"You got some place to be?"
Donte averted his eyes from his watch and looked up from his squatted stance, unamused by Jamie's comment. He pressed his palm against his knee, groaning as he got up, a reaction to the sharp pain that was now radiating throughout his lower back.
"You've got some nerve," he shook his head in disapproval, taking a seat and a swig from his water bottle.
"Now, now," she appeased him by placing her hand on his shoulders and began to massage him, "I treat my slaves real good, almost like kinfolk."
Her feigned, stereotypical Southern accent got a laugh out of Donte, causing him to almost cough up the water he had just consumed. While Jamie was originally from Charlestown, South Carolina, she was a Jersey girl through and through now. Well, a New Yorker now.
They had spent the morning cramming all of her belongings into her mother's dark blue Subaru and making the two hour hike up the Garden State Parkway. Jamie was daring to do what a lot of other girls from Port Town wanted but never could quite do. For the vast majority of those that did muster up the courage to take the initial leap, they would wind up back in town just a few years or sometimes months later, cutting hair and the likes. Jamie's clock had begun.
"When does your roommate get here?" her mom, Maybelle, walked in and asked, placing the groceries she had just purchased on the small kitchen table.
"She said she'd be here by tonight," she pulled her hands back from Donte's shoulder and began going through the bags, "She already got the key, I think."
"Well," Maybelle clasped her hand, "I wanted to meet her and maybe cook y'all some dinner but we gots to get going. Donte's a working man now. Ain't that right, sugar?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'll be back later this week," Maybelle kissed her daughter goodbye, "Or not, you let me know."
"It's fine, mom. I'll be glad to have you," she smiled.
Donte did the same, pecking her on the cheek and giving her a hug. He admired what she was doing, trying to find...no...make her place out in the world.
…
"Thanks, Ms. Dawkins. I'll let my auntie know you said hello."
"Better yet, I'll see you at church this Sunday," she raised her eyebrows before flashing a big smile. Her comment came with baggage as it was her way of letting him know that she had noticed his absence the last few months. His aunt Jenny had stopped giving him fuss about it once he explained, well lied, that his job working for uncle Bobby required him to be available seven days a week.
His job did require that, he just wasn't working for uncle Bobby. At least not directly.
Donte smiled back and nodded, careful not to commit to anything he knew he couldn't make.
It was spring but the winter air wasn't completely gone, especially not at this time of the night. Donte kept his body compact, hands in his pocket as he started walking into the apartment complex.
This wasn't what you expected to be the abode of someone in Bruce's line of work. The apartment complex was run down, several of the units appeared to be either unkept or uninhabited. There were signs that it was a once vibrant place with an open terrace on the ground floor where a pool and a garden, one could assume, used to be. Now, it was an empty, dirty hollow hole and the plants, what little were left, dead.
Donte went up the steps, keeping his head down and chin tucked as a way to preserve body heat. Walking in this manner caused him to bump into someone just as he got to the top of the stairs.
"My fault," Donte looked up towards the brown skinned gentleman that appeared flush, his hair out of place and his jacket barely on. He briefly made eye contact before briskly walking past Donte. Donte was glad their encounter was brief. Given the man's appearance and where they were at, he was either fresh from his latest fix or just got done committing a crime to help him get said fix.
Donte noticed that the door that led into Bruce's apartment was ajar, which raised his alert. He wasn't technically Bruce's bodyguard or his muscle but he felt the need to look back at the gentleman that was now quickly going down the stairs. Donte considered stopping him but he was unarmed and not well versed in physical confrontations and instead opted to run to Bruce's apartment.
He opened the door and startled Bruce who was far from decent.
"Fuck," Donte said aloud before quickly turning his face away, "Sorry...the door was open."
"They didn't teach you how to fucking knock?!" Bruce was irate, his usual mood, but this time it was understandable as he scurried into his bedroom.
"I'm sorry," Donte kept his eyes fixated on one spot of the wall. He wasn't sure if he had seen Bruce totally naked and he didn't want to know. After a few moments, the bedroom door opened.
"Get the fuck in here," Bruce eventually said as he sat on the couch, his tone relieving Donte had he appeared to not be too upset. His face was a bit red, perhaps from the embarrassment or from trying to get dressed as quickly as possible, "I was smoking, I didn't want to get the stench in my bedroom."
"What?" Donte had a puzzled look on his face.
"I was getting dressed out here," he grabbed the cigarette from the ash tray and showed it to Donte, "Because I was having a smoke, don't want my room stinking."
"Oh," Donte replied, still confused as to why Bruce was telling him this. He had been working for the man for close to six months now and Bruce wasn't a fan of explaining himself, especially not to Donte. He also didn't know Bruce to be a smoker, he'd have one every now and then to be social with the guys but smoking didn't plague him like it did the others.
Donte curiosity got the best of him, noticing a gold wrapper on the floor, it's origin unmistakable and he chose to keep the observation to himself.
"Want me to warm up the car?" Donte asked, begging for a reason to get out of this room. He had managed to keep a poker face since his discovery but knew it was only a matter of time before Bruce noticed it too.
"I'm ready anyway," Bruce replied before eyeing Donte up and down, "I thought I told you this was a fancy dinner."
"I...I thought I was just going to be outside, like usual. I was helping a friend move this morning," Donte defended his attire.
"That doesn't mean you have to be looking like this," Bruce said, almost paternal before disappearing into his room once more. He came out with a shirt and slacks before going into his coat closet in the living room and pulling out a pair of black shoes. They weren't Sunday's best but an improvement from Donte's current attire.
"Don't worry," Bruce reassured him as he handed them to Donte, "They were my brothers, you twos are about the same size."
Donte wasn't thrilled about wearing a dead man's clothes but Bruce wasn't asking and after the earlier kerfuffle, he wasn't in a position to put up a fight. He went into the guest bathroom and changed, coming out to find Bruce in what was one of his better moods as he finished up a glass of scotch.
"Looking presentable," Bruce smiled, patting Donte on the back, "The keys are on the counter, let's get going. Don't need them on my case about being late."
"Senate dinner?" Donte asked, trying to see just how good of a mood Bruce was in.
"State senator," Bruce corrected, "Don't need the motherfucker thinking even higher of himself. Prick was an asshole as a kid, going to die as an asshole."
"You guys go ways back?" Donte chuckled as they left the apartment.
"I went to school with his older sister," Bruce answered, "His father used to run around with Big Al and them, until they decided they were more two-faced crooks then just crooks. Only reason I'm showing up to this cocksucker's dinner is because Joey asked, nicely."
With Bruce's jovial and chatty mood, Donte saw an opportunity that he had been sitting on for the past few weeks, "I actually been meaning to ask you about something, run it by you."
"I ain't getting younger," Bruce replied as Donte held the door open for him and he slid into the car.
"I've been talking to Charlie and stuff," Donte pressed his luck, "You know, Fabio's man."
"I know of him," Bruce shuffled through the different faces he had in his head for someone named Charlie before he landed on the right one.
"Well, we were talking and I don't know, he's had a few different leads on ways to make money but Fabio, he keeps turning it down. I don't want to speak out of turn or nothing but figured you might be interested and didn't want to withhold this from you," Donte's words were measured and after working for Bruce for a while, he knew which buttons to push but still had to be careful with what was a temperamental man.
"What kind of things?" Bruce's interest was peaked.
"Something about, you know, may..."
