Caught Stealing (2004) (18 page)

I look at what's left uncounted in the bag. I'm in the home stretch.

-Mmmm. So, so, this goes for years, right. They work a handful of jobs a year, then lie low, then go at it again. All is well. Roman spots a potential job, does the research, sends in his team, they knock it down, he chills any possible heat and all the rest is profit. Roman, he still suffers from that gambling bug. So he's, like, investing his share in Atlantic City stocks and bonds, if ya get me. Bolo and Lum, they're all about good times, so they just party down. Ed and Paris, they live like fucking monks; I mean, the duds and the wheels aside, these are very simple men. They go in for booze and whores, but no drugs, no gold, no bling, no fucking Lexus, no palace. Just that Caddie and the best guns money can buy. They stockpile their cash, like, not in a bank, but under a damn mattress or some shit. Mmmm.

I finish counting, lean against the wall next to Russ, stare at the money and chew more gum while he finishes the story.

-At some point, there's a brouhaha. The boys are doing a chip heist. Silicon chips. The markup on that shit is, like, unreal. That tech shit, it's, like, changed the whole economy. Anyway, turns out some other crew is already there making the same fucking heist. Gunfight, man. All hell and then some. Cops roll up on the scene and Ed, Paris, Bolo and Lum end up shooting their way out and this time they kack three officers. Mmmm. Well, that's the kind of mess even Roman can't clean up, so it's time for the gang to, like, disband. Roman keeps Bolo stashed in Jersey so he can still use him if he needs to, but he, like, cuts Lum and the boys loose. Fine with Ed and Paris. They, like, pack their bags and head south again. Mmmm. They, like, stay mellow for a year, but then they get an idea and they give me a ring. See, Ed and Paris, they, like, want to retire, but they don't figure they have quite enough put away, so they want to do a series of jobs, cash in their chips and head down to Mexico or someplace.

Mexico. I think about Mexican beer with a squeeze of lime.

-Mmmm. Mmmm. Ed, now Ed, he's been, like, learning from Roman, so he's got this plan. He wants to loop through the South and back up through the Midwest doing bank jobs. No major branches, he just wants to hit a whole shitload of little, like, farmers' and merchants' banks in all those little towns. They hook back up with Lum so he can be their wheelman and take care of any alarm action and technical issues. What they want from me is help with the cash. Mmmm. Bank cash is all dirty cash, so it has to be, like, cleaned off. They know I can't really do that on my own, so that's when they call Roman back in. Mmmm. Roman has all the connections, including, get this. Mmmm. Including the Russian Mafia, which is how those thugs Bert and Ernie got into this shit. Mmmm.

Bert and Ernie. I see Blackie on the floor in the bar almost headless. I wonder which one he was.

-The deal is, Ed and Paris, they, like, ship the bank money to me, just, like, Federal Express it, man, if you can believe that shit. I pass it on to Roman, who moves it through the Russians till it's washed and he hands it back over to me, at like which point I put it in safekeeping. Ed and Paris get caught, they don't want to be holding the bag, right. For my services, I'm paid a flat fee. The Russians slice a big percentage out of the gross, Roman takes a cut of the, like, net and the boys and Lum will split the rest. And it goes fucking perfectly. Mmmm. Ed and Paris go on a full-out crime spree, straight-out holdups, real, like, Dodge City shit. They are fully notorious and on the FBI Most Wanted, but they're, like, uncatchable. Just so fast and mean they can't be caught. They pull those hit-and-runs for almost two years and the money piles up and up and, well, man, look at it.

He opens his eyes and we both look at the money. There's a lot.

-A couple weeks back they say, that's it, they're coming to town to pick up their jack. They send the dough from the last bank, I have it laundered, bring it here, pack it with the rest and I guess that's when I, like, started getting, like, sick thoughts and, well, you know, things got all, like, fucked up. But, man, it's just, it's just, like, so much fucking money, ya know? It just, it just made me, like, stupid. Mmmm. Man, I don't feel too good.

