"No, let me," joked Fletcher. "Then I'll tell her I won't tell you if she sucks me off."
"Let's have her suck us both off," said Johnson. "Then I'll fire her."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. But it got even worse.
"What about the Cunninghams?" Fletcher asked. "Are they really gonna sue us?"
"Probably," said Johnson. "But I talked to our malpractice insurance before we did this and they said that as long as I fire Mitchell for cause, they'll have to sue him individually. Whatever liability we might have will be covered by the insurance, but they'll get his house and everything he owns."
"And I get his office," Fletcher laughed. Then without any true remorse in his voice, "Too bad that little girl's case got dismissed."
"Whatever," hissed Johnson. "That was a loser of a case no matter what. Mitchell took it on contingency and advanced them all the costs. We were already in the hole on that one. Glad to get it off the books."
"Two birds with one stone," observed Fletcher.
"Yeah," laughed Johnson. "Besides the little slut probably wanted it."
Fletcher laughed too. But only for a moment.
"You mother fuckers!" I screamed as I stormed into the room. "This was all a fucking set up?"
Their faces went white. But then Johnson caught himself. He looked at Fletcher and winked. "I don't remember saying anything. Do you, Jason?"
Fletcher smiled. "No, Brian, I don't."
Johnson smirked at me. "You find that order yet? The one that's gonna give me the basis I need to fire you for cause?"
I was shaking. I didn't know what to say.
"Oh, one more thing, Mitchell," Fletcher smirked. "I did take the last of your sour cream."
And for some reason, that was the straw that broke my camel's back. I think the poor bastard would have seen it in my eyes, but he was too stupid to look.
"It won't be the last thing of yours I take," he added, just sealing his fate.
"Yes it will," I answered. I didn't yell it. I didn't need to.
I yanked open my desk drawer. The gun was right where I had told Danielle to put it. Loyal Danielle. Poor, stupid, loyal Danielle.
I pulled it out of the holster and aimed it right at Fletcher's chest. "Go to hell, Fletcher."
Two shots, center mass. He didn't even have time to scream.
Johnson did though. He screamed like a girl. I turned and shot at him too. He was already running for the door. He almost made it. Almost.
Danielle ran into the office. The gun was in still in my hand. Johnson was on the floor, holding his gut and moaning. We could all hear Fletcher drowning in his own blood.
"Mike!" shrieked Danielle. "What the hell are you doing?!"
I ignored her and stepped over to Johnson. He was helpless on the floor. I stood over him, straddling his shoulders, and aimed the gun at his head. He looked up at me out of the corner of his eye, then looked away again.
"Mike! Stop!" Danielle grabbed my arm. "Don't do it!"
I shoved her away. "Don't tell me what to do! No one's gonna tell me what to do any more!"
She grabbed my arm again. "I'm not going to let you do this!"
I shoved her away again. Hard. She stumbled against the wall as I raised the gun. I was angry. Really, really angry. I only pulled the trigger once—one moment of blind rage—but the bullet went straight through her heart. She was dead before she hit the floor.
That almost shook me out of it. Almost.
I looked down again at Johnson.
"Please, Mike," he rasped. "Please don't."
I smiled and pointed the gun at his temple. "Go to hell, 'Mr. Johnson.'"
Then my phone rang. And for some reason, that did it.
I relaxed my aim at Johnson's head and pulled the phone from my pocket. It was Janie. Of course.
I stepped over Johnson. I set the phone on my desk. I pressed the green button to answer the call, speaker mode.
"Mike?"
Then I put the gun to my head and pulled the trigger.
But the clip was empty.
I almost laughed. Almost.
Janie was still calling my name as Johnson groaned and Fletcher stopped gurgling. I let the gun drop from my hand. Then I slid to the floor and, for the third time that day, I waited for the cops to arrive.
I'd finished my story, but I still didn't look over at the chaplain.
He didn't say anything for a minute, then he asked, "Is that what you told the police?"
"Yes."
"What did they say?"
"They said I was under arrest."
