The Mike Black Saga; MOB (14 page)

By then, Me’shelle was laughing all over herself.

“Then you laugh, like you’re doing now, and the train pulls off and your image fades away.”

“You have got to be kidding me, Travis. You’re just making this up, right? Tell me you just made that up,” Me’shelle said, still laughing.

“I swear that I actually dreamed that about you,” Travis said, laughing along with her.

Me’shelle tried to compose herself, but it wasn’t happening. “You know, when you said you dreamed about me, I thought that you were going to say it was something sexual. You know, like we were doin’ it on top of the Empire State Building or something like that. But I really wasn’t prepared for us on the train,” she said, still laughing.

“See, I knew you would laugh. And just so you know, some of my dreams of you were very sexual in nature, but they were far more creative then doin’ it on top of the Empire State Building.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Me’shelle laughed.

“Because you promised to tell me a secret about you,” Travis said, hoping that was his way out of this conversation.

“You’ll know all my secrets soon enough, Travis.”

As the night wore on, Travis and Me’shelle talked. They talked about a little of everything. They had impassioned discussions on the state of black America. Like most black people, they agreed when identifying the problem, but came down on different sides of the fence when the conversation turned to a solution. Me’shelle, who had a somewhat liberal ideology, felt that the government should play more of a role in resolving some of the issues. Travis believed that black people, especially black men, should take personal responsibility for their condition and look inward to resolve those issues.

“There should be more programs to help people make their lives better,” Me’shelle argued.

“You’re talking about this government, right? This government do something to help black people? Live in reality. We need to stop going to Massas’ house, tappin’ on the back door, beggin’ Massa ‘please, give your niggras something.’ No, Me’shelle, we as a people need to do it better, smarter and for ourselves. Take responsibility for our destiny.”

“You’re right. We should be doin’ it a lot better than we are. But they caused our condition and maintain the environment where it is permitted to exist unchecked. They should do something to reverse it,” Me’shelle pleaded, but Travis would have none of it.

“Where are your eyes, those beautiful eyes? Are they so clouded that you can’t see that it’s permitted to exist, as you say, by design? Do you think that politicians don’t realize the impact of some of their decisions on black people? You think they don’t know what’s going on? That’s why revolution is the only way.”

“Revolution, Travis? Don’t you think that’s just a tad radical?”

“I’m talking about revolution of the mind. Free our minds of the slave mentality. An economic revolution; take control of the money that flows so freely out of our hands and into somebody else’s, never to be seen or heard from again.”

“That’s right. Hit them where it hurts. Take money out of their pockets. It’s the only thing they understand anyway.”

Travis smiled. “Until we can look them in the eyes and trade greenback for greenback, we gets no respect.”

“We’re gettin’ pretty intense for our first telephone conversation,” Me’shelle said, but she loved it. Their conversation was stimulating her in more ways than just intellectually.

“I know how to end any discussion on the state of black America. Guaranteed to work without fail every time,” Travis said. 

“How’s that?” Me’shelle asked.

“What should we do about it?” Travis asked.

Me’shelle didn’t have an answer to that question. “You’re beginning to interest me, Travis.”

“Really? Tell me why.”

“I don’t know. You’re not like most guys I’ve met. Not that I meet a lot of guys, but they’re not at all like you.”

“Yeah, but why, Me’shelle? What makes me so different?”

“You’re very confident and self-assured, but not to the point of being arrogant. You know what I mean? It’s like you know what you know and that’s enough for you. It’s not like you need to prove it to the world. You understand what I’m sayin’ now?”

“I think I like that. I think I like you, too, Me’shelle, my belle.”

“What did you call me?”

“Me’shelle, my belle. It’s a line from an old Beatles song. The next line is in French, but I don’t remember how it goes.”

“My mother used to call me that when I was younger.”

“I’d like to meet your mother some day,” Travis said.

“She died when I was seven. Both my parents are dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My father died a few years ago,” Me’shelle said with some sadness in her voice. Then she remembered what her aunt said about him being happy to get back to his Sabrina. “But they’re together in a better place. What about you?”

“I lost my father a few years ago, too. My mom’s lives in Florida.”

Me’shelle glanced at the clock by her bed. “Ooh, Travis, it’s after one in the morning.”

“Really?”

“Yup. We’ve been running our mouths for four hours.”

“I guess we have a lot to talk about,” Travis said.

“I guess we do. I guess we should say goodnight. I have to be at school at seven forty-five. I got spoiled last week.”

“Really? Why was that?”

“We had a teachers’ work day and I didn’t have to be there until nine, but I ended up not going at all because I hurt my leg.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I slipped and fell off the treadmill,” Me’shelle said. That answered Travis’s question about why she was at the store at 8:45 that past Monday. And then the conversation took off in another direction. This happened twice more before Me’shelle said, “Look, it’s almost three in the morning and I have to get up in three hours.”

“But you are going to school in the morning? I mean, you’re not going to fall off the treadmill and skip school, right?” Travis asked to be sure he wouldn’t have to abort the job again because Me’shelle came to the store.

