Passenger 14A

Part two of three.

Johnny turned back to the two at the dart board, who had just finished a round of 501. The guy caught Johnny staring.

“Hey kid, nice costume,” he said. “Come here a minute. You throw darts?”

“I do,” Johnny said, apprehensive about speaking to a man he had just day-dreamed of robbing.

“I’m Charlie, and you know Ash I take it.” He handed a set of darts to Johnny, who spotted two parallel thunderbolts tattooed on his right thumb.

“Yeah, we just met,” Johnny said. “How you two know each other?” The jukebox cut out and a shriek rose up from behind the bar before he got an answer.

“Alright, you animals,” Crystal said. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Johnny set the darts back down on the table. “Guess we’ll have to play next time.”

“Yeah, maybe next time,” Charlie said, his eyes lingering on Johnny. “We’ll be around here next Saturday. How about you stop by, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Charlie reached out and gripped Johnny’s shoulder, pulled him in, and shook his hand. He reminded Johnny of guys inside prison who offered favors one day, only to expect a greater and unspoken favor in return. Johnny gave him a nod, ignoring Ash, and stepped out of Sharkey’s into the sleet that had moved in on St. Paul that night.

He had just turned the corner on his way back home when a voice called out behind him. It was Ash, who stumbled down the sidewalk to catch up to him. She clutched his right arm. “Gonna leave me alone like that,” she said, shuffling in front of Johnny, blocking his path. “Let’s go to your place.”

“It’s a mess,” Johnny said. “And it’s pretty far.”

“I don’t care or whatever you said about some mess,” Ash said, her words slurred. “Come on, there’s a motel right up there.”

A yellow neon sign glowed in the freezing rain, one of the letters burnt out, spelling: Town otel. The lobby reeked of curry. An old Indian guy checked them in, taking Ash’s cash and handing over a bulky wooden key fob over with a head bob.

Johnny pushed the door open and pulled Ash into the room. The lights stayed off. He guided Ash to the bed, shoved her, and she flopped down face first. Johnny pulled the cat tail off, then her black skirt. He could smell her raw ass. It filled the air, dancing with the vodka on her breath. He unzipped, spit on his hand, smeared it on her. She gritted her teeth and groaned from the bottom of her throat.

“You’re supposed to fuck me tonight,” Ash said. “Supposed... to... fuck...,” and then she fell dead quiet, her body limp.

Johnny tried to stick it in, once, twice, three times, sinking his paws into her ass, grabbing hold of her brown ponytail, but he couldn’t do it. He got off the bed, covered Ash with a sheet, cleaned himself off, and left the room, not once looking back.

Minneapolis, Minnesota
November 17th, 2006

Ray picked up a tray of cold cuts and cheeses from Cub Foods. He walked the parking lot with purpose, chin up with a read on the scene. He checked his watch, making sure he’d be early to the meeting. He got into his black 1993 Mercury Grand Marquis and started it up, the reliable V8 purred under the hood. He pulled the boat out of the lot and merged effortlessly into traffic, headed westbound on 29th Street.

Traffic flowed steady until the intersection of Lake Street and Minnetonka Boulevard. A white Toyota sedan, driven by some old broad, clipped a tanker truck when hanging a right. Hit a patch of ice and slid into the back of the truck. Nothing spilled, but hazmat came as a precaution. A twenty minute drive now was pushing forty. After inching through the scene, Ray made it to the old VFW building.

Once parked, Ray set up traffic cones to block the lot’s entrance, grabbed the cold cut tray, and entered the VFW’s back door. He found Charlie in the side room adjacent to the main hall sitting at a picnic table, Diet Pepsi in front of him.

“Look who decided to make it,” Charlie said. He popped the tab off his can of Diet Pepsi and flicked it across the table.

“Yeah, traffic was a bitch down Lake,” Ray said, setting down the spread. “Some broad clipped a truck. Anyway, figured we could break bread while talking shop.”

Charlie leaned back in the brown metal chair and cracked his knuckles. “This thing’s gotta be clockwork,” he said. “It’s why I brought you on. I thought you’d be be about that, having done that hard sorta time.”

“I’m always on time,” Ray said. “But I’m not playing bumper cars to get here.”

“This time you weren’t,” Charlie said. “Look, this is that x-factor that can make or break this thing. Accidents, weather, Jesus’s second coming, it’s all on the table. Stuff will come up that we can’t plan for. We gotta have a plan B, then a plan C, for when it does.”

Ray unwrapped the cold cuts and slid the tray across the table. “You’re right, man,” he said. “But so far, so good. That night at the bar worked out real nice. J-Bird’s coming around. He gave me a ring yesterday. He’s in, and thinks it’s his idea.”

“Alright, some good news,” Charlie said. “Lock him in. Ash got him wrapped around her finger, too. He’s googly for her. But don’t forget, you’re here because you promised another set of hands.”

