“I won’t charge for these,” Joel told Dan. “’Cause you’re right, I acted like an asshole. Next round, though, you pay for them.”
“Okay, Gordon,” Dan said, ignoring Joel. “This is as much of an apology as you’re ever going to get out of this guy. Are we all friends again? Or are we going to walk away from this?”
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Gordon said. “I was just sitting here minding my own business.”
“You okay now, Joel?”
“Yeah, I’m just peachy. I got a question. Where are we going to keep the money while we’re sitting on it?”
“Two years ago I rented a storage locker to hold some old furniture. I got stuck with a five-year lease so I’m still holding on to it. I’m going to hide the money there.”
“Why do that? I have twenty acres up here. There’s plenty of places to hide the money. Why take the chance of having the police search your locker?”
“That’s not going to happen,” Dan said.
“Famous last words. Let’s take a vote. Anyone else agree it makes more sense to hide the stuff here?”
Only Hoffer’s hand went up. Sneering, Joel gave a slow look around the room. “That’s the way it’s going to be, eh?” he asked. “You’re going to outvote me three to two on everything. Fine, I’ll just shut up, then.”
“Joel, if you don’t trust me, let’s end this right now.”
“Fuck you, I trust you. Let’s just move on, okay?”
“Good enough, we’ll move on.” Gordon and Shrini both sat stone-faced. Hoffer’s grin only grew wider, making him look more like a village idiot. Dan picked up the garbage bag he had carried into the house and dumped its contents on to the floor. Inside were work overalls, gloves and ski masks. He handed them out, asking if they’d try them on.
“I only got four sets of these,” Dan said to Hoffer. “I didn’t know that you were going to be along for this when I got them.”
“No problem there, chief. I have stuff at home I can use.”
“Anyone going to be able to recognize it?”
Hoffer shook his head. “Not a chance.” He sat on the sofa with his grin intact while the rest of them put on their outfits. With the overalls, ski masks, and gloves, they looked like they could be bank robbers instead of the odd collection of out-of-work software developers that they were. Gordon was studying Shrini. “We’re supposed to look like Italian mobsters, right?” he asked. “I’m going to have to put some makeup around Shrini’s eyes, lighten up his complexion somewhat. Or maybe he could wear sunglasses.”
“I think I’ll wear the sunglasses, dude,” Shrini answered.
“And what’s with the tape over the mouth hole?” Gordon asked.
“I’m hoping it helps muffle our voices.”
“What if one of us has a stuffed-up nose? We’d suffocate.”
“Come on, Gordon-”
“Well, I could always just talk like this,” Gordon said, imitating a Swedish accent.
“For Chrissakes,” Joel swore under his breath.
“When we’re in that bank it’s important that we talk as little as possible,” Dan said. “Only when absolutely necessary. And no foreign accents, okay? Just try to talk as low and guttural as possible. All of you practice that. And whatever you do, don’t use any of our real names. I did a little research and found some names of Raymond Lombardo’s associates. If for whatever reason we need to talk to each other I’ll be Ray, Joel, you’re Tony, Shrini, you’re Vinnie, Eric, you’re Sal, and Gordon, you’re Charlie.”
“Why do I have to be Charlie?” Gordon asked. “Why can’t we pick our own names?”
“I fucking give up,” Joel spat out. “He’s nothing but a goddamned infant.”
“Relax, okay?” said Dan. “He’s just doing a riff on Reservoir Dogs.”
Gordon’s belly bounced up and down under his overalls as he laughed at his joke. A glint in his eyes showed there were still hard feelings from before and this was partly payback for that. “What’s wrong with you, Joel, too much high-octane before we got here? Jeez, lighten up, guy. Take that stick out of your ass.”
“Gordon, it’s been an absolute pleasure not working with you the last seven years. Too bad we have to break that streak now.”
“Same here, Joel.”
Joel ignored him and turned to Dan. “Eric and I are going to be using assault rifles to keep control in the bank. Nothing like looking down the barrel of a Kalashnikov to shut you up. You three are going to be carrying Smith amp; Wesson forty-five caliber pistols. They’re good guns and they’re made right here in the USA.”
“I don’t need a gun.”
“Sure you do. All three of you do. No fucking way I’m going into that bank otherwise.”
“Dan, I have to agree with your friend,” Shrini said.
“We’re going to be in and out of that bank in ten minutes. There’s not going to be any shooting. No one is firing any guns. Shrini and I don’t need them.”
Joel took his ski mask off. “Let me explain something to you, pal,” he said, his black eyes smoldering. “When we walk into that bank, this gets serious. All bets are off. You may not want to shoot anyone, but if a cop ends up wandering into that bank he’s sure as hell going to want to shoot you. Or me. I’m only willing to do this if you’re prepared to do what it takes. And that means backing me up and shooting someone if you need to. Obviously, nobody wants that to happen, but we have to be ready for it.”
Dan turned to Shrini and Gordon. They had both taken their masks off. “The weasel’s right,” Gordon said.
“I don’t even know how to use a gun,” Dan said weakly.
“Typical Massachusetts liberal,” Joel sneered. “Expect others to fight your battles for you. Not this time, buddy boy. I have my own private shooting range dug out in the basement. I’m going to teach you how to fire a gun. And I want to see how your two buddies do also. All of you, downstairs now.”
Joel led the way down to the basement. When they got there, Joel picked up a Kalashnikov AK-47 rifle and admired it. “Eric and I have to get two of these babies into the bank. How long will it take us to get from the parking lot to the front lobby door?”
“Maybe ten seconds running.”
“I could try hiding this in my pant leg, but I don’t see much point. Five guys entering a bank in overalls and ski masks will be suspicious whether or not we’re carrying these Kalashnikovs.”
He put the rifle down and unlocked a cabinet, taking out a handgun and a box of shells. After handing out cheap earplugs, he put a more expensive set of earmuffs on himself. A narrow alley of about forty feet ran the length of the basement. At the end of it was a target attached to a large dirt pile. Gordon held out his hand to Joel.
“You want me to go over how to use this first?” Joel asked.
“Just hand me the gun and some shells.”
Joel did as asked. Gordon slid out the magazine, loaded it, then, snapping the magazine back in place, he held out the gun as he weighed it in his hand for a few seconds, and then squeezed off five rounds. Joel squinted as he peered towards the targets. “Three bullseyes, two near bullseyes,” he muttered. “Nice shooting.”
“A little rusty,” Gordon said. “You can’t blame me. It’s been over thirty years since I fired a gun.” He handed the weapon back to Joel.
Joel went over the basics with Shrini and Dan, showing them how to hold the gun and how to use the front and rear sights to line up a target. Shrini learned quickly. By his fourth round he started hitting the target. Dan just couldn’t see the damn thing. He was having trouble focusing, the targets blurring into the dirt wall. He went through two magazines and missed wildly.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Joel asked. “Are you blind?”
“It’s too dark down here,” Dan said.
“Don’t give me your excuses. It’s plenty light enough. When we’re in that bank you’re not going to be able to control how well lit the room is.” Joel gave Dan a hard look, his eyes dulling. He nodded to himself as if he understood he was dealing with damaged goods. “Just hand me that gun. I’ve let you waste enough shells. If we’re in that bank and you need to shoot, make sure you’re close enough to your target so you don’t blow my head off by mistake. Okay?”