Never Play Another Man's Game (6 page)

Rick gave the window some more of his attention.

“Yeah, I saw that movie too, Rick. Tell me, how many guys did De Niro have in his crew? There was Val Kilmer, the scary Mexican, the guy from the rehab show who dated the madam, and another guy they took on for the job because four wasn't enough. That's five guys on a job you thought you could streamline down to two. I could see that. There was a lot of wasted manpower there. Was the mistake because of bad planning on De Niro's part, or was it the fact that it was a fucking movie?”

No one would look at me now. We all sat in silence until Ruby decided to move. She took the pen out of the envelope I brought and started going through the papers. She filled in her information and signed and initialled everything. When she slid the document back to me, I said, “My guy will make all of this legal. The house is yours until you don't need it anymore.”

“Fine,” Ruby said in a small voice. “Just tell me your plan.”

I put the papers back in the envelope and got started. “First of all, it's not a two-man job. The movies got it right with five people. The van wasn't a bad idea either.” Rick looked at me with a smug I-told-you-so look on his face. “Just one van,” I said, “not two. What you won't need is explosives. The cost, time it takes to find the materials, and training we'd need make them a bad idea.”

Rick was back to looking sullen.

“Let's start with the where. I ran the route again yesterday and it makes the most sense to hit the truck at the first stop. The early time of day means fewer potential witnesses and more money in the truck.”

“Makes sense,” Rick said. Franky and Ruby nodded.

“I'm glad you think so. If your intel is correct, you have four Fridays left to pull the job. You'll need at least two weeks to get ready.”

“Two weeks?”

“The first thing you need,” I said, ignoring Rick, “is a way into the truck. The armoured car is exactly what it sounds like — armoured. Getting at the money won't be easy. The movements of the guards are professional and practised. The back door is never open longer than thirty seconds, and the guard riding shotgun spends most of that time with his hand on the butt of his gun. The driver also never leaves the cab, and he checks his mirrors constantly. A straight stickup would fall apart fast. The driver would be on the radio before we even got near the money. Smashing the truck and blowing it open, like the movie, won't work either. A good demo man could only estimate the amount of explosives to use, and when paper money is inside even a small miscalculation can mean a whole lot of barbecued cash.”

“No plan so far,” Rick said.

“I'm trying to make you understand. The truck is the problem. Its design makes it almost impossible to crack.”

“So what do we do?” Ruby asked.

“You go after something else,” I said. “Something softer and easier to break. The guard driving the rig has a cell phone on. He took several calls when the other two were delivering the money. Having the phone on and using it on duty is probably a no-no, but the guy up front is so bored sitting there by himself that he risks it. The phone is our way in. We use that to force the driver to do what we need him to do. That is the chink in the armour.”

“Watch it with the chink shit,” Rick said.

“It's an expression,” Ruby said.

“I know, Ma. I was kiddin',” Rick lied. “So how do we use the phone to get in? We just call him up and ask him nicely to get out with his hands in the air?”

“That's why you need two weeks. You need the time to get the right gear and to figure out where the driver is weak. On Monday, you get your mother to follow the driver home. It won't take her more than a few days to figure out who he's calling. If I were going to bet, I'd say he's calling a wife or girlfriend. Ruby finds whoever it is and then she has a week to observe them. She needs to insert herself in the person's life so that on the following Friday, she can get you into their house after the driver leaves for work.”

“Are we going to ransom her for the truck?” Franky asked.

I shook my head. “You're going to bolt her into the back of a van and pull up in front of the armoured car right after the other two guards go in. You open the back doors and let the driver see his wife, girlfriend, mother, or whatever. You signal for the driver to call her phone and when he does, you get him to open the door. The driver gets pulled into the van while one of your guys gets behind the wheel of the truck.”

Rick was nodding his head. “And just like that, the money is ours.”

“No, you just have the truck and a seven-minute window. Seven minutes was their average time inside; you could probably push it to ten or twelve minutes if Ruby makes sure that she gets to the
ATM
first.”

“I thought she was getting us into the wife's place,” Franky said.

“That was when the driver left for work. He still has to go to the warehouse, check the truck, load up, and whatever else they do. Ruby should have plenty of time to get to the grocery store ahead of the armoured car.”

Ruby nodded in agreement.

“Ruby should be able to get you twelve minutes with the truck. Once that time is up, you'll be driving a cop magnet. The truck will be outfitted with
GPS
and every single squad car in the city will be on the lookout once the other guards radio in a problem. You need to get everything out of the truck before all hell breaks loose.”