"Spit it out, kid."
"Robberies, he's pretty well versed in that area, I've been told."
Bruce took a deep breath and looked out the window, crossing his legs and placing his interlocked finger on top of his knee, "How well versed?"
"From my understanding, he's never been caught, at least not outright. That's what matters, right?"
"What are we talking about here, trucks, what?"
"He's done trucks," Donte nodded, lying through his teeth. Charlie had alluded to it here and there and got the impression he had experience in that arena but that was the extent of his knowledge but an half-baked idea wasn't going to grab Bruce's attention and certainly not his approval so he threw it into the microwave.
"Have him meet me," Bruce thought it over, "No, scratch that, you handle it. Actually, now that you mention it, you know that liquor store by the strip mall on Blacksburg?"
Donte couldn't place it and shook his head, "Not really."
"Do that one," Bruce had a smug look on his face, "Yeah, go ahead with that one."
The Moolie of Port Town.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2181
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
The Moolie of Port Town.
Okay okay, Moolie is slowly building.
The Moolie of Port Town.
racial.
The Moolie of Port Town.
Donte pulled on the string that hung above him and stood up, using the rail to balance himself as the bus came to a creaking halt. The doors swung open and Donte hopped off, throwing his hoodie over his head before starting his walk down the street. He walked for a few minutes, taking the map that was in his back pocket out for a few times before making it a right and there it was.
The majority of the stores in the strip mall either weren't open for the day yet or were closed, some with half of their signs missing or not lit up at all. A grocery store was the center piece and it was flanked on each side by three different stores that almost formed a circle around the small parking lot. There was a Chinese restaurant, a beauty salon and a pet supply store to it's right with an unmarked store, a nail salon and all the way to the left was the liquor store. It was a quarter past seven and most of the stores were still closed, including the liquor store. The parking lot was empty outside of a few cars that were parked directly in front of the grocery store. The driveway that led into the parking lot had a bench which also served as a bus stop.
Donte walked around the lot for a few minutes before heading into the grocery store and milling around before finding something cheap enough to not make a dent in his pocket. The cashier was a younger gentlemen in his twenties who seemed puzzled when Donte only handed the gentlemen a piece of gum.
"What time does the liquor store open?" Donte reluctantly asked as he handed the cashier a dollar bill, a bit embarrassed by his inquiry.
"Nine," he answered flatly, seemingly unfazed by the question given the time of day.
On one hand, Donte was glad to know that he hadn't missed the opening. On the other, he would have to brace the cold temperatures on the aforementioned bench, waiting for any movement that came. Those movements finally came around 8:10 AM when a Jeep pulled up right in front of the sidewalk that was facing the liquor store. A man in his 30s, maybe early 40s, came out with a set of keys and opened the door of the door, locking it behind him before he disappeared into the darkness of the store.
Another ten minutes go by before another car pulls up, this time it's a pickup truck with apparent cleaning supplies in the back. An elderly man came out, maybe in his 60s, with a slight limp and knocked on the door. He waited for about five minutes before the door is opened by the same man from before. They share a brief greeting before the older gentleman goes back towards his pickup truck to get the supplies while the other gentleman, the apparent owner, disappeared back into the shop. The older man grabbed his supplies and headed into the store for about five minutes before coming back outside to wipe down the windows. The owner came out the store once again, it was a quarter-to-nine by now, and shared a smoke with the cleaner outside the shop. Two men showed up, each in different cars, that seem to be in their 20s, maybe even 18 or 19. They shook hands before going into the shop as well. At 8:55, the cleaner hugged the owner and went back into his car while the owner lingered around for a bit before going into the shop and flipping the sign that hung on the door.
They're open now.
…
"Don't give me any shit, Ronnie, okay? Not right now," Charlie balanced a toothpick on his lips, taking it out occasionally in the same manner you would do a cigarette before placing it back in his mouth.
Ronnie looked up through his eyebrows at Charlie before going back to counting the dollar bills that were in front of him. He counted once more, this time aloud so that both Charlie and Big Mike could also hear.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Ronnie grabbed a handful of cash and held it up to Charlie.
"Stick it up your ass," Charlie remarking, drawing a slight chuckle out of Big Mike who was sitting behind the counter.
"You're a real funny guy," Ronnie forced a smile as he stuffed the bills into an envelope, "You know, I never saw what she saw in him, Mike but now, now I see it."
"Do you really want to see it?" Charlie shot back, grabbing the end of his belt as if he was going to unbuckle it.
"Fuc..." Ronnie was interrupted by the sound of the door opening which caused the entire room to look towards the door, "We're closed right now, staff meeting."
"It's 7 o'clock already?" Charlie looked at his watch as Donte stood there at the doorway, unsure if he was allowed to come in.
He recognized Ronnie as well as the heavy-set gentleman they called Big Mike but they had never been formally introduced and given that both of their hands were still hidden from his view, he wasn't sure if they recognized him.
"You deaf or something?" Ronnie pointed to his own ears.
"I'm just here for Charlie," Donte mustered out, powering through his now dry lips and coarse throat.
"This ain't your meeting spot," Ronnie told Charlie before handing the aforementioned envelop to Big Mike, "You stopping by my father's today?"
"I'll be around," Big Mike shrugged, grabbing it and placing it in his coat pocket.
"Let's get going," Charlie tapped Donte on the shoulder, snapping him out of his daze, "Ronnie, Big Mike, tell your mothers I said hello."
"I love you too," Big Mike responded while Ronnie disappeared into the back behind the racks of clothes.
Charlie was delighted when he noticed that Donte was holding a brown paper bag which he quickly reached for, pulling out the grease soaked paper wrap that was hiding the bacon, egg and cheese that he had requested.
"I don't know how you're eating right now," Donte confided in him as they got into Charlie's car. He thought about playing it cool today but thought better of it since Charlie would be his only lifeline out there.
"Why, because of the job today?" Charlie asked him to clarify, as if it had just slipped his mind what they were about to do, "It'll be fine, you spent days casing it, right?"
"I practically feel like I work there," Donte contemplated, "It's just a lot of moving parts."
"It really ain't," Charlie lifted his shirt to expose his gun to Donte, "It really ain't. Walk in, show this, grab the shit and get out. This is good, trust me. This is how you get ahead in life, you become an earner."
…
Donte sunk into his chair, pulling his sweatshirt over his mouth and bringing his hoodie down to cover the top of his head, leaving only his eyes exposed. He watched as the owner, like clockwork, went into the shop, locked the door and disappeared.
Charlie loaded up the gun, tucking it into his waistband while they anxiously awaited for the pickup truck and sure enough, a few minutes early in fact, came the pickup truck. It stopped in front of the store, like it always did, and out came the older gentlemen who knocked on the door. The owner came out right away and they shared a longer greeting than usual before the owner disappeared back into the store and the cleaner walked back towards his car.
They got out of the car with Donte throwing a bag over his back and in a low stance, started walking towards the cleaner who has a bucket and a mop in his hand and was heading towards the store. Charlie slowly took out the gun and placed it right into the back of the cleaner's neck, putting his left hand over his mouth. The cleaner's body jolted but Charlie pressed the gun even harder against his neck and he quickly eased up.
"Go inside," Charlie commanded him.
They went inside the store as Donte's eyes were quickly scanning for the owner. It was his first time being inside of the store and thinking back on it, he probably should have made a visit to scout the place. Hindsight is always 20/20.