“No, I promise to be more careful this time and make it to school. I won’t be any good, but I’m going.”

“Good. So I’ll let you go to sleep.”

“Good night, Travis.”

“Goodnight, Me’shelle,” Travis said and hung up the phone. The next sound Travis heard was Jackie yelling, “Yo, Travis! Wake up! You gonna make us late.”

“What?”

“Get the fuck up out the bed, nigga, and let’s go do this,” Ronnie screamed.

“Damn. What time is it?”

“It’s almost eight, man. We gotta go,” Jackie said.

“Yo, Travis, what’s been up with you?” Ronnie asked. “It’s like lately you haven’t been up for it like you used to be. You ain’t losin’ your nerve, are you?”

“Where did that come from? Because I overslept, now you think I lost my nerve and shit? Give me a fuckin’ break,” Travis said as he got up and began to get dressed.

“It ain’t just that, Tee. You been second-guessin’ yourself, and you panicked last week,” Jackie stated. “We just wanna know what’s up.”

“I did not panic. It just didn’t feel right to me, that’s all.”

“Well, today I think I should call the job,” Ronnie said. “Me and Jackie will go after the bagman. You set the jammer and cover the driver.”

“So, it’s like that?”

“This how it gotta be, Tee,” Ronnie said. “Something ain’t right about you, man. Maybe you lost your heart, maybe not. But this just how it gotta be today.”

“What do you say, Jackie?”

“I think Ronnie’s right. You have been actin’ kind of funny lately. And whether you wanna admit it or not, you did panic last week. It didn’t get no better than we had it last week, but you yelled abort. And you still can’t say why, other than it didn’t feel right.”

Travis looked at his partners for a moment. He started to protest and proclaim that he had to call the job like he always did, but he knew they were right. He had aborted the job because he saw Me’shelle walk across the parking lot. He could have and probably should have waited to see how her presence was going to play into the mix of the job. After all, they had planned for the contingency of some customer entering their field of operations. He could have remained calm, but he panicked and called abort.

“Okay, if that’s the way it’s gotta be, then that’s the way it is,” Travis said.
Besides, Me’shelle promised to be careful on the treadmill and go to school. No reason to abort the job this time—I hope.

Just as they had a week earlier, they arrived at the store and assumed their positions adjacent to the front of the store, waiting for the armored truck to arrive.

“Sound check. Mr. Blue?” Ronnie said.

“Sound check, one, two.”

“Acknowledged. Mr. White?”

“Check, two, three, baby.”

“Time check,” Ronnie said with authority in his voice.

“Eight-thirty,” Jackie replied.

“Eight-thirty, check,” Travis said.

“Acknowledged. Weapons check,” Ronnie said.

“Two loaded nine millers, check,” Jackie said.

“One AK-47. Two nine millimeters check,” Travis said.

“Acknowledged. One pump shotgun. Equipment check,” Ronnie said.

Travis turned on the C-Guard. “C-Guard engaged,” he said.

Jackie took out a cell phone and checked the screen for a signal. “Signal at one hundred percent.” She tried to make a call. “Call cannot be completed.”

“Acknowledged. Maintain operational silence,” Ronnie said and they waited.

At 8:45, the armored truck turned into the lot and parked in front of the store in perfect position. The bagman exited the vehicle and went into the store. Travis engaged the jamming device. “C-Guard engaged,” Travis said.

“Acknowledged,” Ronnie said.

Travis looked out the window of the Geo Prism Jackie had stolen, waiting for the bagman to exit the store. He looked over at Ronnie and Jackie in their Pontiac. He checked his watch and thought,
Any second now
. The bagman came out with four bags. “Subject exiting store.”

“Acknowledged, Mr. Blue. Assume cover position one and stand by,” Ronnie said.

“Acknowledged, Mr. Green.” Travis exited the vehicle and moved on the armored truck, as Ronnie and Jackie moved to intercept the bagman approaching the rear of the truck. Once Travis was in position, the driver saw him and attempted to call for back up.

When the bagman reached the rear of the truck, he saw Jackie and Ronnie coming toward him with guns drawn. He dropped the bags and reached for his gun. As he pointed the weapon, Jackie fired from both nine millimeters over the head of the bagman, hitting the truck. The bagman dropped his weapon and took cover on the ground behind the truck.

Meanwhile, the driver, who was unable to get anybody at the base station, started to get out of the truck. He jumped down from the truck with his gun drawn. 

Travis stepped up. “Drop it!” He pointed the AK-47 at the driver. Ronnie, however, did not wait to see if the driver was going to comply with Travis’s order. Ronnie raised the pump and fired, hitting the driver in the chest.

Jackie quickly kicked the bagman’s gun under the truck and got the four bags. “Objective secured, Mr. Green,” Jackie said and went for the Pontiac. Both Ronnie and Travis maintained their cover positions.

Travis kept his AK-47 trained on the driver. There was a big hole in the vest he was wearing. From where Travis was standing, he couldn’t tell if the bullet went though. The driver was still moving, but that didn’t mean anything.