I pulled a folded printout from the Internet café from my pocket and opened it up on the table.

“What's this?” Rick asked.

“Directions. Less than a click away from the grocery store, there's an abandoned gas station. The service bays are empty and wide enough to accommodate an armoured car. You get the doors unlocked ahead of time and drive the truck in. You'll have burned a minute and a half getting there, leaving you just over ten minutes to off-load the money into the van. The driver and his leverage get cuffed to the truck and you drive the van out.”

I pulled another piece of paper from my pocket, unfolded it, and slid it across the table. “This is a building for lease about ten kilometres from the job. The building used to be a school, but it hasn't been in use for years. The property is on a big lot and the trees around the school are all overgrown. The van will be completely out of sight parked out back. The school is a good place to count the money and divvy it up. You'll pack some food and sleeping bags there and spend the night.”

“Spend the night? What the fuck for?” Rick wanted to know.

“Once word gets out about the truck, the whole city will be on alert. They'll be expecting you to run, and they'll act accordingly — meaning roadblocks. The most dangerous place to be will be on the road, so you need to be off it. The next day, the cops will have relaxed the city-wide search because they'll think you got out before they could clamp everything down. The investigation will be on the shoulders of major crimes division, and they won't be watching the roads — they'll be too busy interviewing people. That's when you load up your cars, firebomb the van, and go your separate ways.”

Rick looked at the two maps and chewed his lower lip. “There's a lot to do. Tons to get ready.”

“Like I said, it's a five-man job.”

“Five cuts up the pie more than I want.”

“Screwing it up will get you nothing,” I said.

“Could we use four?” Ruby asked.

“Four could work, but everything would have to run tight. My recommendation, right now you got one pro and two amateurs — get some decent help if you want to pull this off.”

I picked up the real estate paperwork and nodded my goodbye to the people at the table. No one said goodbye to me as I left the kitchen. I walked out the front door and got halfway to my car before Ruby got a hold of my arm.

“Wait.”

“Deal's done, Ruby. I did my part.”

“New deal, Wilson. You help us with the job.”

I looked hard at the little woman. She had already started shivering in the night air and her grip on my arm spasmed. “The plan is good, but your boy doesn't have it in him to run something like this.”

“That's why we need you. I can make him listen. He'll do what you tell him.”

“You know he won't. He's a dumb fucking kid with more pride than brains.”

“You were a dumb kid once.”

“That was a long time ago, and I was never like him.”

“That was because you had your uncle to help you.”

I saw where she was going with this. It felt just like when you notice that a bird is flying over your head and you realize that you don't have time to move before the shit lands on your skull. “It was nothing like that. I asked him to teach me to be like him. I signed on for it and I did every goddamn thing he said without question. Rick is an ungrateful little shit who isn't satisfied with going down with the ship alone. Even now he's more concerned with divvying up the money than with walking away clean. Getting away is everything. The score is second.”

“Bring in someone else. Someone you can trust,” Ruby said.

“Your boy said he didn't want a five-way pay out.”

“He can have my share. That way there's no problem. He gets his money, you get three pros. Plus the house and a cut of the money. We'll give Rick and Franky small jobs, and I promise to keep Rick in line. Please, Wilson, your family needs you.”

I didn't feel any tugs on my heartstrings for Rick or Ruby. They weren't my family and I owed them nothing. Something else was pulsating below the surface. Planning the job had woken something inside me. All of a sudden, it felt like I was waking from a coma and flexing muscles that had lain dormant for too long. I wanted to do the job. I saw every angle and knew I could pull it off. With Ruby, and someone else reliable, it would be a profitable ten minutes' work.

I gave it a few more seconds of unnecessary thought before I said, “Alright.” Ruby could think she won me over with her pleas about family if she wanted. I wasn't going to correct her, just like I wasn't going to give her back the deed to her place or make sure that she got a cut of the money.

I spoke with Ruby for a few more minutes and then got in the car. I told her I would pick up some help for the job and then get in touch with her about our next move. Ruby didn't look cold anymore. She had stopped shivering and she wore the happiest smile I had ever seen.

I
hadn't been Ruby's only choice for the job. I had heard that she was asking about a few other names besides mine when she was cruising the bars late at night. One of the people she asked about was Dave Book. D.B. was a member of the Forty Thieves — a biker gang that was big in Southern Ontario. D.B. had earned his patch at sixteen. He rode without a licence on a stolen bike and kicked the shit out of anyone who thought he should be different. He was a hulk of a man with short blond hair and a tightly trimmed goatee. Now forty-seven, he was out of jail and second in command of the Thieves. Second in command meant D.B. was the one who got his hands dirty. The boss didn't kill anyone, or supervise drug shipments — that was all left to D.B.