"Jerry," Donte heard coming from inside what appeared to be a closet, "Can you use that purple shit instead of the yellow shit today? I don't like the smell of that ye...."
The owner was frozen as soon as he exited the closet and saw the sight of the three man inside the store. With the gun still pointed at the cleaner, Donte now wished that he had taken up on Charlie's offer to give him a gun. It would have came in handy as Charlie was now alternating the end of the gun between the cleaner and the owner
"Get the fucking money," Donte instructed. He wanted to limit the dialogue and any acts of grandeur. Even with Charlie present, he'd never done this before and he only had fifteen minutes. Actually, it was twelve minutes now.
There wasn't much of a resistance as the owner slowly walked behind the cash register and clacked away before it opens up. He started taking out the cash, it wasn't much, maybe a few hundred dollars.
"The safe," Charlie pointed toward the closet, his experience being an aid.
"I don't have a safe," the owner pleaded.
Charlie was now demonstratively pointing the gun at the owner, "I said the fucking safe!"
"Okay!"
Charlie motioned for Donte to follow the owner into the closet which left Donte a bit uneasy but he obliged. It wasn't a closet after all but instead a full-blown office. There was a desk, a few chairs and boxes on top of each other. Right there on the desk, in plain sight, was a safe, the kind of you'd see at a motel. The owner didn't waste much time and didn't need Donte's prodding to open the safe, emptying the contents of it onto the table. It was mostly documents but every now and then, he'd pull out stacks of cash that were neatly organized, too neat for just a run of the mill strip mall liquor store.
While keeping his eye on the owner, Donte went into his backpack, taking out two pairs of handcuffs and some duct tape.
"In here," he instructed Charlie who was still outside as he cuffed the owner, who didn't put up any resistance.
Charlie guided the cleaner into the room, the gun still pointed at his back. With the owner now cuffed, Donte directed his attention towards the cleaner, cuffing him as well before directing them towards a corner of the room.
"Do you know what you're doing son? To who you're doing this?" the owner said as Donte grabbed the duct tape. Donte didn't answer him and remained focus on his task, duct taping their mouths and ankles.
Charlie's eyes widen as he started to load the money into the now empty backpack. He wasn't completely on-board with the plan initially, mainly because he couldn't figure out why Bruce wanted them to rob this random liquor store. He went along because ultimately ducks quack and a shit job was better than a no job. He realized the errors of his ways as the bag was now filled with cash.
Donte and Charlie both looked at each other and nodded, exiting the closet before being startled by the sound of someone knocking on the front door. They quickly ducked as they tried to make out who it was. It just donned on Donte that they had forgotten to lock the door behind them when they came in but were lucky that whoever it was, didn't try to open the door, at least not yet.
Charlie slightly got up to see that the person was now walking back towards a Mack truck that was standing directly in front of the store. Donte joined him and noticed that the truck read 'EAST BAY WINE AND SPIRITS'. He looked around the store and the shelves were pretty empty, this was likely a restock day, something he hadn't discovered or thought of.
"He's not leaving," he whispered to Charlie who came to the same conclusion himself, tightening his grip on the weapon.
"Let's just do him in," Charlie suggested, "I don't like this."
"Nothing's changed," Donte remarked, "It's like you said, it's simple. Flash it, grab it, and get out."
There was a silent agreement as they started to creep out of the store, slowly opening the door. The driver had disappeared into the cargo and Donte took a peek inside the cabin to make sure he was alone and he appeared to be. Creeping around the side, Charlie made his way to the back of the truck as well, joining the driver and in broad day light, stuck the gun right in the surprised man's face.
"Get inside," Charlie motioned his gun towards the inside of the cargo of the truck. The man walked up the ramp with his arm up and into the cargo which was filled with boxes. Charlie looked behind him, making sure that no one was coming but the parking lot did have a few cars and it was unclear if there were people in them, watching all of this go down.
"Today's your lucky day," Charlie said with a smile that was hidden behind his hoodie, "Got any scotch in there?"
The majority of the stores in the strip mall either weren't open for the day yet or were closed, some with half of their signs missing or not lit up at all. A grocery store was the center piece and it was flanked on each side by three different stores that almost formed a circle around the small parking lot. There was a Chinese restaurant, a beauty salon and a pet supply store to it's right with an unmarked store, a nail salon and all the way to the left was the liquor store. It was a quarter past seven and most of the stores were still closed, including the liquor store. The parking lot was empty outside of a few cars that were parked directly in front of the grocery store. The driveway that led into the parking lot had a bench which also served as a bus stop.
Donte walked around the lot for a few minutes before heading into the grocery store and milling around before finding something cheap enough to not make a dent in his pocket. The cashier was a younger gentlemen in his twenties who seemed puzzled when Donte only handed the gentlemen a piece of gum.
"What time does the liquor store open?" Donte reluctantly asked as he handed the cashier a dollar bill, a bit embarrassed by his inquiry.
"Nine," he answered flatly, seemingly unfazed by the question given the time of day.
On one hand, Donte was glad to know that he hadn't missed the opening. On the other, he would have to brace the cold temperatures on the aforementioned bench, waiting for any movement that came. Those movements finally came around 8:10 AM when a Jeep pulled up right in front of the sidewalk that was facing the liquor store. A man in his 30s, maybe early 40s, came out with a set of keys and opened the door of the door, locking it behind him before he disappeared into the darkness of the store.
Another ten minutes go by before another car pulls up, this time it's a pickup truck with apparent cleaning supplies in the back. An elderly man came out, maybe in his 60s, with a slight limp and knocked on the door. He waited for about five minutes before the door is opened by the same man from before. They share a brief greeting before the older gentleman goes back towards his pickup truck to get the supplies while the other gentleman, the apparent owner, disappeared back into the shop. The older man grabbed his supplies and headed into the store for about five minutes before coming back outside to wipe down the windows. The owner came out the store once again, it was a quarter-to-nine by now, and shared a smoke with the cleaner outside the shop. Two men showed up, each in different cars, that seem to be in their 20s, maybe even 18 or 19. They shook hands before going into the shop as well. At 8:55, the cleaner hugged the owner and went back into his car while the owner lingered around for a bit before going into the shop and flipping the sign that hung on the door.
They're open now.
…
"Don't give me any shit, Ronnie, okay? Not right now," Charlie balanced a toothpick on his lips, taking it out occasionally in the same manner you would do a cigarette before placing it back in his mouth.
Ronnie looked up through his eyebrows at Charlie before going back to counting the dollar bills that were in front of him. He counted once more, this time aloud so that both Charlie and Big Mike could also hear.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Ronnie grabbed a handful of cash and held it up to Charlie.
"Stick it up your ass," Charlie remarking, drawing a slight chuckle out of Big Mike who was sitting behind the counter.
"You're a real funny guy," Ronnie forced a smile as he stuffed the bills into an envelope, "You know, I never saw what she saw in him, Mike but now, now I see it."
"Do you really want to see it?" Charlie shot back, grabbing the end of his belt as if he was going to unbuckle it.
"Fuc..." Ronnie was interrupted by the sound of the door opening which caused the entire room to look towards the door, "We're closed right now, staff meeting."
"It's 7 o'clock already?" Charlie looked at his watch as Donte stood there at the doorway, unsure if he was allowed to come in.
