ‘your victim,’ “ Ray said.
Bob grimaced.
“That’s cold.”
“All right then,” Ray said. “Think of him as ‘the mark.’ ‘Cause that’s what he is. You wanta be good in this business you gotta, like, suspend your normal human feelings for the ‘mark.’ You get into that ‘he’s a human being, too’ shit, things could go downhill for you and for me, real fast.”
“Thanks for the tip, Ray,” Bob said. “I’ll try to remember to be as cool-blooded as possible.”
“That’s a good idea,” Ray said. “The thing is you’re gonna feel some guilt. But you can, like, lose a lot of it if you concentrate on being professional. You get me?”
“I think so,” Bob said. “I feel better if I think about it as a job well done.”
“That’s it,” Ray said. “You’re a fast learner, Bob. You’re gonna do just fine.”
He reached over and gave Bob a friendly, almost fatherly pat on the cheek. Bob was still wary of Ray, but he felt they’d opened a door. They were actually becoming friends.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A day after his successful meeting with his crew, a newly confident Bob Wells walked with his buyer Colin Edwards up Gay Street. Edwards was dressed in a tan linen suit, looking every bit the successful art dealer that he was. As Bob strolled along with him, it was easy to imagine himself buying a new closet full of fine threads, stylish shoes, and silk ties. Of course, he’d always turned up his moral nose at fashion, but for the first time he wondered if that was only because he’d never had any reason to look fashionable. Who cared how anyone looked in Highlandtown?
Edwards, however, wanted to talk about Baltimore….
“I’m really falling in love with your old town,” he said. “The buildings have such character. And the Dundalk Marine Terminal. That’s really terrific. Baltimore is still an unspoiled place, you know? You’re a lucky man to live here.”
“People who aren’t from here always say that,” Bob said. “That’s because they don’t know how small the place can be, how prejudiced. You live in one neighborhood and go five blocks away, the next neighborhood hates your guts. Why? Because you don’t live there, they don’t know you, and they hate and fear anybody they don’t know.”
Edwards laughed.
“But that’s wonderful,” he said. “It’s tribal. What do you want, Bob, the whole world to be exactly alike? That’s the alternative, you know. Every place is like every other. All the people have a patina of sophistication they got from watching television. They don’t value anything really, though, except ass-kissing celebrities. They’re dead, zombies. People in Baltimore are alive in an ancient, tribal way.”
Edwards was starting to piss Bob off. The last thing he wanted to hear was how bloody lucky he was.
“You like it so much, stay here,” Bob said. “Give up your globe hopping and settle down with a nice Catholic girl from the ‘hood. Visit her family every Sunday for dinner, join the Knights of Columbus, and spend every night in the local bar talking about how shitty the Orioles are.”
Edwards shook his head.
“No, it’s too late for me,” he said. “I’m a citizen of the world. But don’t think it’s all that great, Bob. Because it’s not. The people I know don’t care whether I live or die. They’re sophisticated, cool, and stylish, but inside they’re empty. If we had to battle terrorists tomorrow, who would you rather have by your side, some cosmopolitan jet-setter or the guys in your neighborhood? I know who I’d choose. Your Baltimore guy, he’d fight to the end. For you and him, because he’s your mate. You’re a lucky man, Bob, working here, having close friends. I’m telling you, hanging out here has really made me miss old Liverpool. You ought to stay right here, Bob. Take trips, see the world, but don’t dig up your roots. You do that, you’ll never be at home anywhere again. I know.”
“Yeah …” Bob said. “Thanks for the tip. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get down to business. Where do we meet?”
Edwards smiled and pointed at the big brick building directly across the street from them.
“Right there,” he said.
Bob looked at the fortress of a building, with its old and shattered windows.
“The American Brewery Building?” Bob said. “That’s all closed up.”
“Not anymore,” Edwards said. “Don’t worry, we’re covered. It’s a perfect meeting place. Fifth floor at one A.M.”
