by Colin Conway
“What’s that?”
“That little purple angel you care so much about.”
Lobo’s grin faded.
“That’s right. I been spending my time with her and then sending her back to you. She’s been spilling about you every night, how you gots trouble gettin’ it up.” Bigs waggled his little finger in the air. “Always blamin’ it on how hard it is being a pimp. Making her work extra hard for it. I saw what you did to her with that belt. Is that what you do because you can’t get it up?”
“You sumbitch,” he said, his lips pulled back in a menacing grin.
“After I’m done twisting Violet’s mind, I’m going to take Rosie back. You know how she used to love me.”
Lobo jumped at Bigs, hitting him in the side of the head. His second punch landed on his chin. Bigs only defended himself. He didn’t throw a single strike toward the other man.
The pimp continued to throw a barrage of punches, hitting Bigs in the face and gut until he fell to his hands and knees. He tried to scuttle away, but Lobo kicked him in the ass, driving him to the ground. Lobo jumped around him and kicked him in the side, forcing him to howl in in pain. Lobo was about to boot him again when someone pushed him away.
“That’s enough,” a white man in a Caterpillar baseball hat said.
Lobo lifted his hand, ready to punch the interloper, but the guy said, “Take a look around, buddy. Everyone’s got their phones out. Are you sure you want to hit me, too? You’ve already got enough trouble.”
He pushed the man away from him, then spit on Bigs.
“Stay away from me, fat man. That goes double for my girls.”
“Bigs talked with Rosie,” Sam said.
“What?”
They were at Rossilli’s Restaurant in Findlay, about thirty minutes north of Lima.
“He picked her up a few days ago and talked with her.”
Rachel’s eyes filled with concern. “About what?”
“About nothing, really.”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Are you kidding me? He could send this whole thing sideways.”
Sam cut into his steak and held up the piece with his fork. “Maybe.”
Rachel’s face reddened. She didn’t respond immediately and instead pushed her pasta around her plate with her fork. When she finally spoke, she said, “You’re not worried about this, are you?”
As he chewed, he said, “He said they only talked and she won’t say anything to Lobo. If she does, then that’s great. We’ve planned for it.”
Rachel studied Sam’s face before saying, “You knew he would talk to her, didn’t you?”
Sam shrugged. He fought back a small smile that formed at the corner of his mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You don’t like the guy. If I told you he would probably do something off script, you would have gotten upset.”
“But you figured it would happen, so it became part of the script. You should have told me.”
Sam cut another piece of steak. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Yes, I should have told you.”
“Sometimes I wonder about your communication skills.”
“Yet, you continue to love, honor and obey.”
Rachel pointed her fork at him. “Two out of three, mister. Two out of three.”
Sam fully smiled now while he cut his next piece of steak.
Lobo stood in front of the bank and smoked a cigarette.
He didn’t want to be here this morning, but there was no other conclusion. He had to move his treasures. Too many people knew about it. That’s why the fake auditors were making noise about closing the bank. They knew about his treasures. It was the same reason the fake IRS agent approached Andrew at the comic book store to ask about him—they knew what he was collecting. They were approaching his girls and talking about his treasures. Bigs was back in the mix, looking for retribution for what Lobo did to him years ago.
They wanted him to move his treasures which meant he should leave them right there. However, he knew he had talked too much. Andrew knew about his books, and he already proved he was a blabber. Worse yet, he’d talked with his whores about what he’d been building up in that safe deposit box and a whore can’t keep her mouth shut any more than she can keep her legs closed. If they were ever in trouble, the first thing they would do is spill about how much treasure he had in that box. Either it would be the cops showing up with a warrant or somebody tougher than Lobo showing up with their hands out. He wasn’t fond of either idea.
That left him with one shitty conclusion. He had to move his treasures. He had to pull everything from that bank and move it elsewhere. He may even have to sell it all and put it into something else. Maybe he should look into mutual funds. God, that sounded boring, but maybe boring was safe. It was a helluva lot safer than standing in front of a bank, smoking a cigarette, checking if the coast was clear.
He looked up and down the street. He had studied the block for more than an hour, observing it from various angles. When he was satisfied that no one was indeed watching him, he went inside. He carried an empty leather satchel over his shoulder.
He stopped at the front desk and smiled at Connie.
“Mr. Williams,” she said. “Back so soon?”
“Yeah. Was hoping to check out my box.”
“For sure,” Connie said and pulled out the sign-in book. The process took its usual amount of time, but Lobo was antsy today. He glanced around the bank trying to find anyone that looked suspicious. He looked through the windows to see if anyone was approaching the bank to see if they were out of place.
“Okay, ready?”
Lobo nodded and followed Connie into the vault. They turned the keys at the same time and opened the door to box 423. Connie smiled one more time at Lobo and said, “You know the drill.” She left him alone in the vault.
