"But if you got yourself arrested-"
"And no one else, then I am controlling what is going on, right?" Christina asked rhetorically. "If I could figure out a way to get arrested sometime during the job, then actually I'm in pretty good shape, right? This is what I'm thinking, at least. Because if I don't identify anyone else, they can't get anyone, not if I plan it right. And maybe I only get eighteen months or two years, something like that. I know that sounds like a lot of time. But it'd get me out from under these people. I'd just read a lot, so I thought. My mother could send me books and I'd read a lot. It doesn't make sense now to think about it, but this is the way I was thinking. Maybe I also knew my dad was going to die and I couldn't face it. Also, I really was scared of these people. Tony had somebody killed every year or two. It was a fact. Prison sounded like the safest place I could be."
Charlie got up and opened the minibar. He took out a sealed jar of cashews and a can of orange juice. "Anything?"
"Juice?"
"Got it." He sat back on the bed. "You want anything else, room service or anything?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Do we have all night?"
"Yes." He opened the cashews. "I have to call my wife at about 8:00 a.m., but that's fine, I can do it at home."
She stole a cashew from his hand. "I'd like to sleep with you, Charlie-real sleep."
"What if I fart up the bed?"
She laughed. "You should try prison."
"I thought women didn't fart."
"Women fart, believe me."
He nodded. "They just try to hide it."
"And men make it louder, which is worse."
"Very nice conversation, I don't think."
"Maybe we could have an early breakfast?"
"It's a deal."
"You don't mind walking out of here with me at seven in the morning or whatever?"
"No." He ate a handful of cashews. "So."
"So… we were due to begin the drop-off at 4:00 p.m. at a warehouse at Twentieth and Ninth Avenue. I'd scouted the street maybe a dozen times. Actually drawn diagrams of all the businesses along there. It was tight backing up into the loading dock, and once you were in, you weren't going anywhere. Rick was very good at handling the truck. The plan was that we backed in, Rick would talk to the guys, I stayed in the cab. We had this worked out with the others that if you saw something you didn't like you hit the horn three times, hard. I knew that was how I'd get rid of everyone. But I also knew that if I hit the horn Rick'd come get me first. He would do that, no matter what. He'd pull me out of the cab before the police could get me."
"Loyal guy, this Rick."
"So we were on the New Jersey Turnpike-"
"I was there today myself-"
"We stopped at the Vince Lombardi Plaza at about three o'clock. I said I had to pee badly, and I went in and used the pay phone. I'm freaking out, actually. We're due to be dropping off in about an hour. I know that we have to get the truck in, get it set up. Now, if I call in to some police station or something, there's not much chance they'll react. Like, 'Hello? Some guys are smuggling air conditioners at four o'clock.' That won't work. Even if it does, it has to go through a lot of police bureaucracy, I'm guessing. They get crazy calls all the time. I can call in a bomb threat on 911 to some building across the street, but that means we don't actually get the truck into the block, start the unloading, because of the fire trucks. It has to really, really look to Tony Verducci's people like the job is going smoothly, that we were surprised, were under surveillance the whole time. The problem is, I don't want the phone call to be revealed later, at a trial or something, to show that I was the one who made it. And Rick is outside in the truck, looking at his watch. I know he's worrying about the traffic, getting into Manhattan, angry that I'm slowing things down."
"What can you do?"
"My only hope," she continued, "is that Rick is right about the phone drop being tapped. If it is, then I have a chance. First, I call the computer phone, bypass the crazy menu and message option, and reprogram it so that the cell phone, the one that makes the next call, will dial information the next time the first phone gets a message. Five-five-five-one-two-one-two. Remember, I have to do this because the computer is going to take whatever next message comes in and use the cell phone to relay it-I don't want my message sent on to the usual second number, where the other machine is, because maybe Tony gets that message later somehow and listens to it and finds out it's me. So I fix that. The next call that comes in is going to be relayed to an information operator who's going to think it's a screwed-up home answering machine and hang up, after which the first machine is going to erase its message. I'm doing this real fast. Rick is outside in the truck. A couple of guys will be waiting to help us unload at the drop-off. The fences are going to arrive at just the right time."
"You have to call back, though," Charlie said.
"Right. Exactly. So then I call the first machine back and say something like 'Hello, it's me. A good load. Today, 3:45 p.m., Twentieth Street and Ninth Avenue. Middle of the block. Full rig. And the big man will be there at 3:45 sharp. Be there or be nowhere.'" Christina laughed dismissively. "Something incredibly straight-on like that. So straight-on you can't believe it, but if they're listening, they are going to be curious. They have to check it out, they-"
"Wait," Charlie interrupted. "You said the drop-off was supposed to be at 4:00. Why say 3:45?"
"I have a good reason. I want them waiting. We're going to pull in at four sharp and I have to time it perfectly. I want to make sure they're there when I need them. So we pull in through the Holland Tunnel and work our way up to Twentieth and it's real hot-you know how it gets in the late afternoon-and I'm just sitting all slouched in sunglasses and burning up, the sun in my face, and really worried that maybe I'm just completely fucked here. I don't know if anybody was listening to the phone message or, if they were, what they're going to do. Rick is relaxed. We're back on schedule. He doesn't know anything, he's listening to the radio, shifting the gears. He's having a great time. I'm sitting there praying that the police are, right then, setting up to grab us. If they aren't, then Frankie will find out about the missing cash within a few minutes and call Tony, who will immediately send over a car. I'm scared. Really scared. I'm smoking and trying not to jump around in my seat. But okay, what can I do? We get to Twentieth Street and pull along the block. The loading dock is empty, like it's supposed to be, nobody blocking us. We pull in, everything is fine. Nothing looks bad. We look like a bunch of ordinary people. A truck making a delivery, you know. Not a big deal. One of the unload men, this guy Mickey Simms, is there. A big fat guy with no hair. He says everything looks great, the fences are waiting. Frankie says he'll take his boxes into the building and out the other side into a van. Fine. I'm looking all over the place hoping to see some undercover cops. If they're going to be there, they're there already. Sitting in front of me. Down the block somewhere. Watching with binoculars and radios, the whole thing. But I can't see anyone. And Rick is not nervous, which gets me even more nervous. So after about five minutes, when Frankie is almost done loading, I ask Rick to go get me some cigarettes. The deli is way down the block. He says, Now? And I sort of just beg him with my eyes and he smiles and says okay and I ask also, How about a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato and onion-something that will take a few minutes to make, you know-and then he tells the others he'll be back in a minute. Mickey Simms goes with him. When I see Rick's gone into the deli, actually gone inside so he can't hear the street, I hit the horn three times, loud as I can, and watch the guys get freaked out and run away through the back of the building, all these ways we'd thought out ahead of time as we always did, and about five seconds after that, the cops are pulling up and all over the truck. They were there, after all! I kept my hands up so they wouldn't shoot me. They pulled me out of the cab and put me up against the door and they were pretty pissed off, like why did I signal, where did everybody go and everything, but I felt so good. I was safe! Rick was still in the deli and I knew he'd see the police cars and just disappear. Later I heard that he came out of the deli and saw the cops and was going to run get me, but that Mickey Simms stuck a gun in his face and wouldn't let him."