He recognized Ronnie as well as the heavy-set gentleman they called Big Mike but they had never been formally introduced and given that both of their hands were still hidden from his view, he wasn't sure if they recognized him.
"You deaf or something?" Ronnie pointed to his own ears.
"I'm just here for Charlie," Donte mustered out, powering through his now dry lips and coarse throat.
"This ain't your meeting spot," Ronnie told Charlie before handing the aforementioned envelop to Big Mike, "You stopping by my father's today?"
"I'll be around," Big Mike shrugged, grabbing it and placing it in his coat pocket.
"Let's get going," Charlie tapped Donte on the shoulder, snapping him out of his daze, "Ronnie, Big Mike, tell your mothers I said hello."
"I love you too," Big Mike responded while Ronnie disappeared into the back behind the racks of clothes.
Charlie was delighted when he noticed that Donte was holding a brown paper bag which he quickly reached for, pulling out the grease soaked paper wrap that was hiding the bacon, egg and cheese that he had requested.
"I don't know how you're eating right now," Donte confided in him as they got into Charlie's car. He thought about playing it cool today but thought better of it since Charlie would be his only lifeline out there.
"Why, because of the job today?" Charlie asked him to clarify, as if it had just slipped his mind what they were about to do, "It'll be fine, you spent days casing it, right?"
"I practically feel like I work there," Donte contemplated, "It's just a lot of moving parts."
"It really ain't," Charlie lifted his shirt to expose his gun to Donte, "It really ain't. Walk in, show this, grab the shit and get out. This is good, trust me. This is how you get ahead in life, you become an earner."
…
Donte sunk into his chair, pulling his sweatshirt over his mouth and bringing his hoodie down to cover the top of his head, leaving only his eyes exposed. He watched as the owner, like clockwork, went into the shop, locked the door and disappeared.
Charlie loaded up the gun, tucking it into his waistband while they anxiously awaited for the pickup truck and sure enough, a few minutes early in fact, came the pickup truck. It stopped in front of the store, like it always did, and out came the older gentlemen who knocked on the door. The owner came out right away and they shared a longer greeting than usual before the owner disappeared back into the store and the cleaner walked back towards his car.
They got out of the car with Donte throwing a bag over his back and in a low stance, started walking towards the cleaner who has a bucket and a mop in his hand and was heading towards the store. Charlie slowly took out the gun and placed it right into the back of the cleaner's neck, putting his left hand over his mouth. The cleaner's body jolted but Charlie pressed the gun even harder against his neck and he quickly eased up.
"Go inside," Charlie commanded him.
They went inside the store as Donte's eyes were quickly scanning for the owner. It was his first time being inside of the store and thinking back on it, he probably should have made a visit to scout the place. Hindsight is always 20/20.
"Jerry," Donte heard coming from inside what appeared to be a closet, "Can you use that purple shit instead of the yellow shit today? I don't like the smell of that ye...."
The owner was frozen as soon as he exited the closet and saw the sight of the three man inside the store. With the gun still pointed at the cleaner, Donte now wished that he had taken up on Charlie's offer to give him a gun. It would have came in handy as Charlie was now alternating the end of the gun between the cleaner and the owner
"Get the fucking money," Donte instructed. He wanted to limit the dialogue and any acts of grandeur. Even with Charlie present, he'd never done this before and he only had fifteen minutes. Actually, it was twelve minutes now.
There wasn't much of a resistance as the owner slowly walked behind the cash register and clacked away before it opens up. He started taking out the cash, it wasn't much, maybe a few hundred dollars.
"The safe," Charlie pointed toward the closet, his experience being an aid.
"I don't have a safe," the owner pleaded.
Charlie was now demonstratively pointing the gun at the owner, "I said the fucking safe!"
"Okay!"
Charlie motioned for Donte to follow the owner into the closet which left Donte a bit uneasy but he obliged. It wasn't a closet after all but instead a full-blown office. There was a desk, a few chairs and boxes on top of each other. Right there on the desk, in plain sight, was a safe, the kind of you'd see at a motel. The owner didn't waste much time and didn't need Donte's prodding to open the safe, emptying the contents of it onto the table. It was mostly documents but every now and then, he'd pull out stacks of cash that were neatly organized, too neat for just a run of the mill strip mall liquor store.
While keeping his eye on the owner, Donte went into his backpack, taking out two pairs of handcuffs and some duct tape.
"In here," he instructed Charlie who was still outside as he cuffed the owner, who didn't put up any resistance.
Charlie guided the cleaner into the room, the gun still pointed at his back. With the owner now cuffed, Donte directed his attention towards the cleaner, cuffing him as well before directing them towards a corner of the room.
"Do you know what you're doing son? To who you're doing this?" the owner said as Donte grabbed the duct tape. Donte didn't answer him and remained focus on his task, duct taping their mouths and ankles.
Charlie's eyes widen as he started to load the money into the now empty backpack. He wasn't completely on-board with the plan initially, mainly because he couldn't figure out why Bruce wanted them to rob this random liquor store. He went along because ultimately ducks quack and a shit job was better than a no job. He realized the errors of his ways as the bag was now filled with cash.
Donte and Charlie both looked at each other and nodded, exiting the closet before being startled by the sound of someone knocking on the front door. They quickly ducked as they tried to make out who it was. It just donned on Donte that they had forgotten to lock the door behind them when they came in but were lucky that whoever it was, didn't try to open the door, at least not yet.
Charlie slightly got up to see that the person was now walking back towards a Mack truck that was standing directly in front of the store. Donte joined him and noticed that the truck read 'EAST BAY WINE AND SPIRITS'. He looked around the store and the shelves were pretty empty, this was likely a restock day, something he hadn't discovered or thought of.
"He's not leaving," he whispered to Charlie who came to the same conclusion himself, tightening his grip on the weapon.
"Let's just do him in," Charlie suggested, "I don't like this."
"Nothing's changed," Donte remarked, "It's like you said, it's simple. Flash it, grab it, and get out."
There was a silent agreement as they started to creep out of the store, slowly opening the door. The driver had disappeared into the cargo and Donte took a peek inside the cabin to make sure he was alone and he appeared to be. Creeping around the side, Charlie made his way to the back of the truck as well, joining the driver and in broad day light, stuck the gun right in the surprised man's face.
"Get inside," Charlie motioned his gun towards the inside of the cargo of the truck. The man walked up the ramp with his arm up and into the cargo which was filled with boxes. Charlie looked behind him, making sure that no one was coming but the parking lot did have a few cars and it was unclear if there were people in them, watching all of this go down.
"Today's your lucky day," Charlie said with a smile that was hidden behind his hoodie, "Got any scotch in there?"
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2181
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
The Moolie of Port Town.
That felt pretty intense, good writing Soap.
The Moolie of Port Town.
chicken grease. we rolling now.
thanks brudda. might double up today, good writing weather.
The Moolie of Port Town.
The morning kept replaying in Donte's head over and over again, step by step, word for word. Each scene flickered like a rolodex in his mind as he tried to find the mistakes that he knew that they made. There was the not locking of the door, that one he recognized before it was even over so it was only right that there were other things that he missed.
Did he maybe say Charlie's name at one point or did Charlie say his? Did someone see them come in or come out? What about the truck driver? Were there cameras? Fuck, he should have checked the office for hidden cameras.
And then there was the bag.