I could see him nodding out of the corner of my eye. "Is that what you told your attorneys?"
"Yes."
"What did they say?"
"They said I was fucked."
Another nod. "And is that what you told the jury?"
"Yes."
"And what did they say?"
"They said I was guilty."
I finally rolled my head over to look over at him. He was hunched over, hands clasped. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then stood up and nodded to the others in the room.
"Do you know what your sin was, Michael?" this man of God asked me as the guards tightened the straps on my arms.
"I killed someone."
"No, that's not it, Michael," he answered. "Not all killing is sinful."
The prison nurse stepped forward and injected the drug cocktail into my I.V. I'd be unconscious within seconds; my heart would stop beating within minutes.
"Your sin was that you acted in anger." He crossed himself over me. "May the Lord have mercy on your soul."
# # #
There is a sufficiency in the world for a man's need but not for a man's greed.
—Mohandas Gandhi
II. GREED
The Soul's Eye
by
A.T. Russell
Sitting here listening to this workup is a waste of my time. Like I need it. Hell, I drafted the scope for this pinch all week. All I needed was a six. But nooo. Fatso wants to give me a damn team. Four guys on one pinch? A domestic hit at that? Doesn't make a bit of sense to me.
It's cool, though. My cash is stacked tall and I don't really need this job. The idea of coming out of retirement had never crossed my mind until I saw this old biddy buying a quarter-mill ice collection at Fatso's shop on Michigan Ave. I had to check her out.
I did a three-week run on the biddy's crib. Took me two weeks to track her schedule in the process. She nested like a bird every day except for Sunday mornings. I followed her to a weird house across town on those Sundays. Like church, she spent five hours there both times. The place itself had been dark and spooky as hell. Even in the daytime. But that wasn't my hit-point, so I didn't trip. What, with blackened windows and only one door on the whole house; if she had the jewels there, they'd be safe from me. I likes to get paid, but getting paid means I got out. That's the whole point.
So, after tracking my hit, I really didn't need to sit through this workup. The biddy's house was a large Tudor on the rich side of town. Sitting in the crest of a cul-de-sac, one house on either side, a forest preserve backing the property-line – all I had to do was get in, roll the joint, and bust out. Our cars would be parked as separate escape points and we'd break up in the preserve out back. Four different directions and four different stories for the law if we got stopped. Standard rollout with no contact on the back end.
"Iceman, you listening to me?"
Looking up at Fatso again made me want to shut it down and bounce. He could have the job with his new crew. This dude didn't know the first thing about pinching cribs. Other than high-stakes business and museum-quality rips, all he did was run setups on the shoppers in his jewelry stores.
I had to give it to him, though. His business was large. Fatso sells high-end pieces. His jewelry designer always makes exact duplicates of his work and advertises them that way. When somebody buys one, Fatso advertises the remaining piece based on who bought t
he first. So, when the next sap came in to look, they'd be told about so-and-so who'd bought the first set, and then shown the last set of its available kind. It was a good hook with folks who had paper to spare.
Then Fatso would put together a team and boost both of the customers. He'd send the ice overseas to sell in another shop. That way, he got paid three times off one hit, which was standard in the big-time jewelry business. People never knew they were getting rolled from the point of original purchase. That's also how my retirement fund grew.
"Iceman!"
"Don't raise your voice at me!" I never did like Fatso.
Dude was a bigger thief than me and I didn't like that shit. Ain't no honor among thieves, never has been. The best gets the loot and that's how it goes. But Fatso hits big-time businesses. They're shooters. I don't do that kinda shit. Why? Hell, shooters shoot. Though I'm not a big target, I'd still be a damn target. That's why I stick to biddies and dumbasses.
Dumbasses are the easiest marks. They buy engagement rings with matching earrings, bracelets, brooches, watches, toe-rings, navel-rings, necklaces – all big carats, too. Just to impress the women they want. Shit, if the woman had to have all that to say yes, dumbasses were in it for the wrong thing. Well, I made sure that said dumbasses found relief. I'd pinch em', liberate honey of all her ice, she'd leave dumbass, and he'd find himself a good girl.
