Frank dragged his sorry ass into the main reception and dumped him on the ground. At that point, Grimble decided to be a hero and took the opportunity to raise himself up near Brian’s foot. Brian saw what he was up to, bent down and slammed the butt of his gun into Grimble’s face, causing him to fall back unconscious and for a little ripple of blood to trickle past old Joe’s nose and onto the floor. The rest of the staff took in a massive breath, almost like it had been choreographed.
“No messing about is what I said and it's what we mean,” intoned Frank in case they hadn’t already figured that cold fact out.
Frank looked at Brian and said: “Look after the shop while we’re downstairs.”
“You got it,” replied Brian with a real sense of menace behind his words. This was what he’d been waiting for. This was the game he was playing.
Andrew followed Frank to the staff door which he opened with a simple shove of his shoulder. Mary Lou had been absolutely right: they’d added some steel to the surface of the door, but it was purely for show. The lock and hinges were as feeble as they were when she first visited the joint.
They hurried down the corridor and down the stairs to the vault. As expected, all the doors were open - into the vault and into the safe. The only problem was the damn thing was empty. No money, nothing. It made no sense.
“What the fuck?”
ANDREW AND FRANK stood for a second, looking quizzically at each other.
“Don’t get it,” said Frank and they sprinted back to the others without even a turn of the head at the safe deposit boxes on the other side of the room.
Frank went straight to JH and put a gun barrel in his mouth.
“Where’s the fucking money!”
JH looked at him like he was crazy.
“The money, you fucker, where is it?”
Again, JH’s eyes scurried from one side of his head to the other but JH had no idea where the cash had gone any more than Frank did.
Frank inhaled a deep breath and took the barrel out of JH’s mouth. Frank sighed, placed JH’s right hand flat on the ground and slammed the butt onto JH’s first and second fingers. Broken.
JH screamed in agony and Frank slapped him to get his attention.
“The money. Get me the money!”
“It’s in the safe!” screamed the bank manager.
“No, it’s fucking not, numb nuts.”
JH looked at Frank like he had no idea the meaning of Frank’s words.
“In the safe,” he whispered, half asking, knowing his words were just plain false.
Frank opened his bag and pulled out a kitchen knife and walked over to Theresa, ripped open her blouse with the knife and stared at JH.
“Look at me!” he screamed, “Tell me where the money is or I’ll cut her.”
“I thought it was in the safe.”
Frank swung the knife down and sliced Theresa’s left tit open. Blood gushed out and, in a few seconds, she was sitting in a pool of her own red. Then she fainted with shock.
JH shrugged at him and shook his head; he had no idea where the damn money was. Frank knew JH didn’t know: there was no way he would have allowed the girl to be injured just to save the money because all bank staff know how insurance works.
Frank went back to the bank manager and hauled him up so he was sitting L-shaped.
“Okay everyone, listen to me very carefully.”
All eyes stared at Frank and he carried on.
“At least one of you must know where the money has gone. I don’t give a shit who has got it or who knows. But if someone doesn’t tell me before I count to five then this man will get his throat cut.
“Do you understand?”
They all nodded.
“One ... two ... three ...”
FRANK CHECKED OUT everyone’s faces, desperately seeking a guilty expression. One of them knew. One of them was going to have to say or the bank manager was going to die in two counts.
“Four ...”
One of the other men. His expression twitched ever so slightly, his cheeks reddened ever so slightly.
Frank dropped JH like a stone and headed over to Carter. Grabbed his hand.
“Tell me where’s the money or I’ll chop your cocksucking fingers off!”
“I... I dunno.”
His mouth said one thing but his eyes kept darting back to his desk. Frank dragged Carter by the wrist over to the table and kicked it upside down to reveal the two cases as the contents of the desk flew onto the floor. Pens, paper, a paper weight and Carter’s triangular name plate.
Frank let go of Carter and threw him down, picked both bags up in one hand and started to walk away until, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed what was written on the name plate: Carter Reinfeldt. He gritted his teeth and, still holding his gun in the other hand, shot Carter in the groin, who keeled over screaming as another pool of blood spread across the bank floor.
“Let’s get out of here. Where’s the other one?”
Brian shrugged, as he had no idea himself. Andrew had been stood near him only a few seconds ago, but Brian had focused on the staff while Frank was torturing his way to the money.
“Have you killed the phones?”
“Sure thing. When we first came in.”
“Good news. Listen up everyone. This is nearly over for you. We are going to leave and all you have to do is wait two minutes before you do anything. If you follow us out any earlier, we will shoot you as soon as we see you. No questions asked.”
Frank and Brian walked towards the staff door, still aiming their guns at the staff lying on the floor. They made their way over, avoiding the bloody pools they’d created spewing from bodies.
“Start counting down from 120 seconds.”
The two men walked down the corridor and out the rear exit, Frank first.
Out in the parking lot, Frank saw Andrew stood next to Pete’s vehicle. There were red speckles on the windows of the auto and Frank couldn’t see Pete. As Frank got nearer to Andrew, he could see a body slumped in the driver’s seat and blood splatter across the whole of the insides of the Chevy. Click, whir. Andrew’s shot Pete dead. Fucker.