Charlie had tossed it, with no hesitation, into the backseat of his car. Donte would leer at it every now and then, relieved with each glance that it hadn't magically disappeared. It didn't help Donte's nerves that Charlie had purposely taken the long route and they had been driving for close to an hour now.
They got out of the car and Donte was more than happy to let Charlie be the one to grab the bag but he quickly tossed it to Donte.
"It's better that way," Charlie explained it to him as they started their walk into the warehouse, "It was your score, D. Besides, I can get the box."
Donte tightened his grip on the bag, keeping it in front of him at all time. They made their way through the ground floor where Donte felt like every single pair of eyes were fixated on them but in reality, the men were just trying to get through their last half hour of work before their scheduled lunch break.
It was Charlie's first time there so Donte, for the first time that day, led the way up the stairs and into Bruce's office. The door was slightly ajar but Donte had learned his lesson so he knocked.
"Yeah," Bruce said from behind his desk, not bothering to look up from the magazine in his hand. When the two man walked in, he placed it down and began clearing the table, "Close it behind you, up here."
Donte followed his commands, placing the bag on the table while Charlie locked the door, putting the crate of stolen goods down by the door.
"Fuck you locking the door for? You're going to blow me?" Bruce asked Charlie, "Everything good? You look like a fucking ghost."
"I'm fine," Donte replied, a bit embarrassed that he wasn't able to conceal it better.
"Well," Bruce cleared his throat, "Whip it out for Christ sake."
With his command, Donte emptied out the bag on the table before neatly organizing it under Bruce's approving eyes, "We also got these documents, don't know if you wanted them too."
"Wipe my ass with them," Bruce had a slight grin on his face as Donte stood there, waiting for a thank you that he quickly realized wasn't going to come.
"It was a clean rip," Charlie commented from behind Donte, "We also got you a couple bottles, a 'thank you' for the opportunity."
His presence and words caused Bruce to be more measured than his usual self, something Donte picked up from his body language.
"Here you go," Bruce picked up a handful of bills and held it out, "Donte and I, we got business to discuss."
Between his brief time working for Bruce and being around his uncle when he was younger, he understood, from a high level, the nuance that came with the line of work that Bruce was in. Donte was his, for a lack of a better term, to do with as he pleases. But Charlie? Well, Charlie was Fabio's, by rank and by blood, by account of Charlie knocking up his daughter and hastily marrying her and all. The handful that Bruce was giving Charlie was generous but not generous enough for it be Fabio's, it was just Charlie's. And what was Charlie's was supposed to Fabio's and what's Fabio's was for the entire family. But that wasn't this and this wasn't that.
Charlie paused before moving forward and grabbing it, nodding his head, "I'll see you around."
The door closed beyond Charlie and Bruce took a seat, motioning his hand in a manner for Donte to do the same as well. The stack of money in front of him was still making Donte nervous, expecting the police to come raiding the warehouse at any moment, even if it was a completely legitimate operation that Bruce had worked his entire life for, to the detriment of his standing within the family.
"How'd he do?" Bruce asked Donte, with no sense of irony given what their actual dynamics were. He should have been asking Charlie that of Donte.
"Real good," Donte answered, "Everything went smoothly."
"The bottles?"
"A truck showed up," Donte explained, "Figured we rob him as well, maybe throw the scent off the operation, you know."
"Scent off the operation?" Bruce mocked him, "A real fucking heist mastermind this one."
Donte bit his tongue, not that he had any choice.
"What are we looking at here, a few grand maybe?"
"About that. It was in the safe, in the back," Donte replied, "Most of the money was in there, just a couple hundred was in the cash register. Charlie was the one to spot it."
Donte tried to put some shine on his partner but Bruce didn't bite, he had his crosshairs locked in already.
"Sly cunt," Bruce said venomously, "I knew that asshole wasn't making money from his piece of shit store. Let me see those bottles."
Donte grabbed the box, placing it on the seat that he was previously sitting on and pulled out one of the bottle.
"This is good shit," Bruce was surprised, "He sells this shit at his store?"
"We got it from the truck," Donte reiterated, "I don't think that truck was just for his store, it had a lot in there, more than what could fit in his store."
"You only grabbed a box?"
"We were trying to get out of there," Donte defended himself, a bit irritated since the truck wasn't even part of the plan in the first place and they got lucky.
"Your man, he said it was, what, an 'easy rip'?" Bruce sat back down, loosening the cap of one of the bottles to take a sniff.
"The driver didn't have any cash on him," Donte shrugged, "He kept reminding us that but besides that, no gun, no lock, no partner. Shit, it was easier than the store."
"Okay," Bruce sat up in his chair, the wheels inside his head turning, "Look into that, alright? With these trucks, the routes, what they're carrying. Don't be stupid with it, okay? And, umm, Charlie, take him with you."
…
"You sure you don't want some more?" Charlie lifted the bread basket that was before him.
"He said he's fine a hundred times," Sofia scoffed as the continued to clean the table, exchanging dirty looks with her husband.
"I'm all good man, thanks. Really, thanks."
After the couple had erupted into a fight just as Donte walked in -- the topic of conversation being whether or not they needed a coat hanger -- Donte was glad that the rest of the night was nothing he couldn't handle. A borderline nomad in his youth, he was used to awkward dinners and this was your garden variety with a couple consisting of two people that never backed down from any of their initial stances in a debate.
"Let's smoke a stick," Charlie told Donte, smacking Sofia hard enough on the backside to make a discernible sound. She almost dropped their baby, whom she had just picked it up, but didn't seem to mind, giving him a different look this time when they locked eyes.
For all their arguing at times, Donte preferred it to their very public display of physical attraction to each other.
"Stay out there until the stench wears off too," she commanded as they made it to the door.
"Thanks for having me," Donte said, a bit awkwardly as Charlie handed him an unlit cigar. He wasn't quite sure what they were celebrating given that Charlie had likely only pocketed a few hundred bucks and Donte had yet to pocket anything for their work this morning.
"You kidding me? You're my good luck," Charlie rubbed Donte's head which rubbed him the wrong way but he kept his comments to himself. He got a pass for being his life line earlier today.
They walked out of the apartment complex towards Charlie's car, where he went into the trunk and took out one of the bottles that they had kept to themselves. Initially, Donte was unsure about stealing from Bruce what they had stolen for him but after counting all the money up for him and leaving his office without even a bus fare or a thank you, he was glad they did it.
"Fuck it," Charlie said, grabbing an extra bottle, "We each get a bottle tonight."
They laid up against the hood of Charlie's car, lighting up the cigar and taking occasional sips from their bottle. Donte did his best to stifle the coughing fits he would feel come on and was more unsuccessful than successful but even his burning throat couldn't ruin this moment. He was just as broke as he was this morning but this, this felt different. He was different.
"You'll see," Charlie said with a smug, "When we get this shit going, it's just going to keep going."
Did he maybe say Charlie's name at one point or did Charlie say his? Did someone see them come in or come out? What about the truck driver? Were there cameras? Fuck, he should have checked the office for hidden cameras.
And then there was the bag.
Charlie had tossed it, with no hesitation, into the backseat of his car. Donte would leer at it every now and then, relieved with each glance that it hadn't magically disappeared. It didn't help Donte's nerves that Charlie had purposely taken the long route and they had been driving for close to an hour now.
They got out of the car and Donte was more than happy to let Charlie be the one to grab the bag but he quickly tossed it to Donte.
