Heist 2 (21 page)

28

Harlem

 

“W
ell, I'll be damned.” Uncle Jonathan pushes his bifocals higher up his nose to take a better look at me. “Boy, if you ain't the spitting image of your momma, then water ain't wet. Get in here.”

Relieved that the door hadn't been slammed in my face, I step across the threshold and allow the uncle I haven't seen in decades to wrap his impressively muscular arms around my neck.

“Look at you.” Uncle Jonathan razzes the top of my head. “Big, strapping boy! Rawlo! Tremaine! Come see who's here.” His gaze finally falls on Johnnie, who hangs back from the door. “And this must be Ms. Robinson. I hope you don't mind me saying, but you're a lot prettier in person.”

Startled, Johnnie just blinks up at him.

“Well, you c'mon in here, too. We won't bite.” He waves her in and soon as she enters the house, she receives a bear hug too, before he shuts the door. “I wish your aunt Sandra was here to see you, but she's over at Robyn's helping with the grandkids this week.”

The floor shakes as a large man strolls around the corner. “What the hell are you over here hollering about?”

“Rawlo, take a look at who came to visit.”

I stare back at the man, unable to square him with being the same man I remember from my childhood. This Rawlo looks as though he might have eaten the other one. The man has to be at least four hundred pounds, judging by how his belly button is racing to meet his knees.

“Aw hell,” Rawlo groans, shoving his meaty hands into his pockets and then shoving some money toward Uncle Jonathan. “You win again.”

Uncle Jonathan tosses his head back with a hearty laugh. “One of these damn days you're going to learn.” At my confused look, Jonathan explains. “We've been following y'all escape on CNN. I thought you'd show up here and I was right.”

“We're still on the news?” Johnnie groans.

“Around the clock. Got a special ticker and everything.”

She looks faint.

“I'm sure it has a lot to do who your family is up north. Last hour they posted a million-dollar reward for any information or your safe return home.”

Johnnie eyeballs him clutching the twenty-dollar bill.

“Oh no. This was just a little fun.” He chuckles. “Trust us, we're the last dudes calling the police.”

Rawlo's rumbling laughter joins in. “You can say that shit again.”

“HEY! ARE WE PLAYING OR NOT?” another male voice shouts.

“Who's that?”

“Tremaine.” Jonathan rolls his eyes. “He probably turned down his hearing aid again.” He waves me forward until we reach the poker table they have set up instead of a normal dining room table.

When Johnnie and I follow behind my uncle and Rawlo, Tremaine finally glances up. “Oh. Why didn't you tell me that we had company?”

“TURN YOUR DAMN HEARING AID UP!” Jonathan shouts.

“What? Wait a minute. Let me turn my hearing aid up.”

I crack the hell up until I remember that I came to these guys for help.
Damn. We're in serious trouble.

“Wait. Aren't you Harlem?” Tremaine asks, late to the reunion.

“Hey, man. How are you doing?” We slap palms for a hearty handshake. The dude's hearing may be shot, but he can give Uncle Jonathan a run for his money in the strength department.

“Damn.” Tremaine jams a hand into his pocket and comes up with another twenty and then tosses it over. “One day, I'm going to win one of these damn side bets.”

“If you say so.” Jonathan takes a seat. “Now where were we?”

Rawlo looks up at me. “Want to join us? Name of the game is Texas hold'em.”

I wave off the offer. “Nah. It's not my game.”

“No?” Tremaine laughs. “What is your game?
Grand Theft Auto
?”

The old guys share a laugh.

I look around. “Where is Mishawn?”

The laughter dies as they become fascinated with the cards in their hands.

“Bad news?”

Uncle Jonathan clears his throat. “He started having some memory issues. It was harmless for a little while until he started messing up his medication. When his niece found out, she came and stuck him in one of those godforsaken homes, where they leave you drooling in a corner with a diaper on.” He shakes his head. “The shit ain't right.”

“Well. We're all getting up there,” Tremaine reminds the table.

They nod in agreement while I cut a look over at Johnnie. The look on her face matches what I'm thinking.
We're fucked!