FRANK RAISED HIS gun to Andrew and squeezed the trigger. He dropped straight to the ground and Frank stood over him and put another bullet through his heart.
Brian pointed his own gun at Frank; the man had just shot down his lover in front of his eyes. Frank swung round and aimed his own gun back at Brian.
“Lower your gun or I will shoot you dead. Andrew died because he nixed one of our own.”
Brian thought for one long seconds and then lowered his gun. Frank put his gun away too and then opened the rear passenger door. The two of them picked up Andrew’s body and dragged it into the back seat. Then Frank opened up the Econoline and grabbed two cans of gasoline, handing one to Brian. The pair of them doused the car until both cans were empty.
Frank fired up the van and Brian hopped into the front passenger seat. Then Frank got out, with the engine running, and threw a match into Pete’s saloon, which lit up like a Halloween lantern gone mad.
Only at this point did Frank realize he hadn’t heard any of the C4 packages go off. None. And he didn’t think it was just because they’d been inside the bank. Why hadn’t Mary Lou set the explosives? In the far distance, Frank heard a siren. A goddamn police siren.
He jumped back into the van which squealed forwards and Frank shot out the lot and turned right, the two cases by his feet and Brian by his side. He didn’t know what had happened to Mary Lou and couldn’t figure out what the hell Carter had been doing with the money. But something had sure as hell fucked up and someone had surely fucked him over.
All Frank had left were his dreams and hopes, stashed in two black cases by his feet, built on a litany of betrayal he didn’t think he could ever forgive. Thoughts of himself pushing Louis through that fucking window flashed through his head.
The only thing he could focus on was getting to that barn and seeing U
ncle Frankie. He’d sort everything out. And Frank gunned the gas pedal to get to his destiny just a little faster.
BOOK TWO
THE GETAWAY
1956
1
MARY LOU BELLE'S father died when she was only eight years old so her mother, Alice brought her up, along with her two brothers and two younger twin sisters. The eldest sibling was six and the youngest were born three years later. Times were tough in Texas for everyone and Alice’s lack of a man to support her made life even harder for her family.
Tied to tending her young offspring, Alice rarely left their side and her only escape was the baptist church around the corner from her home. In particular, she leaned heavily on the kind words and understanding ear of Pastor Neil.
In 1956, Mary Lou turned fourteen and Pastor Neil started to look after the kids for Alice on Sunday afternoons so she could take some time to devote to herself and not just to the family. She spent these invaluable hours in the bar with her girlfriends sipping Long Island iced teas where she listened to them complain about the men in their world.
Pastor Neil brought along board games for the children to play. First he showed the youngsters how to play the games, then he would sit back and let them have their fun with snakes and ladders or checkers. Because of the age difference between herself and her brothers and sisters, Mary Lou sat back as well. Apart from her one male teacher, Pastor Neil was the only constant man of any significance in her life and she didn't want to squander that time with children’s games. This father figure was all she had and they enjoyed each other's company. She liked the fact he didn't spend Sunday afternoon talking about god like all the other priests felt the need to do.
Just before Mary Lou’s next birthday, Pastor Neil asked her if she’d ever seen God’s Trunk and she confessed she had not. While the youngsters were playing their board games, they went into her bedroom and he showed her his Trunk and got her to touch it. Within three weeks, she was so used to God’s Trunk, Mary Lou would touch it and stroke it until its sap would rise and rush out of it. She made Pastor Neil very happy.
On her fifteenth birthday, he bought her a large bar of chocolate, which he told her she did not have to share with anyone - just like their secret times together. He asked her if she’d started her woman's bleeding and she confirmed she had.
The following week he encouraged her to take off her panties for him and over the next month instead of touching the Trunk and releasing its sap, Pastor Neil got Mary Lou to let him put his Trunk inside her Rosebush.
The next school year came and went. Pastor Neil kept up his visits and Alice leaned more heavily on him. He would pop over of an evening during the week and they would talk. Sometimes she would cry and he would give her a hug for solace but always he would listen and be respectful of her, something her long-dead husband failed ever to do.
Mary Lou’s school career bumped along near the bottom but she finally made some real friends and could engage in honest conversation with people her own age. Being seventeen, many of the girls were putting out for their guys, describing their sexual explorations in lurid detail during Monday recess. This was the point when Mary Lou discovered her Sunday afternoons with Pastor Neil were not normal by any stretch of the imagination.
She knew her mother wouldn't believe her. She eavesdropped on Alice’s conversation with Pastor Neil one evening and they talked about getting married. They planned to move the family to the Pastor’s house next to the church.
Mary Lou packed a bag she found at the back of the cupboard by the front door and stole a knife from the kitchen and hid it under her bed until the next Sunday arrived with a thud in her life.
As always, the kids played their games while her mother got drunk in a bar. Pastor Neil took Mary Lou into her room and sat on the edge of her bed. She knelt down between his legs while he pushed his shorts down from under his cassock.
Then without a word, Mary Lou grabbed the knife she’d placed so carefully at exactly the right position and stabbed and sliced at his groin. Blood poured everywhere and he rolled off the bed, writhing in agony. She reckoned she’d sliced his dick clean off.