He opened the box and removed the Glock. He quickly tucked it into the back of his pants underneath his club shirt. He stacked the gold and silver bars in the bottom of the satchel. Then he carefully removed the graded comics and put them on top. He buttoned the satchel closed and lifted it over his shoulder. The weight surprised him which made him momentarily smile.
He walked out of the vault, stopping long enough at Connie’s desk to let her know he was finished.
“Have a nice day,” she said.
His Yukon was in the parking lot. He climbed in, started the engine, and headed out.
He’d only driven two blocks when a patrol car swung in behind him. “Shit,” he said. He thought about ditching the truck and running, but he knew that even in this hick town, he couldn’t out run a patrol radio. He also knew he’d be slowed down with the bag on his shoulder.
He pulled the gun from the back of his pants and tucked it under the seat. Then he pulled to the side of the road, put the truck in park, and waited with both of his hands clearly on the steering wheel.
Lobo waited as a white police officer approached the rear of his truck.
“Driver,” the officer said. “Let me see your hands.”
Lobo stuck his hands out of the window.
The officer continued walking towards the front of the car.
“Please keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Yes, sir. What’s this all about?”
The officer came into view and Lobo could read his nametag—Shell.
“Do you know a Robert Elmore, sir?”
“Shit.”
Officer Shell smirked. “Okay, sir, I’m going to ask you to step out and put your hands on the side of the car. Do you understand?”
Lobo said, “Yeah, yeah.”
“Please step out, sir.”
Lobo opened the door and climbed out of the Yukon. Officer Shell pushed him against the truck. “I’m going to put you in handcuffs for my safety until we can resolve this issue with Mr. Elmore.”
He kne
w better than to fight so Lobo relaxed as hands were pulled behind his back and the cuffs were ratcheted into place. Officer Shell then quickly patted him down.
When he was done, Shell said, “I’m now going to have you wait in my car until we sort this whole thing out, okay?”
“Yeah, but he started it, Officer. I didn’t do nothing but protect myself.”
Shell escorted Lobo by the elbow towards his patrol car. “I understand. It sounded like mutual combat to me, but you know how it is. We’ve got to jump through these hoops.”
Lobo relaxed. He did know how it was. It wasn’t his first time in trouble with the law and he knew he needed to remain calm, otherwise he would make it worse.
Officer Shell opened the back door to his patrol car and protected Lobo’s head as he was seated. “Just relax and we’ll get through this quickly.”
The officer went to the rear of the patrol car and leaned against the bumper. Lobo twisted around to see what he was doing. It seemed like an odd time to take a break for a smoke, but that’s exactly what the officer was doing. When Lobo looked forward, he noticed the door to his Yukon was still open.
A dark-haired woman walked up to the truck and glanced back toward the police car. Lobo could see the bruising around her eyes and knew immediately it was the woman who claimed to be a federal auditor.
Lobo yelled, “Hey! Hey! She’s breaking into my truck.” He twisted around to Officer Shell who was calmly smoking his cigarette. “Officer! She’s in my truck!”
When Lobo spun around, the woman had reemerged from the truck with his satchel. She turned and walked up the block.
Lobo screamed and kicked at the backseat divider of the patrol car. “You fucker!”
After Officer Shell ground out his cigarette, he walked to the side of the car. He looked at Lobo with calm disinterest.
“You dirty motherfucker!” Lobo yelled through the car window. “You’re fucking working with them!”
Shell pointed at himself. “Me? What did I do?”
“I’m going to kill you!” Lobo screamed.
Officer Shell shrugged and headed toward the Yukon.
Lobo stopped screaming and carefully watched what the officer was doing. He was peering into the cab of the truck. He pulled out a set of rubber gloves from his pocket and tugged them on. Then he reached onto the floorboard and picked up a gun. He lifted it up so Lobo could see.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Lobo yelled. “This is a set-up. You’re setting me. I’ll fucking get you!”
The officer pulled a plastic bag from his side pocket, unraveled it, and slipped the gun into it.
Lobo could see the officer key his shoulder microphone and the radio in the patrol car came to life. “Dispatch, this is Shell.”
“Go ahead, Shell.”
“Advise a supervisor that I have one in custody for felon in possession of a firearm.”
“Copy.”
“No!” Lobo yelled. “You sumbitch!”
Sam and Rachel lay in bed, her head resting on his shoulder.
“Do you think we’ve got the pieces in the right, place?”
“We’re covered,” Sam said.
“It’s been a long time setting this one up. I didn’t think it would take us so long.”
Sam nodded.
“What happens if somebody steps out of line? What happens if Bigs doesn’t do what he’s supposed to do? He’s already talked with Rosie when he wasn’t supposed to.”
Sam kissed her on the forehead. “He’ll do fine, baby. He will. Bigs is a professional. He knows his role.”
Rachel patted his chest. “You have more faith in that man than I do.”
“Yes, I do.”
“A lot of things can go wrong.”