“So what brings you two jailbirds to my door?”

“Well . . . actually. I was hoping that you guys could help me find someone?”

“Oh yeah? Who's that?”

Feeling that we don't have anything to lose, I quickly catch them up to speed on what the jail break was all about and Isaiah beating me to my nest egg.

“You buried the money in a cemetery?” Rawlo asks after my long spiel. “That's sort of ingenious, isn't it?”

Uncle Jonathan appears more upset. “Why didn't Gloria come to me for help? I would have helped her out. I have some money . . . saved.”

“You forget that she doesn't know about . . . certain things. She would never inconvenience you with our problems.”

“That's ridiculous.”

Tremaine tries to keep us on point. “So you're looking to find your ex-partner so you can get your loot back?”

“That's the plan.” I reach over and grab Johnnie's hand. She's been quiet for a long time. It may be too much to hope that she's forgiven me for the blow-up back at the cemetery, but I'm hoping. “Isaiah has a gambling problem. He used to have a guy down here that arranged underground games for big players. I don't know if he still has his contact, but he may try to find his way into a hot game. I know that it's a shot in the dark, but . . .”

Rawlo shrugs. “I know a few cats like that. One dude, Gold Dawg, deals with the really elite clientele. It won't hurt to put a call in and see whether your guy has shown up on his radar.”

A seed of hope is planted. “Thanks. I really appreciate you checking into that.”

Jonathan sets down his cards. “Once you find him, you'll find the money.”

I nod.

“Any idea on how you're going to get the loot back?”

“Sort of flying by the seat of my pants on this one.”

A huge smile breaks across Uncle Jonathan's face. “You hear that, boys? It sounds like we coming out of retirement.”

29

Isaiah

“I
got the money,” I boast proudly over the phone to Kingston West. “I know that you had your doubts since . . . well, since I didn't get the chance to come through for you last time. But I'm ready to make things right.”

At the heavy silence, I wonder whether the big man hung up on me. Then a deep baritone floats through the line. “Why didn't you come to me last night?”

“Last night?” I'm confused. “I just got into town last night.”

“And yet you had time to buy into a high-stakes poker game.”

“How did—”

Kingston chuckles over the line before he confesses, “I have eyes and ears everywhere. You should know that by now.”

“My apologies—but like I said, I have your money. Give me the time and place and I'll be there.”

“All right. But if you disappoint me again, there will be no third chance. Understand?”

“Completely.” I grab the pen and hotel notepad by the phone and jot down the drop-off location. “Eleven o'clock. I'll be there with bells on,” I joke.

“Hello? Mr. West, are you there?” When the dial tone comes over the line, I return the handset back to its cradle. Clearly, Kingston West doesn't have much of a sense of humor. I glance down at the clock on the nightstand and calculate that I have a solid seven hours before I have to meet Mr. West. That's plenty of time to squeeze in a couple of poker hands. At least to see whether I'm still hot. Last night had been like a fuckin' dream. I raked in an additional three hundred thousand before hopping up from the table. Ever since then, I can't stop thinking that I got up from the table too soon. I hadn't had a winning streak like that in years. It felt good that I could get up and walk away, but now? What if? What if I could have cleared another three-hundred thou—or a million? Those fat cats at the table were slinging chips around like money grew on trees. I used to be like that . . . until the money dried up.

I have plenty of money now.
The devil on my left shoulder returns, “
You're still hot. You have plenty of money and plenty of time.”

I'm nodding my head and looking at the clock. Seven hours. That's plenty of time . . . just to see whether I'm still hot. I reach for the phone again; this time I have Gold Dawg's new number and I dial him up myself. “Yo, man. You got something I can get into?”

Less than thirty minutes later, I'm sitting in the back of a Rolls Royce Phantom being escorted to an underground game. It's a light crowd at happy hour, which suits me just fine while I pay my seventy-five-thousand buy-in. The moment I sit down, the half-naked waitresses are at my beck and call, with drinks, food, and most important, a smile.

Turns out, I'm still hot. The first two hours, the right cards are just coming to me like I'm God's favorite child. It looks like my life has finally changed for the better. It's about fucking time.

