Beeks had set up a makeshift workbench and stocked it with art supplies. "You think you can make me some bad-ass masks outa all this shit?" he asked. "I'm gettin' real fuckin' tired of those damn panty-hose."
Aaron paused at an image of Beeks's face smashed into a nylon stocking then blinked it away. "Uh, yeah," he replied. "I think I can handle it."
The project had caught his imagination. He took a quick inventory of the tools and supplies Beeks had laid out for him: four Styrofoam heads, four white ski masks, four colorful cans of spray paint.
"No amateur bullshit crap," Beeks insisted. "I want ‘em bad-ass. You got it, boy? Bad fuckin' ass."
"No problem," Aaron said, growing more nervous now that Beeks had raised the artistic bar so high.
He stood at the workbench, rubbing the blood back into his wrists, running ideas around in his head. He thought of clown faces, but that had been done to death; horror themed masks didn't seem right to him either. He settled on a simple design he thought Beeks would like then set to work.
He stretched one of the ski masks over the first form, gave the can of electric-blue a vigorous shake, and painted a row of simple vertical stripes onto the white knit fabric head. He followed with shocking-pink polka-dots on head two, neon-green horizontal stripes on head three, and jet-black circles on head four. Then he stepped back to admire his work.
Beeks came over and tested the paint on the black mask with his finger; then he pulled it off its form. He stretched it over his glossy head and checked himself out in a mirror. One of the black circles went around the eye, like a pit bull. He smiled.
"Not bad, boy," he said, adjusting the fit, his teeth gleaming through the mouth hole. "Not too damn bad."
Aaron grinned. He couldn't remember the last time he received a compliment from anyone other than his mother, and maybe Willy.
Needles laughed at the sight of his friend. "Nice, Beeks… really nice."
"You can kiss my big, black ass," Beeks said, still admiring himself in the mirror. "I like it fine, motherfucker. I like it just fine."
Needles selected the green horizontal stripes then tossed the pink polka-dots to Aaron.
Chapter 27
It was 9 a.m. when Beeks loaded the last of the equipment into the white van. Needles had briefed Aaron on procedure.
"You think you got it?" Needles asked.
Aaron's heart was racing in anticipation, but he had no clue what they were actually heading out to do. But it was an adventure, and he loved adventure — its mystery, its excitement, its remoteness from everyday life. "I think so," he replied, doubtfully.
"Okay," Needles said. "Let's get it done."
– Needles took the driver's seat, and Beeks, still masked, rode shotgun. They pulled out and waited in the street while Aaron rolled the big door closed. He jumped into the back of the van, and when Needles hit the gas they were half way down the block before Aaron managed to get the van's side door shut.
– While Needles negotiated traffic, Beeks tapped out a beat on the dashboard. He turned to Aaron and extended his hand.
"They call me Beeks," he said. "This here's Needles."
Aaron shook their hands, making sure to use a firm grip this time. "I'm Aaron," he said, grinning from ear to ear like a naive new-hire who just signed on as one of the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang.
Beeks tossed him a walkie-talkie. "Here," he said, "you're gonna need that."
Aaron turned the radio over in his hand and recalled how he and Willy used to love to play with walkie-talkies. They would spend hours roaming the city, chatting to each other about who knows what — until Willy lost his, that is.
– Needles parked the white van in front of Western Federal Bank and turned to Aaron. "Do you remember what I told you?"
Aaron went over his short list of duties list in his mind. "Yes sir," he said.
"Okay, take your position."
Aaron climbed into the driver's seat, and he and Needles pulled on their masks. Beeks pondered Souther's decision to send a young boy with them on a job.
"You think you can handle this, boy?" he asked.
Aaron peered out from behind his polka-dots. "I don't know. I'm pretty scared."
Beeks laughed. "You should be, boy. I'd be too if I was you."
"Check your radios," Needles said, and they did. "Okay… let's move out."
Needles and Beeks shouldered their gear and entered the bank through the front entrance. Aaron stayed behind, clutching his walkie-talkie, watching the street from his seat in the van.
– After ten minutes, Aaron grew restless. He checked the mirrors again and his heart jumped into his throat. A police cruiser was heading his way, and fast, lights blazing.
"Oh, crap! " he said, fumbling for the TALK button on his radio. He pictured all of them being cuffed with zip ties and hauled off to jail. But the cruiser simply blew past him and turned left, away from the bank. Aaron took in a deep breath, leaned back in his seat, and exhaled slowly.
– BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! The bank's alarm had gone off. Aaron sat bolt upright and promptly dropped his walkie-talkie. " Damn it! " he said as he groped between the seats. He retrieved his radio and looked up just in time to see the thugs burst out of the bank dragging loaded duffel bags. He started the van then jumped in back and rolled the side door open. The thugs tossed the loot inside and jumped into the front seats.
Needles smoked the tires, and the gang made their getaway.
– Beeks turned to Aaron, breathing hard. "Tell me this ain't fun, boy!" he said, flashing a huge white smile.
Aaron was totally pumped. He fist bumped Beeks and grinned ear to ear.
Riding high on the successful heist, Needles decided to make a day of it. He filled up the van at the nearest gas station, and then he and Beeks took Aaron with them on an afternoon crime spree that would have made Clyde Barrow proud.
City Heights Bank… robbed.
North Park Savings and Loan… cleaned out.
Bank of Nations… fleeced.
Under Needles's skilled leadership, every job ran like clockwork. They finished up the day with a van load of cash and a young teenage boy whose life had, once again, been changed forever.
Chapter 28
It was just after 5 p.m. when the white van rolled into the cannery. Everyone got out, and Beeks began unloading the haul.
Aaron was overflowing with adrenaline; he walked circles to contain himself. "That was incredible!" he said, high-fiving Needles. "What a rush!"
Souther had been waiting for them. He dumped the contents of one of the fat duffel bags onto a table.
Cash… piles of it.
"Good job, boys," he said. He counted out several stacks of $100s for his thugs, then picked up a bundle of $5 bills and tossed them to Aaron.
Aaron caught the money with both hands and his eyes bugged out. "Whoa," he said. "What's this?" He figured he held $500 in his hands.
"That's your cut," Souther said, as if it were obvious.
"You're kidding," Aaron said. He certainly hadn't expected to get paid today, and $500 was more than his family's food budget for a month.
"You earned it," Souther said. "There's plenty more where that came from if you play your cards right." He stuffed the rest of the cash back into the duffel bag. "Let me know if you want to blow some of it on a whore, okay? I can arrange it."
Needles and Beeks laughed knowingly, but Aaron only gave up a sheepish grin.
Souther could back his statement up, of course, having spent countless nights over the years in the company of hookers, and he proceeded to share some of his titillating whore stories with the group.