Great for me, dumbasses were plentiful. Gotta love em'.
"Boy, if you're paying attention, I'm about to hook you up."
See, that's why I didn't like Fatso. The man had too little respect for brothers.
"Look here, you fat shit; boys go to class in the school down the street. Call me that again and I'll put point-three-eight-zero on your mind eight times. Hear me?"
Everybody knew I packed heat, and Fatso knew I'd pop his ass in a heartbeat. Nearly did him a year ago after Robby and his six-man, Pete, went down. Robby had been the only other brother in the high-end pinch game, and word was, Fatso did him in L.A. two years ago. Apparently, the pinch went bad and Robby went down with Pete. That was a bullshit story and everybody knew it. Just so happens that Robby had been the best. Then came me. That's why I went into retirement early. The best never spent much time at the top in this business.
"No need for all that," Fatso said. He stood up from his desk and walked over to the side door in his office.
I shot him a cautious look, thinking he might be stupid enough to be dumb, too. To my surprise, though, he opened the door and the biddy walked in.
Okay. Now what? This didn't make sense to me. She was the mark and the job was set to run in two hours. Why was she here? And what the hell did Fatso have to do with her?
Biddy walked over to Fatso's desk and sat down. She moved fairly well for a woman looking to be in her upper seventies, and without the cane I'd seen her with. Long gray hair, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, wearing black YSL and looking fresh at three a.m.
"Iceman, is it?"
I nodded, suspiciously glancing at Fatso behind her left shoulder, staring back at me with a smug smile.
"Mr. Iceman, I'm Doreen Somersby. I run a shop in Switzerland. We get most of our merchandise from Mr. Benson, here. The package of items you saw me purchase is the last set available and I have a customer willing to pay three times their worth. Of course, that's based on who purchased the initial set. So you see, for insurance payout, we intend to make a small fortune on this set."
Okay, the biddy had a name, and doubtfully her real one. She didn't have an accent, either. So I wasn't buying the Swiss line. More than that, though, she was in the game. I looked at the proposed team and found them just as shocked as I was. That was good. No pincher likes to be surprised during planning. What's worse, though, she'd used Fatso's real name, which meant she wasn't as sharp in the game.
"Mr. Iceman, the jewels are in a safe under my bed." Biddy pointed at Lex. He was the muscle on the crew and my six-man. "That gentleman should have no problem moving the furniture, but please be careful to not destroy anything. It is my Chicago home, after all, and I like the place."
Fatso sat on the desk-edge and rubbed his meaty hands together, looking thoughtful and shit, his shirtsleeves rolled to mid-forearm, like a man about to do some desk-work. Hell, that's all he was good for. Dude stood about six-three, had to be around five-hundred pounds, too. Odd though, he had a disproportionately little head with tiny ears and eyes. Fatso was one big, weird-looking sumbitch.
He said, "Iceman, we only want the jewels. Nothing else. Get in, out, and gone. The drop-spot is the same and your account has already been paid."
I wasn't buying this set up. "So why in the hell do I need a team?"
Biddy stood up and walked around the desk to face me. After a measuring look at me, she leaned her gravity-defeated ass against the desk, crossed her arms on top of her sagging, waist level breasts and smiled at me. "Mr. Iceman, the alarm system is real, and in my community, there is an armed security force, not to mention the actively security conscious neighbors. Now, you're going in at the security force's shift change, which means you may interface some of the neighbors as they exercise or go to work. Yes, even on Sundays. Wealthy people do what it takes to maintain it and make more. Nonetheless, I want them unharmed, Mr. Iceman. As it stands, I…"
"Right. This is your Chicago home and you like it, after all." I mimed sarcastically. "Well then, with this setup, you don't need me."
I stood up and shouldered my backpack. I was retired and planned on living to enjoy it. At 38, I had a lot of fun and relaxation ahead of me. This, I didn't need.
"Yo, Iceman." Lex's voice was low and heavy, almost like a growl. "You're on the job as a guide. That's all, bruh."