30

Harlem

“T
he Jackal is back in business,” Uncle Jonathan crows and then looks at his watch. “But we're going to have to make sure that we're back before I have to put that pan of lasagna in the oven. Sandra will kill me if I forget again.”

As Tremaine rambles around in his black gear, he seems to be unaware that his hearing aid is whistling.

Johnnie shoots me a look, asking whether someone should point that fact out to him. I would, but I'm too busy having a mild heart attack that I have to rely on this group of senior citizens in order to pull off this heist. I can't tell whether I've lost my mind or I'm simply desperate.

“Don't worry,” Uncle Jonathan boasts, reading my mind. “We may be old, but we're still professionals.”

“Yeah,” Rawlo adds, stressing the hardwood floor. “We got this. Gold Dawg says that he just sent a car to pick up your man for another poker game. Clearly, this brother isn't the brightest light bulb on the marquee. His ass is a fugitive, too, but he's chilling the fuck out in a five-star hotel where there's cameras every damn where?”

“How much smarter can I be if I have to go into the same damn hotel to steal the money back?”

“Difference is that we're going to be in disguise.” Rawlo grins. “So we better get going, if we're going to do this.”

“Yeah. Hopefully, Isaiah hasn't lost all the money.”

“That fast?”

“You don't know Isaiah like I do. He doesn't know how to get up from the table.”

With no time to lose, the five of us pile into an old GMC van that rides as if it hasn't had a tune-up in the last decade. As far as the disguises, we're going in as plumbers. It was either this or pose as a set of electricians. I don't know why these retired cats have a costume closet, but I'm going to put that in the column of it not being any of my business.

“Are we ready?” Tremaine asks, his ears still whistling.

“Oh God. We're going to jail,” Johnnie moans under her breath.

“Tremaine, fix your damn hearing aid,” Rawlo barks before playfully punching his friend in the shoulder.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” Tremaine flashes us his best reassuring smile.

However, we aren't much comforted as we ride out to InterContinental Buckhead Hotel. Gold Dawg was helpful with not only giving Rawlo the hotel information, but the room number as well. So entering the hotel through the back service entrance and finding our way to the right room is the easy part. Our challenge comes when it is time to lug the money back out of the hotel.

Rawlo, a master in his time, appears perplexed with the hotel's digital safe.

I'm more concerned about how small the safe is. No way twenty-five million dollars is in that little thing.

“Guys, you got to hurry,” Johnnie coaches. “There's someone in the hallway.”

Everyone freezes. Two excruciating minutes later, she gives us the all clear and the old guys go back to arguing about the make and model of the safe not being like the ones they'd mastered thirty and forty years ago.

While they argue, I start looking around the room. Then hit with inspiration, I get down on the carpet and look under the furniture.
Bingo.

“Guys?”

Uncle Jonathan, Rawlo, and Tremaine are now arguing about how their arguing is wasting precious time.

“Uh, guys?”

Johnnie is the only one that is paying me any attention. “Did you find something?” she asks.

Nodding, I reach under the bed and pull out my trunk. It's not until I open it to reveal the stacks of cash inside do I finally grab their attention. Money has a way of silencing a crowd.

“Well, hot damn,” Rawlo says, stomping over like the Jolly Green Giant to take a closer look. “I guess your boy really isn't the sharpest tool in the toolbox.” He looks disappointed that his safe-cracking skills aren't going to save the day.

Judging by the look on Johnnie's face, she's as relieved as I am.

“Unless we want to be sharing a cell tonight instead of eating Sandra's lasagna we better get the hell out of here,” Tremaine reminds us while fiddling with his hearing aid again. A second later, the damn thing is whistling again.

Uncle Jonathan pops him on the back of his head. “What's the matter with you? Don't you hear that damn thing?”

Tremaine twists up his face, but readjusts the aid to silence the whistling.

After everyone grabs a corner of the trunk, we rush back out of the hotel the same way we came. As we bolt away from the luxury hotel, I can't help but wish that I could somehow see Isaiah's face when he returns to the room. Karma is a bitch.