It being Sunday, I knew where D.B. would be. He would start the day at the gym before going to play a few games of bocce ball. Somewhere along the line, the giant biker had learned that he had a talent for the game. He was now obsessed and would play until the snow blanketed the ground. His court was a small field downtown where he played with a bunch of retirees, none of whom looked to have ever ridden a Harley in their lives.

I found D.B. with three other men at the court. The old men were bundled in heavy coats, scarves, and hats. D.B. was in jeans and a T-shirt. His massive arms were covered in ink and laced with veins. I saw his leather jacket in a heap beside two of the old men who were sitting on a bench watching the game. I took a seat on the sidelines and watched as D.B. waited for his turn. The ball in his giant hands looked like a tennis ball compared to the one the senior beside him was clutching in his veined paws.
The jack was almost a hundred feet away from where the two men stood. The old man tossed his bocce ball underhand and it skipped over the frozen ground and landed within feet of the jack. The old man's ball was white and it was closest to the marker, leaving D.B.'s two black balls behind it and therefore worthless.

“Good toss, Herb. Good toss,” D.B. said.

“Thanks, D.B.” Herb clapped the big man on the shoulder and slowly walked his bent body over to his friends on the bench. The old man was completely at ease with the giant biker.

“Well, folks, Herb is inside, so I guess it's my turn to make him cry.”

“Dream on,” Herb yelled from his seat.

“Old man, I must be asleep because —” D.B. lobbed the ball high, using a completely different style than the old man. Instead of bouncing down the court, D.B.'s ball crashed down on top of the old man's ball. Herb's ball skittered sideways like it had been struck by the gods above. D.B.'s ball rolled some, but it stayed within three feet of the jack. “Because I just sent you outside.”

Herb got up and called D.B. a thug. The biker laughed and I smiled. I had seen him break bones for less. D.B. marked three points for the round and the men started another. The big biker saw me when he went to collect his balls and I raised my cup. He waved and sent the balls back to the line. The game went on for another twenty minutes. Herb racked up a good number of points and D.B. managed to win only by two. The November morning air was cold and it was only the tea and watch cap that kept me from shivering. I had no idea how D.B. could play in just a T-shirt. Once the game was over, D.B. saw the three men off. It was a hell of a sight watching the biker gently help one of the old men into the back seat of the light blue Grand Marquis they all came in. I walked onto the court feeling the air blowing against my face. I caught sight of a single snowflake and watched as it flew out of sight. I opened D.B.'s case and picked up one of the balls the biker had used. The polished black ball weighed around two pounds. I thought about the high arcing shots the biker had thrown, and the ease with which he did it, and figured there was no way in hell I could match his distance or accuracy.

The white jack left D.B.'s hand, landed at the end of the court, and rolled to a stop. “Take the first shot,” D.B. said.

“I haven't played in years. Not since the last time you beat me.”

“It was a shutout, if I recall.”

D.B. was right about the score. I remembered it because it was a huge loss and the last time I played. The fact that D.B. remembered the score, considering the countless games he must have played since, made me smile. It was easy to look at D.B. and write him off as a meathead. But he was no idiot; D.B. had one of the sharpest minds I had ever come across. It was probably why he had turned down Ruby.

“Heard you skipped town,” he said.

“I did. Had some problems with the Italians and the Russians.”

“Pussies,” D.B. said. He was one of the few people who could say that about the mobs without a hint of bullshit. D.B. wasn't afraid of anyone or anything, not even a war with those ruthless gangsters. I doubted he would have run if he had been in my place. He would have fought, and probably died, but he would have surely taken more of the other side with him. The only time I had ever seen D.B. lose a fight was when he took on Steve. The little bartender climbed up D.B.'s body like it was a redwood and chopped him down. The story was legendary for those who saw it because it was never spoken of again. No one wanted to be the one who gossiped about D.B. losing a fight.

“Trouble's over and now it's back to work. You looking for a job, or are the Thieves paying you so well that you don't need to moonlight anymore?”

“You know bikers don't do it for the paycheque. We get paid in pussy and beer more often than in cash. The Thieves do keep me busy, though. I don't get to do side jobs often anymore.”

“I heard you turned down Ruby.”

“That's what you're here about? Shit, Wilson, I didn't think you were that hard up for cash. I'm disappointed, bro. I thought you had more sense than that.”

“Did she tell you about the job?”

“She didn't have to. Her and that kid of hers showed up and tried to get me on the payroll.”

