I didn’t like the kid from the start, getting involved where she doesn’t belong and all. Twirling a rabbit’s foot on a long chain, dressed predictably for a neophyte to this kind of work and swaying back and forth on her heels – there was baggage. No idea where that wardrobe came from either… from the shoes to the neck was high-end Good Will material – probably the donated wardrobe of the wife of a made man magna cum whacked - but the neck up was Daryl Hannah from The Pope of Greenwich Village.

 

“Red Johnny,” she introduced and extended her hand. Weak handshake and wouldn’t make eye contact, but I told her I was glad to meet her just the same. “I guess you know what we’re doing, but what say we get an Old Style first?” she offered. That voice and outfit would have been sexy were I not annoyed at having to do with this kid a job that I’d rather do with Frank, but a beer was a better idea than making small talk outside in the goddamn early-spring cold.

We took seats at the bar, a place I’d been to before but had no real attraction to it. Drinks came. “Champagne for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends,” she wheezed as we clinked glasses while I tried not to look annoyed. It was one of Frank’s favorite toasts, but with none of his clever rhythm… no, just the same words from a duller voice. This was a going to be a long night.

“Known Frank long?” I obligatorily asked, tearing into the bowl of peanuts at the bar and cursing the smoking ban.

“Yeah, I grew up with him,” said Red and, spending the better half of an hour on the details, explained that they met through a mutual friend whose Old Man used to get help from Frank. It makes my head spin to try and remember all the noise she made around what should have been a simple story, but the picture laboriously painted was that Frank was always ‘there’ when Red’s buddy needed something. By proxy, Red inherited the same largess, and even returned the favor by offering to do some work for Frank.

I explained that I too had come to know Frank through a mutual friend, but left it at that. After all, we had work to do, and it was time to see what this kid could do that mattered.

“Have you ever done anything like this before, or do you just think these things over in your spare time?” I asked, not because I didn’t know, but it would at least get her talking, or lying.

“Only once, but I was really just backing another crew, nothing on my own yet,” she admitted. This was a surprise show of humility… most of these small-changers qua big shots stuff the fronts of their pants with too many socks.

“Well, it’s not that complicated, but…” I started, but saw that she wanted to speak. I stopped, not knowing exactly what to say anyway, and let her run roughshod over everything that Frank had made clear to his people over the years.

“Frank always said,” and, “Frank once told me…” droned Red, ceaselessly, to where I was so deep in my cups that doing the job at all should have been handed over to a more sober hood. I would need coffee.

I went over the job in my mind while Red bombinated, prefacing everything with, “Frank told me…”. I didn’t listen to a word. Best to not get confused over a misguided take on good material, and thought about what I would do when it was time…

… so the john will should be coming home alone. The wife and kids are at a friend’s house where, every Wednesday, the ladies do lady things and bring their children to get them out of hubby’s hair for a few hours. So the joint we’re casing will be empty, save the stiff coming home with nothing but cold beer and TV on the mind. Getting him at the door and into the basement, all the while keeping him quiet, won’t be a big deal. Once he’s restrained and quiet we show him photos of his children tied up in a closet, and inform him that one simple phone call means he and the wife become childless unless he opens up the safe and gives us the shit (God bless Photoshop and the people who know how to use it). Tell him that if he calls the cops that his children will never be found, and all that…

“… and it’s like what Frank always said: ‘If you’re going to steal, steal from the best,” was the first thing I remember the kid saying in what must have been five minutes of seamless monologue. Maybe I looked engaged, but I certainly was not. Anyway, I nodded my head and asked if she had the address to the place. She did. Good thing, because all Frank told me is that I should work with the kid, get her out into the world a little bit, so I said ‘yes’ to the scenario yet none of the details. Stupid.

Red drove. The house looked familiar as we passed by, but there’s only so much ground you can cover in this town before you cover it twice, and I dismissed the sense of recognition. It was nearing dark, and we nestled into some street parking three houses away, just in time to see a white Cadillac pull out of the drive and down the street the other way. Strange car for a mother with kids, I thought, but allowed it to be possible.

It didn’t take long for another set of headlights to come rolling by, and into the driveway. I strained, but couldn’t tell the make of the car pulling in, but no matter - it was time to move. We got out quick, and moving around fast to the back door, caught the poor bastard just as he had entered the key into the lock. Red simultaneously covered the john’s mouth with his hand and twisted the keyed doorknob, pushing him forward into the kitchen while keeping a hand over his struggling maw. It was so fast I didn’t see it happen with much clarity, and the Old Style had me plenty groggy, but I knew the face of the cat we were rolling over. Christ, what a rube I am, thought I. There was no other face as gristled, hardened, and traveled yet wise, warm and hip… it was Frank’s. We had our masks on and dressed in all black, but no fooling this guy, for sure… oh shit…

The thoughts on my mind staggered me… the kid has me on a heist to take Frank for anything we can pull out of there in short-order, and pray he never figures out it’s his own people! I could stop all this… I mean, I had no idea, I’d never seen his house! I don’t know what kind of people get invited over for coffee, but I not me, and if I stop her and just explain the whole thing to him, he’d understand that I’d been had…

… don’t bother to try and stop it now. After all, it’s more likely that the kid is armed than Frank… no, best to finish this thing and get out…

My inner monologue was overpowering any hope I had of concentrating. But I kept my mouth closed to keep me anonymous. I was more worried about the kid blowing cover, but I needn’t - having gotten down to work, the kid’s voice changed completely from a smoky whine before at the bar to a comfortable, smart baritone, almost svelte. I wouldn’t have known that she was the same kid I’d nearly abandoned at the bar to handle tab an hour ago if I weren’t sure that I’d been with her the whole time.

And whatever it is she says to Frank, she has the poor guy with his head behind the cheesy painting on hinges (a predictable, tacky, hiding place for a vault, if you ask me), twisting the knob and opening the latch to the safe with the graceful clink of ice in a fresh glass. I’m careful not to make eye-contact with Frank, keeping my eyes on the kid the whole time, and surprised at how adroitly she gets the goods, puts Frank away without hurting or even insulting him - must’ve said some charming words in that concealed voice – and turns to me with a, “Let’s go,” loot in hand.

The stuff the kid got… not bad, pretty loud, shiny stuff. Frank had spent a lifetime collecting this kind of ice and has vaults of it beyond what we’d ever know. The kid, truth be told, did a fine job of knowing what we deserved for a day’s work, and how much to leave behind to keep Frank from blowing his top and sending out all of the troops to find the rat bastards who cleaned him out.

Got to admit it, the kid did well for herself, and, if she and I make it out of this life alive, it will be from Frank recognizing that a job well done, even when he’s on the losing end, can be a thing of beauty. If only Red would take on a different target next time, it would just be easier on everybody.

“Like Frank always said, ‘If you’re going to steal, steal from the best,” said Red as she drove off, leaving me to my apartment and bottles. Good job you did, kid, and here’s hoping I never see you again.

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