Things went on like that for a couple of months. You might not think it was much of a life, but we liked it fine. Then the mayor appointed a new police commissioner who promised to crack down on crime, just like they always promise when they first take office. But some of the watch commanders got transferred, Sweet Phil lost the juice he had in the department, and a lot of bookies was getting picked up—cutting into our boss's business real bad. That meant it was cutting into our business too, and after a while we wasn't getting much work.
That did something to us—me, Leon, and Eddie. Not so much not having the money as not having the work. Not having something to do during the day. I worked a little for my brother in his painting business, but we got to fighting as usual and that ended quick. I saw a couple women, but without any money they wasn't going to give me much time. So I got to sleeping late and not bothering to wear no watch or shave every day. Hanging around Mickey's not just during the nights but the days too—so much that, unless you looked outside, you wouldn't know which was which. Sometimes I'd even have Kevin pop a frozen pizza into the oven for breakfast.
Inside the cool twilight of the bar, with the sticky cards, sweating drinks, and the clickety-click of the pool balls, like they was links in a chain you was wearing, everybody got edgy. Charlene started drinking too much and yammering to Squeak, but loud enough so's all of us could hear, about Leon being too cheap to take her anywhere. Eddie got into a fight with some truck driver over a pool game and busted the guy up pretty bad. I couldn't get happy even when I won at cards and started thinking seriously about moving to L.A. and going to work in my uncle's burger joint. We all ate the same poisonous weed, but each of us was going crazy in his own way.
Leon—he didn't say nothing. Just went to the gym during the day and shot pool at night. Or sat in a chair alone at a table, while Squeak would bring him a beer, holding it in both hands, just like that first time. She'd stare at him for a few seconds, flutter her eyes while flashing that quiet smile, then hurry back to the bar. Leon wouldn't never notice. Leaning back in his chair, he'd take a long swallow and look at the door like them cold blue eyes was burning a hole through it. And getting wound up tighter and tighter.
One Tuesday night Leon got even quieter than usual. He didn't want to shoot pool or play cards, didn't want Charlene to join him at the table in the corner. He just stared at the door for most of the evening. Squeak would bring him a beer every so often, but it was like she wasn't there, neither.
Then, when midnight rolled around and Kevin started to close up, Leon called me and Eddie over to the table. We sat down and watched everybody else leave. Kevin locked the door, emptied the cash register, and went in back to count what he'd made.
After ten seconds, Eddie couldn't stand the quiet and started chattering about how we should leave Sweet Phil and drum up some kind of action on our own. When I asked him what kind of action, he shrugged his shoulders and said we knew lots of other smart guys who could use some muscle.
Then Leon said, “It's time for us to be the smart guys."
"Whaddya mean?” Eddie asked.
"Ain't you tired of depending on somebody else for a living? Somebody who gets all the folding paper and throws us some change? I sure the hell am."
"Me too, Leon. I've been telling you that for years. A guy like Sweet Phil needs us a lot more than we need him. I bet there are lots of guys who need the kind of muscle—"
"You're not hearing me, Eddie. I said it's time we became our own bosses."
Eddie leaned close, nodding his head like one of them trick horses counting to ten. “Sure, Leon. I know what you mean."
I said, “Maybe you better explain it to me. I'm a little slow."
Leon looked around the room to make sure Kevin was still in back. Then he said, “Couple months back, for her birthday, I took Charlene to lunch over at the Glass Slipper. You know—that restaurant off Division by the old bathhouse. Got those big fancy shutters so the likes of us don't scare the customers sitting inside."
I nodded.
"Not my kind of place. Little plates and big prices and a bunch of swirly paintings on the wall. A beer costs more than a six-pack."
I nodded again, imagining Charlene bug-eyed over the place, while Leon's eyes burned holes in the menu.
He said, “I got to thinking. It's mostly women who come in there for lunch. Women with money and lots of jewelry, not to mention the cash in the register and at the bar."
