scrape, her face betraying nothing. The old man, forced out right alongside her, shot twice in the stomach, stumbling in the cruel grip of dumb animals. Sliver views of Hartman glowering over the big guy on my six video screens, as I finally cracked open the vault door and sent in the team with their duffel bags and hand trucks.
Rule number one when things go south on a job:
Always go for the money first.
If things get real bad you’ll need every penny, depending on what side of the world you’re on when the fighting starts. And if you make it out clean, you’d better damn well have something to show your employers, especially when they’re already pissed off at you.
I leaned against the wall of the corridor just outside the thick steel door that gave so easy, listening to my father shoot it out with guys in plain black suits on the floor above us, knocking off human lives like they didn’t matter at all. Ringo Coffin, the gunslinger, the madman. My father, the shining example and our white knight at the wrong end of a suicide tear, screaming orders to his commandos in a war zone.
David Hartman, hovering on the high-definition video windows, towering over the old mob asshole, playing his song and dance.
Telling him who the boss really was.
The old man, cowering in crunches of broken glass, surrounded by dead bodyguards, his limo shot to shit in the alley just behindhim. My wife, held fast, her face still cold as steel, forcing back the pain. David’s voice, street Southern and smug as all hell:
“ I guess we got us a situation, don’t we, old man? But every situation has a solution. Just gotta be a creative thinker. I’m a reasonable guy most of the time. ”
The last shots fired in the living room, just above us. My father’s voice on the wire, telling me all clear, but to watch our asses. Like I needed that.
“ But what I can’t abide is the improper use of a beautiful lady. I told my people they had to handle this situation a certain way and they fucked it up. I guess you can hear me talking, right, Elroy? I told you not to use the lady. You’re way too smart a kid to fall back on sleazy tricks. Now, you’re on my shit list. You can take that to the bank. ”
I shook my head. Too absurd for words. David screws up the whole job, then calls me out for it while he gloats in the street like a cowboy, his thick gravy boiling in my ear like everything bad you think of when the word “Texas” springs into your head:
“ I mean, hell . . . I can understand it, of course. I know it’s such a gosh darn temptation to use the charms of a lady like this. But I’m a traditional guy. Ladies should know their place, after all. You follow me, right? ”
My team, just out of the vault now, hauling almost a hundred million in parcels. That kind of money fits in a much smaller space than you might imagine, even when it’s in laundered twenties and fifties. I remember rubbing my head, listening to Hartman’s voice, waiting for the next all-clear from my father. Then, the sound of a shotgun from the floor above me, blowing a muffled spasm in my throat, just on the edge of hearing, as I looked at the screen, watching Hartman perform:
“ But enough about the ladies. Let’s talk about this situation we’re in. ”
He stood over the fat old man, who was begging for his life. I couldn’t hear it. Just Hartman’s voice, right in the guy’s face:
“ It’s a king-hell shit pickle, ain’t it? But it also ain’t what you think. See, I could be real obvious about all this—just put some bullets in your head and be done with it. A lot of people like you think I’m a simple man. I’m here to tell you it just ain’t so. Men like me demand respect . . . but our needs are also very specific. ”
The video windows tilted and swayed just a bit, but when the static cleared, I could see three of Hartman’s shooters holding the old man down in the alley, forcing his arm onto the concrete, fingers scraping
Rule number one when things go south on a job:
Always go for the money first.
If things get real bad you’ll need every penny, depending on what side of the world you’re on when the fighting starts. And if you make it out clean, you’d better damn well have something to show your employers, especially when they’re already pissed off at you.
I leaned against the wall of the corridor just outside the thick steel door that gave so easy, listening to my father shoot it out with guys in plain black suits on the floor above us, knocking off human lives like they didn’t matter at all. Ringo Coffin, the gunslinger, the madman. My father, the shining example and our white knight at the wrong end of a suicide tear, screaming orders to his commandos in a war zone.
David Hartman, hovering on the high-definition video windows, towering over the old mob asshole, playing his song and dance.
Telling him who the boss really was.
The old man, cowering in crunches of broken glass, surrounded by dead bodyguards, his limo shot to shit in the alley just behindhim. My wife, held fast, her face still cold as steel, forcing back the pain. David’s voice, street Southern and smug as all hell:
“ I guess we got us a situation, don’t we, old man? But every situation has a solution. Just gotta be a creative thinker. I’m a reasonable guy most of the time. ”
The last shots fired in the living room, just above us. My father’s voice on the wire, telling me all clear, but to watch our asses. Like I needed that.
“ But what I can’t abide is the improper use of a beautiful lady. I told my people they had to handle this situation a certain way and they fucked it up. I guess you can hear me talking, right, Elroy? I told you not to use the lady. You’re way too smart a kid to fall back on sleazy tricks. Now, you’re on my shit list. You can take that to the bank. ”
I shook my head. Too absurd for words. David screws up the whole job, then calls me out for it while he gloats in the street like a cowboy, his thick gravy boiling in my ear like everything bad you think of when the word “Texas” springs into your head:
“ I mean, hell . . . I can understand it, of course. I know it’s such a gosh darn temptation to use the charms of a lady like this. But I’m a traditional guy. Ladies should know their place, after all. You follow me, right? ”
My team, just out of the vault now, hauling almost a hundred million in parcels. That kind of money fits in a much smaller space than you might imagine, even when it’s in laundered twenties and fifties. I remember rubbing my head, listening to Hartman’s voice, waiting for the next all-clear from my father. Then, the sound of a shotgun from the floor above me, blowing a muffled spasm in my throat, just on the edge of hearing, as I looked at the screen, watching Hartman perform:
“ But enough about the ladies. Let’s talk about this situation we’re in. ”
He stood over the fat old man, who was begging for his life. I couldn’t hear it. Just Hartman’s voice, right in the guy’s face:
“ It’s a king-hell shit pickle, ain’t it? But it also ain’t what you think. See, I could be real obvious about all this—just put some bullets in your head and be done with it. A lot of people like you think I’m a simple man. I’m here to tell you it just ain’t so. Men like me demand respect . . . but our needs are also very specific. ”
The video windows tilted and swayed just a bit, but when the static cleared, I could see three of Hartman’s shooters holding the old man down in the alley, forcing his arm onto the concrete, fingers scraping
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