Ray tapped his fingers on the plastic tabletop. After sixteen years of fed time, where any sleight was answered with violence, this sort of talk boiled his skin. But he kept it cool. Real cool. There was too much money on the line with this lick to lose that cool. He nodded once, the kind of nod a man gives when he knows he’s chained to the move, no matter how it plays out.

Charlie folded a slice of salami over a piece of sharp cheddar and thumbed it past his lips. “So, let’s start from the top.” He wiped his fingers on his jeans and unfolded a legal size sheet of paper printed with a detailed aerial view of the Mall of America. “Ash’s intel is solid,” he said. “And I’ve been banging her so hard that she’s got nothing left to give.”

“Silly broad,” Ray said.

“Tapped the bitch out for all she’s worth,” Charlie said. “So, the route’s set. She’ll be driving and won’t know we’re hitting the route on her day. The truck will pull up on this side of the mall right here. The messenger gets out here with a load of cash to fill ATMs inside. He’ll walk to this entrance.” Charlie circled it with a red pen. “Remember that, the doors for Macy’s. Right before he enters, Johnny will roll the smoke can under the truck. That’ll flush out Ash from the cab. You’ll end her story there.”

Ray rubbed his cheek. “I still think it should just be me and you on this lick.”

Charlie cocked his head, his eyes drooped and were ringed black like an insomniac raccoon. “I’m the brains here,” he said. “The conductor. I roped in Ash, I got the intel, I know when the money’s coming and how much. Besides, my bum hip’s a liability. If something went sideways and I had to run — well, then it’s your problem too.”

“Cut the sappy movie shit,” Ray said. “I’ll handle it.”

Charlie rubbed the dual thunderbolts on his thumb and grinned. “That’s why I called you in on this Raymond,” he said. “So like I said, it’s gotta be like that. Right then and there, take down Ash. Boom-boom, boom-bam, like duck hunting.”

“I’ll keep it neat and clean,” Ray said. He knew a murder was a price he had to pay for this score. If it went right, it’d be the last robbery he’d ever need to do.

Charlie tapped the red circle drawn on the paper. “Now, you’ll have three minutes to get into the truck,” he said. “Johnny has the stopwatch. You’ll come around here and hit the messenger. A crowbar, no heat. Grab his keys, get in, fill the bags. Once that watch says three minutes, you’re in the getaway.”

“With six million,” Ray said. “Split three ways, that’s $2 million a piece.”

Charlie shook his head. “Or if we were creative with this math, split two ways, $3 million a piece.”

Ray did a double-take at the figure. “What you mean, Charlie?”

Charlie let out a dry cough. “Look here,” he said. “I brought you in. You said you were good for this.”

“Is that right, Charlie?” Ray said. “We cutting out someone else?”

Charlie shrugged his bony shoulders. “Had to be this way Ray,” he said. “Your partner, Johnny, he’s the rube in this thing.” He paused, letting the weight of the betrayal sink in for Ray. “But only after the lick,” he said, picking up the thread of the plan. “Exit the mall’s parking here, take 77 south ‘til it hits the 35, and that’ll bring you to Hastings. The safehouse’s there, a run down corner bar with a door in the back. I’ll be there waiting. You can do it there. It’s built for this kind of thing. Used to be an old butcher shop in the ‘40s. Easy-peasy clean up.”

Ray licked the tip of his thumb and circled it around the top of his can of Diet Pepsi, letting out a faint metallic squeak. He hesitated, knowing that if he spoke his mind, he could be cut out just as quick as he was brought in.

What was Johnny to him, anyway? Some kid who came into FCI Sheridan, clueless and green. On the inside they chopped it up over their shared Minnesota background. They played chess and spades together. Ray showed the kid the ropes, Johnny showed Ray forgery. He was a good kid. Flighty, head in the clouds, but a good kid. Taking Johnny out didn’t sit well with him, but maybe Charlie was right. Maybe Johnny was just the rube in this score. But to Ray, it felt more like leading a lamb to slaughter.

“Alright then,” Charlie said. “Let’s wrap this thing up. The Korean War old-timers will be here in twenty. They get to talking and will put you to sleep the way they go on and on. So we good on this?”

“We’re good,” Ray said. He stood up, pushed his chair in, and stepped towards the door to leave. Before turning the knob, he looked back to the table. “Just one more thing, and it kinda bugs me. I’m the one that hits Ash, I’m the one that hits Johnny. But what should make me think that you don’t hit me?”

Charlie shook his head. “Raymond,” he said. “You’re my cousin, we’re blood. No way would I do that to you.”

Ray nodded and clicked his tongue. “That’s right, Charlie. We’re blood.”

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This is part two of a three-part series by Mythos Noir, stay tuned for the conclusion next week