"You're talking about armed robbery."
"I'm talking about more money for ten minutes’ work than we ever seen all the years we been working for Sweet Phil. I already talked to Joey Steffani, who says he'll fence whatever we can grab."
"For how much?"
"He says twenty-five percent of what it's worth, but when he sees the stuff, he'll go higher."
I was about to shake my head, when Eddie started jiggling in his chair. “I'm in, Leon. Anything's better than sitting in this dive waiting for Phil to finally get off his ass and give us a call. When do we do it?"
"Wait a minute,” I said. “You're talking a robbery, you're talking guns. And if we get caught, that means a lot of hard time. What's the plan?"
Leon squinted like the sun had suddenly come out, but it was just him thinking things through before letting us in on everything. “We do it Friday about one—that's the time in the week when the place is busiest."
"How do you know? You seen it on a Friday?"
"Take my word for it, I know. We take my wagon—plenty of room in the back for the stuff we grab. We park on the side street, Marshfield, that's opposite the alley leading behind the restaurant—there's an entrance to the kitchen where deliveries are made."
"You sure the door to the kitchen will be open then?"
He nodded. “It stays open during the day. Besides deliveries, the busboys drag the garbage out to the dumpsters in the alley."
"How do you know we can get a parking spot right exactly where you want it? You know how bad parking is over by Division, especially around lunchtime."
"Don't worry. I got that covered. So we get out of the car, put on some masks—"
"What do you mean, masks? Like Halloween masks?"
"No, ski masks. Black ski masks. I already picked them up at a Target on the South Side. The cops ain't gonna be checking down there, if they bother checking at all."
"Jeez, Leon, that's good thinking,” Eddie said. “Can we keep the masks after the job's done?"
"No, everything gets dumped when we're finished. Don't wear anything that makes you stand out—just jeans and an old jacket. And Eddie, no cowboy boots. An old pair of sneakers. You understand?"
Eddie nodded.
"Go on,” I said to Leon. “What do we do once we get inside?"
"Eddie covers the kitchen staff and makes sure nobody who comes into the kitchen gets back out. Then you and me go through the kitchen doors straight into the restaurant. We're each carrying a duffel bag for the loot. You stop, while I go to the entrance and stand between the door and the bar where the cash register is. I'll put all the waiters behind the bar. We don't got to worry about people in the street seeing anything—not with those big shutters."
"That's good,” Eddie said.
I shook my head. “Only two of us in the restaurant. Not enough to watch all them people."
Leon said, “The place ain't that big. Besides, I'm gonna be watching all the time. You'll be moving up toward me, throwing jewelry and cash into your bag as you go along. When it's full, I'll throw you mine to finish up. Then I take the cash from the register. We go out through the kitchen, pick up Eddie, go into the alley, pull off our masks and put them into the duffel bags, get into the car, and we're gone."
"That's good,” Eddie said again. Of course, as a kid Eddie used to grab onto the bumpers of moving cars while he was on his roller skates.
I said, “Still seems like a big job for only three guys. Especially just you and me in the restaurant, and me grabbing all the jewelry. Supp
ose some of them women put up a squawk?"
Leon said, “They'll be too afraid to do anything except pee in their panties. If one does give you trouble, slap her around. That'll teach the rest a lesson."
Eddie said, “I'll switch jobs. Put me in with you, Leon."
"No, I don't want you to get in a conversation with some bimbo over what's the best kind of watch to buy.” He turned back to me. “We'll give ourselves ten minutes, then wherever you are we'll call it quits and get out. The cops don't drive by much during the day, and if they do, ain't nothing to see from the outside. Once we go through the kitchen door into the alley, we'll be out of the neighborhood in two minutes."
"And if the cops do come, and they block the alley?"
Leon leaned back and took a long swig from his beer bottle. Rolling it between his hands, he said, “Don't worry. We'll be okay."
"What do you mean?"