He passes out. I lay him out on the floor and check his eyes again. The left one is still kind of funky. I take off his ski cap. The toilet paper mostly falls right off, but some of it is sticking to the wound on his scalp. I try to pick it out, but he winces a few times in his sleep, so I just leave it as is. It needs to be cleaned out and stitched up, but for now the bleeding has stopped and that's gonna have to be good enough.

I park myself in front of the door and stretch out with the Yankees jacket as a pillow. I haven't slept since I first showed up at Yvonne's, whenever that was. Once I'm still, I realize just how bad the pain my wound is and I have to take a full Vic.

I lie there and stare at the money as the fog rolls into my brain. It's just over four and a half million and I know exactly what Russ is talking about. I'm starting to feel stupider by the second.

It comes as no surprise when the nightmare wakes me up. Cold has begun to creep up out of the floor and into my bones, I sit up slowly, stretching out the kinks and shrug my way into Russ's Yankees jacket. He's still asleep, his breathing is deep and even, I leave him alone. Sleep is certainly the best thing for his head right now. Looking at him, I realize for the first time the slight resemblance he bears to Rich. Same color of curly brown hair, though not nearly as long. A similar toothy grin. The same wiry build. They couldn't be brothers, but perhaps cousins. I leave it alone and look at the cash instead.

I do some math in my head. Four and a half million divided by nine comes out to five hundred thousand. As far as I know, nine people have died for this money at a price of half a million each. I think about Yvonne's family. Her crazy philosopher father and yoga-teaching mother. I think about Wayne's daughter and Amtrak's ex-wife that he still lived with and loved. My stomach flops. I can't want this money. And yet I do. I have the key and Russ and the money. For the first time since I was seventeen I have everything everybody wants, and I don't want to lose it this time.

I close my eyes and, yet again, Rich shoots past me, through the exploding windshield and into the tree. The mediocre years of my life pile up around me. This money is not mine. It is not meant for me, but for someone either more deserving or more ruthless. For me, it is a tool that will allow me to rebuild what is left of my life. I inhale, exhale, until my heart stops jumping and I feel I am myself again.

I open my eyes and see that Russ is awake. He's looking at me with a little smile on his face.

-Makes it hard to think clearly, doesn't it?

Russ packs the money back in the hockey bag while I find some news on the radio. His concentration is better, but the left eye is the same and he still phases out a bit in the middle of talking. I keep a close eye on him to see that he doesn't start pocketing any of the cash.

Paul's is all over the local stations. My name is still out of it, but they continue to mention the "former employee." Then I hit NPR and they're breaking the story nationally.

-A botched robbery attempt at a bar resulted in seven dead in New York City this morning.

I switch off the radio as sweat breaks out all over my body and tears try to well up behind my eyes. How could I be so fucking stupid not to see it coming?

-Russ, we gotta go.

-Wait a sec. Mmmm. I'm almost done.

-We gotta go now.

-Just a sec.

I grab him and pull him to his feet and push him toward the door.

-Now, fucking now!

-OK, man, OK.

I start to step out of the unit, then go back in. Most of the cash is in the bag, but some is still scattered on the floor. I grab a pack of twenties and a pack of hundreds and follow Russ out.

We stand by the elevator, waiting.

-What's up, man?

-I have to make a call.

-What about the, like? Mmmm. What about the money, man?

The elevator is taking forever. I push the button again, leaning on it hard, and hear the bell ringing loud down the shaft.

-Man, what about the money?

I jam the button down and squeeze my eyes tight. What is taking so fucking long?

-MAN, LIKE, WHAT ABOUT THE MMMMONEY?

I take my hand off the button and put it on Russ's throat and slam him back into the wall. His eyes spin around and the concrete scrapes

of the scab from his wound and it starts to bleed again.

-Fuck, man. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I squeeze his neck and he stops cursing and starts gasping.