“I’ll be there,” Bob said.
Bob looked at Edwards’s intense gray eyes. They looked, he decided, like a frozen carp’s.
“See you then, Bob,” Edwards said. “And don’t forget my mask.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Bob said. “Tell me, just for fun, Colin. You’re giving me five million. How much are you selling it for?”
Edwards gave a slit of a smile and shook his head.
“That would come under the heading of ‘things you don’t really want to know,’ Bob. I’ve got to run now. Diplomatic party over in D.C. G’night.”
He pressed his cold hand into Bob’s and then turned and walked toward East Baltimore Street, where a sleek, black limousine was waiting for him. Bob watched him get in and speed away.
Yeah, Bob thought, Colin loved old Baltimore. As long as he could hop in his limo and speed off to D.C. As long as he could get in his private Learjet and land in Paris.
Well, in a few more days, he’d be able to afford a limo. Whenever he liked. The thought made him flush with pleasure. No, he was going to be fine. Edwards was just indulging in a kind of verbal masturbation. In reality, a guy like him would last five minutes in “Charm City” before he was bored out of his mind.
Bob had had a whole lifetime of the neighborhood clans, the small potatoes romance of the ‘hood. He wanted out, he wanted sophistication and beauty and sexiness, the whole wide world that he’d missed. He’d be just fine in New York and Los Angeles and Paris and all the other rich, decadent places.
And if he did get homesick, he could always sky back to old Baltimore, eat a crab cake, drink a National Bohemian beer, catch an Oriole game, and then get the hell out again.
That would be all the hometown this hometown boy would ever need.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
From the back alley, behind a wall of honeysuckle vine, Bob watched as Ray Wade hit the remote button. They were dressed in the uniforms of the Baltimore Power and Electric Company, gas masks half on, the goggles sitting on their foreheads making them look like World War I aviators.
There, partially hidden by Emile Bardan’s hedge, was a canister of gas painted in earth tones. From the canister there was a black wire, which entered the house via the crawlspace door just under the pan
try at the rear of the house.
“Gas is activated,” Ray said.
“How long will it take?” Bob whispered.
“Not long,” Ray said. “Anyone in that house will be asleep in about nine minutes.”
Bob’s cell phone vibrated and he quickly answered it.
“Yeah.”
“You start it up yet?”
“Just now.”
“How long?”
It was Tony Hoy, who was stationed on the other side of Emile’s house. Once the gas was activated, he and Cas would open the ladder, and with Cas holding it steady, Tony would climb to the roof where he would deactivate the burglar alarm. This meant he had to climb a ladder right in front of both a first- and second-story window. If one of the guards happened to somehow stay awake he’d be dead meat.
“Nine … no, about eight minutes,” Bob said.
“You sure?” Tony said.
“Yeah,” Bob said.
“Guess what Cas is doing?” Tony said.
“Jerking off?” Bob said.
“Eating a sub,” Tony said. “Fucking guy ate three oyster subs from Captain Harvey’s today. Always goes on a binge when it’s showtime.”
Bob felt his stomach churn wildly. Wasn’t there some kind of code of professionalism among thieves? No eating on the job?
“Got the ladder ready?” Bob said.
“Oh yeah. Man, I hope that gas works.”
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Me, too.”
He took a quick peek over the bush and saw a small piece of the metallic ladder sticking up over the bushes.
“Your ladder’s visible,” he said.
“Sorry, boss,” Tony said.
Bob felt a stunning rush of happiness. “Boss,” Tony had called him “boss.” This was his “crew” and he was “The Boss.”
“How much time now?” Tony said.
“Not long,” Bob said. “Chill.”
Good advice, now if he could only take it himself. His chest pounded. He tried not to think of the words “heart attack.” What if someone came along and saw them? He looked around, but didn’t see anyone.
After what seemed like an eternity, Ray spoke.
“That’s it,” he said. “Everybody is wasted in there.”