"We'll be okay. I worked it all out."
That was Tuesday night. We still had two days until the robbery. In a way, it made things easier, knowing there'd soon be an end to all this sitting around doing nothing. On the other hand, the minutes dripped even slower, and we got to watching each other, especially Eddie. It was sort of understood that I'd stay close to him during the day and Leon would shoot pool with him during the evening. Not that we ever thought Eddie would yellow-out or go to the cops, but he just couldn't help shooting off his mouth, even worse than Charlene. So we kept him talking about football and old times and how bad he'd beaten that trucker. And we didn't let him drink too much.
On Thursday Charlene took off the afternoon, and Leon went to help move her old lady into a nursing home. They had dinner, then got to Mickey's around six. Leon went to shoot pool with Eddie. Too early for my usual card buddies, so Charlene came over and sat down.
She said, “You and me don't get to talk much, especially lately."
I shrugged. “I haven't been in a talking mood. Besides, you seem pretty busy with Squeak."
Charlene glanced at her watch. “Yeah, guess that's true. She should be getting here pretty soon. It's nice you boys don't hassle her any about . . . well, about the way she is."
"It don't bother you?"
"No. I don't think women see it the same as men do. Men got this homophobia thing. I read an article in Vogue magazine, and Oprah had a show about it. In fact, Marlene—did you know that's what Squeak calls herself—she and I talk about it a lot. It's got something to do with men going through this fear of being gay when they were kids and about how maybe we all got a little gay-ness."
When I raised my eyebrows, she laughed. “What about all that ass-slapping men do to each other in sports? I bet talking about Squeak makes you uncomfortable."
"Yeah well what about you?"
"Me? What do you mean?"
Maybe I shouldn't have said nothing, but I didn't like the way Charlene was acting like a know-it-all.
"What about the way Squeak keeps looking at Leon?"
"What are you talking about?"
"C'mon, don't pretend you don't know. The way she gets all goo-goo when she brings him a beer. The way she keeps looking his way while he's shooting pool with Eddie. I think she really has a thing for him."
Charlene shrugged, acting real bored, so I knew it was getting to her. Still I kept on. “Now don't tell me you ain't a little jealous."
She leaned close, her face getting hard. “Quit riding me, or I'll tell Leon what you're saying. That he's a fag who might fall for something like . . . like that Squeak. You want me to tell him that?"
Now I was getting riled. “You tell him anything you damn please. We was just making conversation. Just kidding around a little. If you can't take it, go ahead and tell Leon."
She could see how mad I was getting and didn't want to start no trouble between me and Leon, so she says, “I know you were just kidding. Me too. Hell, if I don't get jealous over any of the bimbos who come in here and try to hang all over my Leon, why should I be jealous of somebody who doesn't even have all the right parts?"
"Yet?"
Charlene stared at me, and we both burst out laughing.
"Yeah, that's funny, all right,” she said, a laugh squirting through her teeth. Then she folded her hands on the table. “Me and Leon—we're good as gold. He's my forever man, and we both know it. I'd do anything for him. One day you may get lucky with some woman and find the kind of good that we both got."
"Okay, Charlene. Okay."
We both looked at Leon, and I could see Charlene's eyes getting big and the tip of her tongue running across her lips. Just then Squeak walked in. Charlene didn't notice, but Squeak went to her usual barstool without even looking at it. Her eyes kept staring at Leon too. I glanced from one woman to the next and didn't know why but began feeling sad. The whole night I couldn't shake that feeling.
Next day, a little after twelve, Eddie and me met up with Leon at his place in a nearby apartment building. We all had guns in our belts under our jackets. Leon went over the plan real slow, looking at Eddie all the time, who kept nodding.
As he was finishing, his cell phone rang. “Okay, we'll be right down.” He said to us, “Let's go."
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Someone else in on this?"
"No, just Charlene's driving us over to the restaurant. I parked my car there early this morning. That's how I was sure we'd have the parking spot."