I made it to the door and looked back.
Fatso said, "Organizational skill and a true professional are needed here, Ice. I've got two amateurs going in with you. Since you're outta the game, do me this favor and I'll drop you an extra five percent."
I like money. A lot. "Make it fifteen. I don't change diapers for chump-change, Fatso. You know how I work."
We never use our real names and Fatso was his sly. It helped that he was a fat bastard. It made the moniker work for him. Lex had taken his name from some wrestler he'd been a fan of. That was appropriate, too, because Lex was built like a WWE Superstar. The other two, well, to be honest, I didn't give a damn about them. They were Slip and Abraham. Smartly, they kept their mouths closed and paid attention in the meeting. They didn't look like much, but in the pinch game, it wasn't a job requirement.
"So, Mr. Iceman, fifteen percent it is," Biddy said.
"Doreen, when I call you Biddy, you answer to it. See, I like visual recall, and Doreen ain't working for me. Dig it?"
"Biddy?"
I shook my head sadly. "Don't try to figure it out. Just answer to the damn name." Looking at Fatso, I said, "Make the payment right now and I'm in."
Fatso clapped his hands lightly and smiled back at me. "Here's the hitch, Ice. You can only take the jewels we're here for. Nothing else. You promise me that and this is a done deal."
That was easy. After I saw Biddy buy that big carat emerald, ruby, diamond, and sapphire bracelet, I was full in the game. The other pieces of the set just made me hungrier.
I shifted my pack and nodded. "Deal. Jewels and out. Now pay me."
I remained at the door, eyeing Lex. If he was in, I knew I would be, too. Took a glance at Biddy again. She seemed overly comfortable, as if she was running this show.
"How heavy is the insurance?" I asked.
She turned her head and gave me a wan smile. I must've distracted her from a thought or something because she had to blink a few times before saying, "Three times the original cost of purchase, Mr. Iceman."
She surely saw my eyes widen.
She added, "The second purchase will be for one million dollars, along with other benefit payments you need not concern yourself with."
So, from a quarter mill purchase, Biddy was gonna
flip this stuff for seven or eight times the retail. Hmm. That was fat change. Taking that extra fifteen percent was a good decision.
I looked at Lex again and the big man nodded. He had still been in the game when I stepped out over a year ago because Robby went down. Having working for Fatso as long as I had, Lex knew when a job was proper. Though I couldn't say I trusted anybody, Lex was as close to a friend as I'd ever had in this business, or in real life. I nodded back and pointed a fist at him. He did the same and we were committed together.
A few minutes later, after checking my account on my smartphone, which ain't as fast as commercials say they are, I was good to go. Even with misgivings about Biddy in on the job, I was cool. As long as Lex, Slip, and Abraham rolled with my plan, they would be, too. But in the game, your ass was the only one you smelled. So, if they got perfumy, they would be air-freshened immediately. Hopefully, they understood that. I'm sure Lex did.
Me and Lex had done numerous jobs together in the past. Dude was tight and always on key. He was the best six I'd ever worked with, too. While loyalty wasn't a part of the game, Lex was as good as they came. Never the primary, he was too big for small places and couldn't fit everywhere. Instead, Lex was the way out if shit went foul. He'd kept my ass smelling for years and I wouldn't let the big man down. Not as long as he remembered how I got things done.
Back in the day, we scoped things out before we did stings together. If things didn't look right, we'd back off. Me and Lex had scooted off a few jobs in the past. I'm intimate with that self-preservation thing. Since I have all that cash stacked, I had great motivation to keep living. Freely, too.
***
It took us thirty-five minutes to get to Glencoe from Fatso's office in Hyde Park. Since it was Sunday morning, traffic through midtown Chicago was nonexistent. I parked at an Arby's and grabbed a cup of coffee before I walked down a side street and into the forest preserve on a bike path. Wearing a gray body-lycra with a hood on, I looked like an early morning runner. My backpack was slim with a plastic tube that hung over my shoulder, kind of like a camel-pack.
Seven Deadly Sins Page 4