-There is no money, Russ. There is no fucking money! My friends are fucking dead, they're fucking dead! There is no fucking money because my friends are dead because you gave me your fucking cat and now there is no fucking money!

His face is going from red to purple. I let him go. He slides down the wall to the floor and sits there gasping and holding his throat while I lean my forehead against the wall.

-Fuck, Hank. Fuck.

-Yeah, fuck.

We are quiet for a moment, then he slowly climbs back to his feet.

-Hey, Hank?

-Yeah.

-Where. Mmmm. Where is Bud, anyway?

I take my forehead from the wall and open my eyes.

-Roman has him.

-Shit.

-Yeah. Russ?

-Yeah?

-You're bleeding again. Put your hat back on.

He puts the hat on, I push the button again, and the elevator doors open. The operator is standing there.

-Get the fuck off that button, man. I'm here.

On the way down, he takes our passes. I tell him we may be back later, but he says we'll have to get new ones then. When we get to the ground floor, I trot right over to the pay phone and pick up the handset before I notice the little OUT OF ORDER sign taped to the wall next to it.

It's a typical day for New York pay phones. We work our way east, trying to find one that works. At Eighth Avenue, I pick up my fifth phone and get a dial tone this time, but when I try to punch in the number none of the buttons produce a tone of their own. I slam the handset against the phone over and over until the earpiece snaps off and dangles by a couple wires. I'm searching for the next one and Russ grabs my shoulder and points at the electronics store across the street. I nod and we cross over.

I pay for the phone itself with cash and open the service account with one of Russ's credit cards. When he sees that I have his wallet, he starts to say something but stops himself before it can get out. The sales guy keeps offering me this and that. To hurry it along I tell him to give me deluxe everything and never mind the cost. It takes about twenty minutes in all and I end up with one of those phones where the antenna is angled away from your head so you don't get tumors from the signal.

Back on the street, I drag Russ to a quiet doorway off the avenue and make my call.

It's Saturday. They're both home.

-Hi, Mom.

-Henry! Oh, God, Henry! Oh, God! Oh, God!

-Mom.

-Henry. Oh, my God, Henry.

-Mom! Mom, I'm OK, Mom. I'm. Listen to me, I'm OK.

-Henry, We're so, just so. People called, and the news, we saw the news, we saw the bar. Oh, Henry, the police and all those people.

-Mom, it's OK, I'm OK.

-We've been so, so scared, Henry. Oh, God.

She cries and can't get any more words out. I hear the phone being fumbled around and my dad comes on the line.

-Henry?

-Hey, Pop.

-Jesus, Hank, are you all right?

-Pop, oh, Pop.

-What's going on, Hank? Thank God you're OK, but we just need to know.

-I know, Dad.

-Oh, son. Jesus, I'm glad to hear your voice.

-Dad. I'm in some trouble here, Dad.

-What is it? What do you need us to do?

-Dad, it's big trouble.

-The police called, we're . . . They want to know where you are.

-Big trouble, Dad.

-Tell us.

-Dad, I can't, but I was there, at the bar and the police, Dad, the police think I did it.

-What?

-Dad, they think I did it, but I didn't and I needed to call to tell you I was OK and that I didn't do that. I would never do that, Dad, I would never kill people. But they think I did.

-Why, what the hell is going on?

-I just, Dad, I just fell into some trouble.

-Well, let's get you out.

-It's, uh, it's not that kind of trouble, Pop, and I need you and Mom to just be ready, because I'm not sure how I'm gonna work it all out.

-Ready for what?

-I may, I may need to go somewhere. I don't know, but I may, it's big trouble and I may need to go away and I don't know.

I stop. I can see them standing next to the kitchen counter, my dad with the phone held away from his ear so my mom can listen, leaning against each other.

-What do you need us to do, Hank?

-Just, Dad, I just need you to know I didn't do it. These people, they did it and, oh, fuck, they, they killed Yvonne, too, Dad.

-Jesus.