“That’s why we’re playing it this way. If he doesn’t see it coming, we take the money and run. We’ll chalk it up to him being naïve. However, he should see it coming and get paranoid. He’s going to see things pushing in from different sides and see no alternative but to move his treasures. When he does, the girl at the bank will call me. Then I call my friend the cop. If he’s not working, he has a friend who is on the opposite shift who will help us out. Relax and let things play out.”
“I still can’t believe the cop is doing this for no cut.”
“He’s doing it because my sister got turned out by Lobo, remember.”
“Yeah, but altruism as incentive? That’s a sucker’s motivation.”
“He’s got a thing for one of his girls. And he gets the arrest out of the deal, so he looks good to his boss. It’s not selfless in the least.”
They lay quietly for several minutes until Rachel said, “We’re dealing with pimps and prostitutes.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve figured that out by now.”
“Are you going to be tempted?”
“To have sex with a pimp?”
She lifted her head and stared at Sam. “Don’t make light of my question.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know how these women act behind closed doors.”
“They’re just like you and me. They’re business people. I’ll treat them like professionals and get what’s needed. Nothing more is going to happen than that.”
“Just remember that,” she said.
“How could I ever forget?”
“You’ll start the show tomorrow by meeting with Edith at the 2-8-4. Are you ready for it?”
Rachel lifted onto her elbow. Her smirk showed she didn’t appreciate his question. “It’s the Kansas City Shuffle, baby. We can do this in our sleep and he’ll never see it coming.”
The three of them met in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn. Bigs’s white Tahoe was running at the edge of the lot and a young, black woman was in the passenger seat. She intently watched the three of them.
Bigs looked at Rachel’s bruised face. “I’m sorry he did that to you.”
She shrugged. “It hurts, but I’ve had worse. Plus, it was worth it. Besides, you got hammered pretty good yourself.”
“If Sam hadn’t stepped in to stop the beat down, he would have busted me up worse.”
The three of them were silent as a mother and child walked by. The woman eyed Rachel’s bruised face with suspicion.
“Who’s that?” Rachel asked, nodding toward the Tahoe.
“Violet.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “Playing with fire, aren’t you?”
“He took my girls, I’m taking one of his.”
“You sure she won’t tell him where you’re at?”
“Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. Life’s too short to worry about such things.”
“Are you going to get back into the pimp game?”
Bigs shook his head. “I don’t have it in me, anymore. I just want to spend my time with a woman. She’ll get tired of me after a while.”
Rachel nodded toward Violet. “You watch it with that one. Edith told me about her.”
Bigs looked at the woman waiting in his truck. She waved at him and he waved back. “I will.”
Bigs turned back to Sam and Rachel, took a deep breath, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So?”
Sam reached into the back seat of their car and pulled out a small cloth bag. “The deal was we keep the comics and you get whatever else was found.”
Bigs said. “That was the deal.”
He handed him the small bag which felt like it weighed several pounds. Bigs opened it up and his eyes widened. “Shit. How much?”
“The gold is close to forty thousand.”
He clutched the bag in one hand and put the other over his heart. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“Be good,” Sam said and extended his hand.
Bigs shook it. “Thank you, my friend.”
He then extended his hand to Rachel.
She looked at it for a moment, then accepted it.
“I’m sorry for not being a
better man,” he said.
Rachel nodded.
Bigs hurried back to his Tahoe. He hopped inside, kissed Violet on the cheek, and handed her the bag of precious metals. She opened it, then looked at Sam and Rachel. She waved goodbye as the truck pulled out of the parking lot.
“He’s going back to pimping, isn’t he?” Rachel asked.
Sam nodded. “I’d bet on it. With that stake, he’ll scoop up Rosie, Edith, and the other girls in no time. Maybe run them up to Toledo.”
“Did we make a difference?” Rachel asked.
Sam looked at her. “When has that ever figured into the equation?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It hasn’t before, I guess. Maybe it would have been nice.”
“We’ve got more than a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of high grade comics. Isn’t that enough?”
“I guess, but now we’ve got to figure out how to sell the damn things.”
“I know a guy in Madison,” Sam said.
“Fine. As long as he’s not a pimp.”
Sam rested his hand on her shoulder, saying nothing. She watched the Tahoe disappear around a corner several blocks away. Then she turned back to him. “Did you check us out of the hotel yet?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“Because after all this, I think I need a long, hot shower.”
Back to TOC
Colin Conway served in the U.S. Army from 1987-1991. He later served on the Spokane Police Department for five years. He’s currently active in the commercial real estate field, both as a broker and an investor. He owned and operated a karate school for several years, a childhood dream that finally came to fruition. He began writing in earnest while working as a patrol officer. He found it a creative outlet and continued putting words to paper after leaving the department.
Back to TOC
BOOKS BY COLIN CONWAY
Some Degree of Murder (with Frank Zafiro)
Side Hustle
Charlie 316 (with Frank Zafiro) (*)
(*) Coming Soon
Back to TOC