"It's better that way," Charlie explained it to him as they started their walk into the warehouse, "It was your score, D. Besides, I can get the box."
Donte tightened his grip on the bag, keeping it in front of him at all time. They made their way through the ground floor where Donte felt like every single pair of eyes were fixated on them but in reality, the men were just trying to get through their last half hour of work before their scheduled lunch break.
It was Charlie's first time there so Donte, for the first time that day, led the way up the stairs and into Bruce's office. The door was slightly ajar but Donte had learned his lesson so he knocked.
"Yeah," Bruce said from behind his desk, not bothering to look up from the magazine in his hand. When the two man walked in, he placed it down and began clearing the table, "Close it behind you, up here."
Donte followed his commands, placing the bag on the table while Charlie locked the door, putting the crate of stolen goods down by the door.
"Fuck you locking the door for? You're going to blow me?" Bruce asked Charlie, "Everything good? You look like a fucking ghost."
"I'm fine," Donte replied, a bit embarrassed that he wasn't able to conceal it better.
"Well," Bruce cleared his throat, "Whip it out for Christ sake."
With his command, Donte emptied out the bag on the table before neatly organizing it under Bruce's approving eyes, "We also got these documents, don't know if you wanted them too."
"Wipe my ass with them," Bruce had a slight grin on his face as Donte stood there, waiting for a thank you that he quickly realized wasn't going to come.
"It was a clean rip," Charlie commented from behind Donte, "We also got you a couple bottles, a 'thank you' for the opportunity."
His presence and words caused Bruce to be more measured than his usual self, something Donte picked up from his body language.
"Here you go," Bruce picked up a handful of bills and held it out, "Donte and I, we got business to discuss."
Between his brief time working for Bruce and being around his uncle when he was younger, he understood, from a high level, the nuance that came with the line of work that Bruce was in. Donte was his, for a lack of a better term, to do with as he pleases. But Charlie? Well, Charlie was Fabio's, by rank and by blood, by account of Charlie knocking up his daughter and hastily marrying her and all. The handful that Bruce was giving Charlie was generous but not generous enough for it be Fabio's, it was just Charlie's. And what was Charlie's was supposed to Fabio's and what's Fabio's was for the entire family. But that wasn't this and this wasn't that.
Charlie paused before moving forward and grabbing it, nodding his head, "I'll see you around."
The door closed beyond Charlie and Bruce took a seat, motioning his hand in a manner for Donte to do the same as well. The stack of money in front of him was still making Donte nervous, expecting the police to come raiding the warehouse at any moment, even if it was a completely legitimate operation that Bruce had worked his entire life for, to the detriment of his standing within the family.
"How'd he do?" Bruce asked Donte, with no sense of irony given what their actual dynamics were. He should have been asking Charlie that of Donte.
"Real good," Donte answered, "Everything went smoothly."
"The bottles?"
"A truck showed up," Donte explained, "Figured we rob him as well, maybe throw the scent off the operation, you know."
"Scent off the operation?" Bruce mocked him, "A real fucking heist mastermind this one."
Donte bit his tongue, not that he had any choice.
"What are we looking at here, a few grand maybe?"
"About that. It was in the safe, in the back," Donte replied, "Most of the money was in there, just a couple hundred was in the cash register. Charlie was the one to spot it."
Donte tried to put some shine on his partner but Bruce didn't bite, he had his crosshairs locked in already.
"Sly cunt," Bruce said venomously, "I knew that asshole wasn't making money from his piece of shit store. Let me see those bottles."
Donte grabbed the box, placing it on the seat that he was previously sitting on and pulled out one of the bottle.
"This is good shit," Bruce was surprised, "He sells this shit at his store?"
"We got it from the truck," Donte reiterated, "I don't think that truck was just for his store, it had a lot in there, more than what could fit in his store."
"You only grabbed a box?"
"We were trying to get out of there," Donte defended himself, a bit irritated since the truck wasn't even part of the plan in the first place and they got lucky.
"Your man, he said it was, what, an 'easy rip'?" Bruce sat back down, loosening the cap of one of the bottles to take a sniff.
"The driver didn't have any cash on him," Donte shrugged, "He kept reminding us that but besides that, no gun, no lock, no partner. Shit, it was easier than the store."
"Okay," Bruce sat up in his chair, the wheels inside his head turning, "Look into that, alright? With these trucks, the routes, what they're carrying. Don't be stupid with it, okay? And, umm, Charlie, take him with you."
…
"You sure you don't want some more?" Charlie lifted the bread basket that was before him.
"He said he's fine a hundred times," Sofia scoffed as the continued to clean the table, exchanging dirty looks with her husband.
"I'm all good man, thanks. Really, thanks."
After the couple had erupted into a fight just as Donte walked in -- the topic of conversation being whether or not they needed a coat hanger -- Donte was glad that the rest of the night was nothing he couldn't handle. A borderline nomad in his youth, he was used to awkward dinners and this was your garden variety with a couple consisting of two people that never backed down from any of their initial stances in a debate.
"Let's smoke a stick," Charlie told Donte, smacking Sofia hard enough on the backside to make a discernible sound. She almost dropped their baby, whom she had just picked it up, but didn't seem to mind, giving him a different look this time when they locked eyes.
For all their arguing at times, Donte preferred it to their very public display of physical attraction to each other.
"Stay out there until the stench wears off too," she commanded as they made it to the door.
"Thanks for having me," Donte said, a bit awkwardly as Charlie handed him an unlit cigar. He wasn't quite sure what they were celebrating given that Charlie had likely only pocketed a few hundred bucks and Donte had yet to pocket anything for their work this morning.
"You kidding me? You're my good luck," Charlie rubbed Donte's head which rubbed him the wrong way but he kept his comments to himself. He got a pass for being his life line earlier today.
They walked out of the apartment complex towards Charlie's car, where he went into the trunk and took out one of the bottles that they had kept to themselves. Initially, Donte was unsure about stealing from Bruce what they had stolen for him but after counting all the money up for him and leaving his office without even a bus fare or a thank you, he was glad they did it.
"Fuck it," Charlie said, grabbing an extra bottle, "We each get a bottle tonight."
They laid up against the hood of Charlie's car, lighting up the cigar and taking occasional sips from their bottle. Donte did his best to stifle the coughing fits he would feel come on and was more unsuccessful than successful but even his burning throat couldn't ruin this moment. He was just as broke as he was this morning but this, this felt different. He was different.
"You'll see," Charlie said with a smug, "When we get this shit going, it's just going to keep going."
Last edited by Soapy on 08 Aug 2022, 08:35, edited 1 time in total.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2181
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
The Moolie of Port Town.
Feel like shits just about to get rolling 
The Moolie of Port Town.
Donte's hands still felt clammy whenever he would bring them together, pushing his right thumb into the palm of his left hand. His heart rate was slightly lower than last time and now, he could envision what was about to happen ahead of a time in his head. Every once a while, his imagination would run wild but he'd inevitable get the situation back under control. They were the ones that are supposed to be scared, not him. If he repeated it long enough in his head, it would become true.
"Hold on," Donte said as Charlie pulled his mask down, "Let's just get it to stop or some shit first."
"That motherfucker ain't stopping for no moolie," Charlie scoffed as he got out the car and grabbed his shotgun, going with different weapon of choice this time around.