Mary Lou took the bag out of her wardrobe and stuffed her last few possessions into it. Then she turned back to Pastor Neil, picked up the knife she’d left on the bedside table and plunged it into his throat. As much as she wanted to watch that man suffer, Mary Lou Belle didn't stay to witness him bleed out. She walked out the room, out the house and out of that town - never to return.
TUESDAY JUNE 17, 1968
2
FRANK LAGOTTI DROVE his white van south at high speed down Hollins Ferry Road in the suburbs of Baltimore, ignoring any red lights trying to impede his progress. Next to him sat Brian and jammed under their feet where two black bags stuffed with banknotes, which a short while ago had been resting in the vault of the First Bank of Baltimore, Lansdowne Branch.
Even though he'd extracted the cash from a bank, Frank was not a happy man. He had left two of his gang dead on the ground, but what really made him angry was his girlfriend had not kept her word to him that morning.
Police sirens wailed behind them; they had exited the bank two minutes ago and the cops were already chomping at their heels. The sirens remained in the distance and Frank couldn't tell if they were gaining on him. Foot flat on the gas pedal, arms rigid-straight attached to the steering wheel, Frank stared ahead and continued to fume.
Brian sat in total silence, an occasional glance towards Frank the only discernible movement in his entire body. Surviving the raid was one thing but they weren't clear and free just yet. He was lucky to be alive although there was no guarantee that state would continue. As a reflex action, he checked his guns were back in their correct place in his coat, having refilled the chambers in case of need.
“Check mine.”
Frank passed his revolvers to Brian who repeated the process and returned them to his boss.
“I think they’re fading.”
“Maybe, Frank.”
The men sank back to silence as the van sped along the road heading for a barn which was the gang’s rendezvous. Frank was right, the sirens were fading: must have taken a wrong turning because even though Pete the Wheels spent a lot of time souping up their vehicles, the van was no competition for a police car in a high speed chase.
That was why Frank planned to set charges along the telegraph poles near the bank - to make it real hard for the cops to chase them. But the charges hadn't blown and the cops were behind them now. Seemed like their best hope was that wrong turning back on their trail. Not brilliant odds.
Brian tried not to dwell on the events that had gone down in the bank. He knew he needed to keep his wits about him and remembering the blood pour out of Andrew’s chest was not the way to go.
“Hop into the back and tell me if you can see anything.”
Brian loped over the shift stick and landed on the mattress he’d found so uncomfortable on their way into Lansdowne. He shuffled to the small window at the rear of the van. He peeped out and stared.
A lot of dust from the van’s rear tyres and an empty scene: road, verge, fields. Amazing how quickly the suburban sprawl gives way to the countryside. The land was flat and the road was straight so the tarmac looked like it fell away at the curvature of the Earth. Just at that point. Brian thought he spotted a red light. A flashing red light. But he couldn't be sure. He stared again but the sunlight was at precisely the wrong angle for him to be certain.
“Well?”
“Give me another minute. Might be something, might be nothing.”
Frank knew Brian well enough to give him the time to decide - he was a professional. He rode shotgun for many jobs before this one. If the man said he needed time, he needed time.
Tick tock.
“And?”
“There’s a red light on the horizon. Not catching us up but not going away.”
“Hang on, I'll give ourselves an edge.”
Frank waited two
seconds and then flung the wheel hard right, forcing the van to career off the road, onto the dirt and into a field. He gunned the vehicle as it made its way over the bumpiest field in Maryland. The steel reinforcement attached to the chassis kept the van in one piece. It headed straight for a clump of trees and bushes. Frank skidded it to a halt, facing the road a thousand feet away. They waited.
Five minutes later a single cherry top sped past staying on the road. Both men had guns drawn and had stepped out the van ready to let rip if anything left the safety of the highway. They stayed a minute to make sure the blue and white didn't return and hopped back into the van.
“Gonna stay here all day?”
“Nope. But if we’re not being chased, we don’t have to drive like we are.”
Brian thought about that for three seconds then nodded understanding and, by extension, his consent. Not that Frank was asking for it.
Nothing appeared. Not from the left or the right. There was the occasional chirp of a bird and the rustling of leaves in the breeze but apart from that: zip.
Another ten minutes of silent waiting. Frank put the van back into gear and drove at a sensible pace back to the highway. Then he rejoined the road and traveled at five below the legal limit. He was right: if you travel at high speed, every cop will want to stop you. If you drive legal then they’ll only stop you for a bust tail light. And Pete already checked them the day before.
Fifteen minutes later, the barn loomed in the distance. There were no cars out front but he expected that. Pete and Brian parked the vehicles away from the line of sight from the highway.
Frank turned off the road and idled the vehicle round the side of the barn. There were three cars, filled with gas and ready to go. All were family saloons; nothing to raise an eyebrow of a hero citizen: a white Ford Galaxie, a blue Ford Falcon and a red Ford Torino. Brian noticed they remained in the exact location where he and Pete set them up the previous night.
The Lagotti Family Series Page 24