“So you met Rick?”

D.B. nodded. “If Ruby hadn't been standing there, looking so sick, I would have knocked his teeth in.”

“I hit him with a car,” I said.

D.B. laughed. “Same old Wilson. So if you met the kid, why the hell would you sign on for the job?”

“Ain't his job anymore — it's mine,” I said.

“That changes things.”

“You blowing off Ruby is what changed things. She realized no one would sign on for the job, so she hired me to plan it for her. She figured if she had the right plan, the kid could run the job himself.”

D.B. laughed. “It's just that simple. Like putting together something from
IKEA
. She ask you to draw pictures for the kid in case things get complicated?”

“The kid's a retard, no argument, but he stumbled onto an armoured car driving around with two shifts' worth of money. The score is right and the job can be done if the crew is right too.”

“The kid still involved?”

I nodded.

“Then how can the crew ever be right? He'll fuck it up for sure.”

“If we work with Ruby, that's three pros. You know people have done plenty of jobs with a couple of professionals and a civilian insider. Most of the bigger scores need one.”

“But not all the civilians want to come along for the ride. The smart ones are happy to sit back and let us do the heavy lifting while they wait for their cut.”

“No argument, but the score is worth the risk. If it's done right, we all go home with a hell of a lot of shekels in our pockets.”

“Tell me the plan,” D.B. said.

He listened to what I had to say with a bocce ball in his hand. As I spoke he gently tossed the ball up in the air over and over again, catching the heavy orb with one hand as though it were a tennis ball. He didn't stop me as I ran through the plan; he just nodded every now and again.

When I finished, he said, “I only see two problems.”

“Rick and Franky,” I said.

“Yeah, you have them out of the action, but who's to say that they'll stay that way. They fuck up their part and we all go down.”

“Show me a job without risk that comes with a payday like this. If you're waiting for an offer to knock over an armoured car that doesn't involve risk, you'll look like Herb before it happens.”

“Hey, Herb is a solid dude.”

“He is, and he's living off a tiny pension wasting his time playing with you in the cold instead of with someone his own age down in Florida. That what you want when you're his age?”

D.B. looked at the jack he had thrown down the court. “If I say no, who's next on your list?”

“Wally.”

“He'll say yeah for sure. He's an action junkie. Good at what he does too.”

I nodded.

“Why'd you come to me first? You know I already said no.”

“Two reasons. You're better than Wally and your connections with the Thieves can get us whatever equipment we need.”

“No one ever really loves me for me,” D.B. said.

“You in or out, D.B.?”

The huge biker threw his bocce ball onto the field. The ball bounced its way to the end of the court and stopped three inches from the marker. “Tell ya what, bro. We play one round. You beat me and I'm in.”

I picked up a ball and aimed at the marker. My ball ended up a foot away from D.B.'s.

“You're going to need to do a hell of a lot better than that if you want me on the job, bro.”

“Just throw, D.B.”

“It's your turn again. I'm inside and you, pal, are on the outside. You need to get closer to the jack than me before I have to throw again.”

“How do you play in a T-shirt? It's freezing out.”

“Coat fucks with my swing, bro. Sometimes you gotta suffer to be great.”

It took two more throws before I managed to connect with D.B.'s ball. My shot knocked his farther away and put me inside.

D.B. laughed and bent his knees. His arm drifted back and then came forward in a smooth, powerful swing. His ball landed on top of my last shot and sent the ball out of position with such force that it smashed into the curb on the side of the court and ricocheted back towards me.

“I'm on the inside again, outsider.”

My last shot rolled within an inch of the marker and kept going until it stopped a foot away. All of D.B.'s balls were closer to the jack. D.B. laughed at the shot and then said, “When do we meet?”

“I lost, D.B. You're off the hook.”

“What, you think I'm going to let a game decide my life? Don't be stupid. We're talking about an armoured car here. You saying it can be got is good enough for me. I'm in, bro.”

“What was the point of the game, then?”

“To see if you got any better. You didn't.”

I walked over to the fence and said, “Tomorrow night we'll meet in Sully's.”

“That little bartender still around?”

I nodded. The fight not heard 'round the world didn't sour D.B. on Steve. Instead, the fight fostered a fondness for the smaller man in D.B. He respected Steve for being able to put him down sort of the same way a father respects his son when he manages to beat him at something.

“Think he's up for round two?”

I looked over at D.B. “Stick to beating old men,” I said.

“Don't go away mad. Let's play again.”

“Forget it. I knock off trucks, not balls.”

“You beat me and I'll give you my share.”

I turned around and took off my coat.