He pointed it directly at the truck and it came to a halt before the driver could be seen frantically shuffling around in the car. The car then began to drive in reverse which led to Charlie loading up the shotgun and shooting a warning shot that blasted through the rear view mirror. It was either great aim or a terrible one. Either way, the truck came to a stop and the driver put his hands up.
Charlie walked over to the driver side while Donte took a deep breath before getting out of the car, grabbing the handgun that they had used in their previous job. He quickly shuffled to the passenger side and when Charlie ordered the driver to get out the car, he grabbed the car keys from the ignition and sprinted to the back of the truck.
His heart was beating out of his chest as Donte kept looking around, making sure no one was coming from down the hill. It was an isolated road but he knew it only took one brave motherfucker to send him to join his parents. Donte tried the different set of keys before one finally opened up the cargo and up the doors went, flying up to reveal the various boxes of liquor.
"Get the scotch and the fucking whiskies," Donte said to himself, remembering Bruce's instructions, "Get the shit that looks expensive."
"How we're doing?" Charlie ordered from the front of the truck, drawing a thumb up sign from Donte through the side mirror.
He hustled back to their car, getting behind the wheel and parking it directly behind the truck. It was a three or four person job but Bruce had told them to fuck off and make it a two-person gig. The occasional tip that Donte was used to receiving for driving Bruce around and running his errands was bigger this week so he didn't mind, knowing more was likely on the way.
Donte started off-loading the boxes of liquor into Charlie's car until the car's suspension just couldn't take anymore. Donte tapped the side of the truck and Charlie finally removed the gun from the driver's face and started walking towards Donte before turning around and slamming the butt of the gun into the driver's face. He hit the ground, headfirst, and blood started gushing out of his face. Charlie laughed as he ran into the car and started whooping and hollering.
"Ooooweeeee! Let's go! Let's go!"
…
It didn't take long for Donte's palms to get less sweaty and for his heart rate to lower. By their fifth or sixth job, he'd be looking forward to it. A few months later, it became a well oiled machine.
They'd stop and rob any low-level truck they could find, even produce items, and since they weren't robbing armored trucks or banks, it never even made the local news. Donte would case out the trucks and their routes, Charlie would steal a car for that day's job and they'd hit it, bringing the contents back to Bruce who would in turn sell it to the various businesses he was in 'partnership' with in the first place at a discount. It raised their profit margins which ensured that they would keep paying the tax and for Bruce, even at fifty or sixty cents on the dollar, it was an additional revenue stream with very low overhead costs, dolling out a few hundred dollars per job to Charlie and Donte who were more than happy to collect the scraps.
…
"No, I'm talking about the black one, like it's a satin black, completely dark."
"I don't think so," Donte shook his head, "I can check when I pick it up, they should be open already."
"Don't worry about it," Bruce waved him off as he got out of the car, "Let's go, he's waiting for us."
"Us?" Donte asked, a bit befuddled by Bruce's last words.
"I said it, didn't I? Come on," Bruce started to walk inside of the pool hall, a familiar location on the outside for Donte but he'd never seen the inside of its walls.
He'd drop off Bruce there like clockwork every week on Tuesday's, sometimes Monday's if football season was over with. Donte would wait in the car but it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on as recognizable faces, including his uncle, would come in and out as was the case this day as they walked into the establishment.
"Bruce, Donte," Bobby stopped at the doorway to talk to both men. Bruce didn't stop a beat, going right past him and Donte only afforded him a slight head nod.
"Hey," Bobby gently grabbed Donte by the arm, "How you been?"
"I'm fine," Donte said abruptly, keeping his eyes fixated on the distance between him and Bruce. This wasn't somewhere he wanted to get lost at.
"I haven't seen you around," Bobby added.
"When the fuck have I been around?" Donte scoffed, "You forgetting something or just remembering the past differently?"
"Excuse me?"
"You did take me to Six Flags that one summer," Donte said sarcastically, "Don't got to worry about that now, I'm Bruce's problem now, remember?"
Bobby was left mouth agape as his nephew left him standing there.
"The fuck did he want?" Bruce asked Donte once he joined him as they went up the stairs.
"Shooting the shit," Donte brushed it off.
"When we get in there," Bruce warned him as they made it to the top floor where two guys were stationed in front of a door, "Just shut up and answer the man's questions, okay? Don't make us look like slap dicks."
Donte nodded although he was slightly irritated by Bruce's comment. Not by his request for him to keep his mouth shut but that he felt the need to tell Donte anything as if Donte didn't know better. He knew his place all too well at the bottom of what many considered to already be the bottom of the 'family' totem pole.
"Bruce," the man behind the desk welcomed them, getting up and shaking Bruce's hand before turning towards Donte, "You got your father's eyes, kid."
He'd been alive for 23 years and no one had told him that and it was something he hadn't noticed himself. Donte realized he had just been standing there in front of Joey for a few seconds and finally extended out his hand, "Donte, Donte Mollicone."
"I know who you are," Joey laughed, welcoming them to take a seat, "You want a coffee or something?"
Donte almost answered until it dawned on him that Joey wasn't asking him.
"I'm good," Bruce replied, "I had some on the way."
Joey plopped down on his seat which somehow made his presence even more looming. Without exchanging words, Bruce reached into his pocket and handed Joey an envelope which he didn't bother to open or even feel out, quickly tossing it into the pile of other envelopes that was atop his desk.
Donte's mind couldn't help but wonder how much money had been placed on this desk over the years. At any given time, there was probably close to a couple grand in this place and with a light security crew at night, it'd be a clean rip. Hypothetically, of course.
"I have to say," Joey broke the silence, "I didn't expect for this to be this good, this fast."
"It's a clean operation," Bruce bragged, "My guys can easily ramp it up, we just don't want to bring any extra attention, like we discussed."
"Any bodies?"
"Not a single shot fired," Bruce continued to boast, "I'm telling you, Joe, it's like stealing candy from a baby."
"Are you guys ready for some more shit?" Joey was now asking Donte who wasn't sure what to do as he glanced over at Bruce who came to his rescue.
"What's the job?"
"Some friends up north," Joey started, "They've asked for our help to get across the goal-line. They've been casing this joint for months, got some men on the inside but the guys they were going to work it with, they got pinched on some drug shit a few weeks ago."
"That's why we don't touch that shit," Bruce commented.
"Anyways, they're in a bit of a pinch and the splits that the guys in New York are asking for..."
"Makes it not worth it," Bruce understood the assignment, "What are we looking at?"
"It's shit but it's something," Joey sighed, "You know how Jason is, cheap fuck."
"It's your call," Bruce acquiesced although internally, he was very eager to hear about this job. If there was a nickel on the ground, he'd pick it up each time.
"He wouldn't say much," Joey responded, "It's an armored truck, they've got guys on the inside. According to him, they just need two, maybe three guys to help with the job. I don't know if it was Jason blowing smoke up my ass because of the shitty payout but I figure I'd ask you and your man here."
"Go on," Bruce told Donte, "Ask the man any question you got."
"How many guys on the inside?"
"Two, I've been told."
"Local bank?"
"From the sounds of it," Joey shrugged, "It's close to PA, Branch something, it's off 206."
"If we're talking a small town, local bank, just the armored truck, we're lucky if we're looking at half a million, take seventy off the top..."
"Like I said," Joey cleared his throat, both intrigued and annoyed by Donte's line of questioning, "It's shit but it's something, figured I'd run it by you, Bruce."