"But bringing in Charlene—"
"Charlene don't know nothing about what we're doing. I just said I needed her to drop us off someplace during her lunch hour. It's okay."
I thought about the way she'd looked at him last night and what she said. I shrugged, then added, “You sure about the getaway?"
"Don't worry. I got it all figured out. We'll have the cops running around like cockroaches when the lights come on quick."
He almost smiled. I didn't like it, but he seemed so sure, and it was good enough for Eddie.
We walked downstairs and got into Charlene's car, Eddie and me in the back. Unlike her usual self, she didn't say nothing. Maybe Leon had told her not to talk, or maybe she guessed what we was gonna do and didn't want no part in it. Either way, she was playing it smart.
Division Street was crowded, as usual, and, being lunchtime, especially the restaurants and cafes. Lots of people was hurrying along, turning up their collars against a cold wind. We was driving west, and Charlene turned right onto Marshfield. Just across the street was the Glass Slipper. Like he'd said, Leon's car was parked opposite the alley behind the restaurant. Charlene dropped us off, Leon and me each slinging a bag over a shoulder. She didn't say nothing, but before Leon could get out, she pulled him close and kissed him hard. Then she drove away without looking back.
We walked across the street and into the alley, put on our ski masks, took out our guns, and continued past a heavy iron door into the kitchen. It smelled of smoke and grease—long aluminum sinks along the wall and three rows of aluminum tables running perpendicular. About a half-dozen Mexicans were chopping and cooking with two white guys telling them what to do. At first they didn't notice us, but Leon stuck his gun in one of the white guys’ face, who kind of froze up until Leon pushed him against the corner, knocking over a bunch of pots and pans.
That got everybody's attention. Eddie and me herded the rest of the crew to the same corner, with Eddie telling them to just stay still and shut up. That wouldn't be no problem. It wasn't their money we was after. Then Leon and me walked through a swinging door, past some stairs leading to the second floor, and into the restaurant.
He moved ahead quick toward the cashier, a tall, good-looking blonde who stood at the corner of the bar next to the door. After putting my gun in my belt, I started in at the table nearest the kitchen door, where three old ladies sat having tea and cookies. They didn't even notice me at first, then one of them must've thought I was the waiter, because when I pulled the watch from her hand, she got real mad, until she saw the mask I was wearing. Then her hand went all limp and
her face went grayish-white like a rib bone picked clean. The other two didn't give me no trouble neither, as I heard a woman scream toward the front of the restaurant. She must've seen Leon's mask and his gun. Everybody got real quiet, like the teacher just walked into the room.
Then Leon said soft, the way he always talked, so that you had to lean to hear, “Everybody put your cash and jewelry and watches on the table. Just stay where you are, shut up, and don't do nothing stupid, so nobody gets hurt. Don't nobody try to run. We got more men in the kitchen and outside both front and back. You four.” He pointed to two young waiters and two waitresses—all skinny and dressed in white shirts, black vests and pants, “You get over here behind the counter with the cashier."
They did as they were told.
I didn't see nothing except for each of the tables I went to, like a little mail boat chug-chugging to a series of islands, only I was making all pickups and no deliveries. When a guy tried to say something, maybe to show off in front of his girlfriend, I hit him hard in the jaw, sending him back over his chair. Nobody gave me no trouble after that.
I'd gone more than halfway through and filled my bag. Leon tossed me his, then I saw his eyes get hard and he took a few quick steps before pulling a cell phone from a heavy-set guy in a dark suit. The man had been whispering something but looked down at his plate and shut up. Pulling out my gun, I backed against the door to cover Leon. He kept looking down at the big man, who started shaking. Then Leon hit him hard across the skull with the butt end of his gun. Blood spilled over the plate like a loose bottle of ketchup. Women started screaming.
"He called the cops,” I said. “We got enough. Let's go."
EQMM, September-October 2010 Page 24
