Like you didn’t have to plan as much. Like it was easier to escape the cops on the I-25 in the middle of Wyoming, twenty miles to the nearest exit, than it was dodging the staties on the Wantagh Parkway. I realized why he smelled like oil. It was gun oil.
My mother had good instincts. She knew a criminal when she saw one. This kid stank of trouble. I should’ve been sharper.
“I’ve got three men already,” Butch went on. “We need another for crowd control. It’s a small shop, but they’ve got a lot of employees. Like I said, family-owned, so they’ve got Mom and Dad in back, a couple of uncles doing inventory, sisters and cousins up front working the counters.The hardware will be clean, untraceable. Unless you’ve got your own piece you’d rather use. In and out in under four minutes.”
“I don’t do that,” I said.
He frowned. “You don’t do what?”
“That.”
“Hit jewelry stores?”
“I don’t carry a gun.”
He smiled like I’d just told a joke that hadn’t quite come off. “Since when?”
“Since always.”
“But you’re a Rand.”
“And we don’t do that,” I said.
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not.”
For some reason I was suddenly offended by the fact that he was standing here without a shirt. That scrawny chest on exhibit. His naked nipples steered toward me.
He bounced like he was being tickled and let out a small burp of a giggle. “You’re old-school thieves. You’re famous. Everybody knows what you’re all about.”
“No armed robbery.”
He cocked his head. “No exceptions, huh?”
“None.”
“Not even for a big enough payday? Let’s say, six figures?”
The kid was a fucking idiot. Jewelry was always the hardest thing to unload on a fence. Some pieces could be identified as readily as fingerprints. It had to pass through a lot of hands before anyone could turn it into cash. You saw maybe a dime off every dollar. For a five-man crew to see a hundred grand each you had to pull down a five-mil score. This mook would never be involved with that kind of a major haul.
In this town he wouldn’t even think about it unless he was in the good graces of the Thompson syndicate.
I asked the obvious question. “You do any work for Danny Thompson?”
“A little of this and that,” Butch said.
“What kind of this and that?”
“You know—things. Stuff.”
I watched Dale across the way, returning with a couple of beers. She could make it only a few steps before someone stopped her, chatted her up, got her laughing. She was pretty and popular and shouldn’t be hooked up with a twenty-year-old hood talking armed robbery. The rest of them looked like punks and assholes but at least they weren’t getting ready to take a five-to-seven rap.
I wondered if she was drawn to Butch because he was a thief like her brothers and father. If she felt more comfortable with him than some straight-A joe working at the Walmart and putting himself through night school. If she liked the smell of gun oil on him. I thought of this mutt on top of my sister. My fists tightened and my knuckles cracked. The pounding bass from his radio beat into my feet and moved up my legs, into my chest, and up through my brain.
I got in close, went nose-to-nose with Butch as he backed up and became trapped against the Chevy’s grille. He turned his hip to me as if to climb away.
He frowned and said, “Hey, man, hey—”
A little of this and that. Butch was one of the hangers-on. Back in Big Dan’s day I watched them come and go, guys trying to mob up who Dan would take advantage of for as long as he could. Get them to do some extra dirty work, the stuff he didn’t want to lay out on his own crew. But he’d always pay them something for the risk and trouble, even if they didn’t get any of the respect they were hoping for. Danny, though, I could see him running guys like Butch out to do everything from shining shoes to cleaning his rain gutters to pulling heists, just so he
My mother had good instincts. She knew a criminal when she saw one. This kid stank of trouble. I should’ve been sharper.
“I’ve got three men already,” Butch went on. “We need another for crowd control. It’s a small shop, but they’ve got a lot of employees. Like I said, family-owned, so they’ve got Mom and Dad in back, a couple of uncles doing inventory, sisters and cousins up front working the counters.The hardware will be clean, untraceable. Unless you’ve got your own piece you’d rather use. In and out in under four minutes.”
“I don’t do that,” I said.
He frowned. “You don’t do what?”
“That.”
“Hit jewelry stores?”
“I don’t carry a gun.”
He smiled like I’d just told a joke that hadn’t quite come off. “Since when?”
“Since always.”
“But you’re a Rand.”
“And we don’t do that,” I said.
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not.”
For some reason I was suddenly offended by the fact that he was standing here without a shirt. That scrawny chest on exhibit. His naked nipples steered toward me.
He bounced like he was being tickled and let out a small burp of a giggle. “You’re old-school thieves. You’re famous. Everybody knows what you’re all about.”
“No armed robbery.”
He cocked his head. “No exceptions, huh?”
“None.”
“Not even for a big enough payday? Let’s say, six figures?”
The kid was a fucking idiot. Jewelry was always the hardest thing to unload on a fence. Some pieces could be identified as readily as fingerprints. It had to pass through a lot of hands before anyone could turn it into cash. You saw maybe a dime off every dollar. For a five-man crew to see a hundred grand each you had to pull down a five-mil score. This mook would never be involved with that kind of a major haul.
In this town he wouldn’t even think about it unless he was in the good graces of the Thompson syndicate.
I asked the obvious question. “You do any work for Danny Thompson?”
“A little of this and that,” Butch said.
“What kind of this and that?”
“You know—things. Stuff.”
I watched Dale across the way, returning with a couple of beers. She could make it only a few steps before someone stopped her, chatted her up, got her laughing. She was pretty and popular and shouldn’t be hooked up with a twenty-year-old hood talking armed robbery. The rest of them looked like punks and assholes but at least they weren’t getting ready to take a five-to-seven rap.
I wondered if she was drawn to Butch because he was a thief like her brothers and father. If she felt more comfortable with him than some straight-A joe working at the Walmart and putting himself through night school. If she liked the smell of gun oil on him. I thought of this mutt on top of my sister. My fists tightened and my knuckles cracked. The pounding bass from his radio beat into my feet and moved up my legs, into my chest, and up through my brain.
I got in close, went nose-to-nose with Butch as he backed up and became trapped against the Chevy’s grille. He turned his hip to me as if to climb away.
He frowned and said, “Hey, man, hey—”
A little of this and that. Butch was one of the hangers-on. Back in Big Dan’s day I watched them come and go, guys trying to mob up who Dan would take advantage of for as long as he could. Get them to do some extra dirty work, the stuff he didn’t want to lay out on his own crew. But he’d always pay them something for the risk and trouble, even if they didn’t get any of the respect they were hoping for. Danny, though, I could see him running guys like Butch out to do everything from shining shoes to cleaning his rain gutters to pulling heists, just so he
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