"We'll take it," Bruce stood up, "Appreciate the opportunity, Joe. We're going to need D'Ambrosio's guy, Charlie, for this, you understand?"
"You twos still haven't spoken about it?" Joey sucked his teeth, "Heavy is the head, right? Don't worry about it, I'll handle it."
"Hold on," Donte said as Charlie pulled his mask down, "Let's just get it to stop or some shit first."
"That motherfucker ain't stopping for no moolie," Charlie scoffed as he got out the car and grabbed his shotgun, going with different weapon of choice this time around.
He pointed it directly at the truck and it came to a halt before the driver could be seen frantically shuffling around in the car. The car then began to drive in reverse which led to Charlie loading up the shotgun and shooting a warning shot that blasted through the rear view mirror. It was either great aim or a terrible one. Either way, the truck came to a stop and the driver put his hands up.
Charlie walked over to the driver side while Donte took a deep breath before getting out of the car, grabbing the handgun that they had used in their previous job. He quickly shuffled to the passenger side and when Charlie ordered the driver to get out the car, he grabbed the car keys from the ignition and sprinted to the back of the truck.
His heart was beating out of his chest as Donte kept looking around, making sure no one was coming from down the hill. It was an isolated road but he knew it only took one brave motherfucker to send him to join his parents. Donte tried the different set of keys before one finally opened up the cargo and up the doors went, flying up to reveal the various boxes of liquor.
"Get the scotch and the fucking whiskies," Donte said to himself, remembering Bruce's instructions, "Get the shit that looks expensive."
"How we're doing?" Charlie ordered from the front of the truck, drawing a thumb up sign from Donte through the side mirror.
He hustled back to their car, getting behind the wheel and parking it directly behind the truck. It was a three or four person job but Bruce had told them to fuck off and make it a two-person gig. The occasional tip that Donte was used to receiving for driving Bruce around and running his errands was bigger this week so he didn't mind, knowing more was likely on the way.
Donte started off-loading the boxes of liquor into Charlie's car until the car's suspension just couldn't take anymore. Donte tapped the side of the truck and Charlie finally removed the gun from the driver's face and started walking towards Donte before turning around and slamming the butt of the gun into the driver's face. He hit the ground, headfirst, and blood started gushing out of his face. Charlie laughed as he ran into the car and started whooping and hollering.
"Ooooweeeee! Let's go! Let's go!"
…
It didn't take long for Donte's palms to get less sweaty and for his heart rate to lower. By their fifth or sixth job, he'd be looking forward to it. A few months later, it became a well oiled machine.
They'd stop and rob any low-level truck they could find, even produce items, and since they weren't robbing armored trucks or banks, it never even made the local news. Donte would case out the trucks and their routes, Charlie would steal a car for that day's job and they'd hit it, bringing the contents back to Bruce who would in turn sell it to the various businesses he was in 'partnership' with in the first place at a discount. It raised their profit margins which ensured that they would keep paying the tax and for Bruce, even at fifty or sixty cents on the dollar, it was an additional revenue stream with very low overhead costs, dolling out a few hundred dollars per job to Charlie and Donte who were more than happy to collect the scraps.
…
"No, I'm talking about the black one, like it's a satin black, completely dark."
"I don't think so," Donte shook his head, "I can check when I pick it up, they should be open already."
"Don't worry about it," Bruce waved him off as he got out of the car, "Let's go, he's waiting for us."
"Us?" Donte asked, a bit befuddled by Bruce's last words.
"I said it, didn't I? Come on," Bruce started to walk inside of the pool hall, a familiar location on the outside for Donte but he'd never seen the inside of its walls.
He'd drop off Bruce there like clockwork every week on Tuesday's, sometimes Monday's if football season was over with. Donte would wait in the car but it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on as recognizable faces, including his uncle, would come in and out as was the case this day as they walked into the establishment.
"Bruce, Donte," Bobby stopped at the doorway to talk to both men. Bruce didn't stop a beat, going right past him and Donte only afforded him a slight head nod.
"Hey," Bobby gently grabbed Donte by the arm, "How you been?"
"I'm fine," Donte said abruptly, keeping his eyes fixated on the distance between him and Bruce. This wasn't somewhere he wanted to get lost at.
"I haven't seen you around," Bobby added.
"When the fuck have I been around?" Donte scoffed, "You forgetting something or just remembering the past differently?"
"Excuse me?"
"You did take me to Six Flags that one summer," Donte said sarcastically, "Don't got to worry about that now, I'm Bruce's problem now, remember?"
Bobby was left mouth agape as his nephew left him standing there.
"The fuck did he want?" Bruce asked Donte once he joined him as they went up the stairs.
"Shooting the shit," Donte brushed it off.
"When we get in there," Bruce warned him as they made it to the top floor where two guys were stationed in front of a door, "Just shut up and answer the man's questions, okay? Don't make us look like slap dicks."
Donte nodded although he was slightly irritated by Bruce's comment. Not by his request for him to keep his mouth shut but that he felt the need to tell Donte anything as if Donte didn't know better. He knew his place all too well at the bottom of what many considered to already be the bottom of the 'family' totem pole.
"Bruce," the man behind the desk welcomed them, getting up and shaking Bruce's hand before turning towards Donte, "You got your father's eyes, kid."
He'd been alive for 23 years and no one had told him that and it was something he hadn't noticed himself. Donte realized he had just been standing there in front of Joey for a few seconds and finally extended out his hand, "Donte, Donte Mollicone."
"I know who you are," Joey laughed, welcoming them to take a seat, "You want a coffee or something?"
Donte almost answered until it dawned on him that Joey wasn't asking him.
"I'm good," Bruce replied, "I had some on the way."
Joey plopped down on his seat which somehow made his presence even more looming. Without exchanging words, Bruce reached into his pocket and handed Joey an envelope which he didn't bother to open or even feel out, quickly tossing it into the pile of other envelopes that was atop his desk.
Donte's mind couldn't help but wonder how much money had been placed on this desk over the years. At any given time, there was probably close to a couple grand in this place and with a light security crew at night, it'd be a clean rip. Hypothetically, of course.
"I have to say," Joey broke the silence, "I didn't expect for this to be this good, this fast."
"It's a clean operation," Bruce bragged, "My guys can easily ramp it up, we just don't want to bring any extra attention, like we discussed."
"Any bodies?"
"Not a single shot fired," Bruce continued to boast, "I'm telling you, Joe, it's like stealing candy from a baby."
"Are you guys ready for some more shit?" Joey was now asking Donte who wasn't sure what to do as he glanced over at Bruce who came to his rescue.
"What's the job?"
"Some friends up north," Joey started, "They've asked for our help to get across the goal-line. They've been casing this joint for months, got some men on the inside but the guys they were going to work it with, they got pinched on some drug shit a few weeks ago."
"That's why we don't touch that shit," Bruce commented.
"Anyways, they're in a bit of a pinch and the splits that the guys in New York are asking for..."
"Makes it not worth it," Bruce understood the assignment, "What are we looking at?"
"It's shit but it's something," Joey sighed, "You know how Jason is, cheap fuck."
"It's your call," Bruce acquiesced although internally, he was very eager to hear about this job. If there was a nickel on the ground, he'd pick it up each time.
"He wouldn't say much," Joey responded, "It's an armored truck, they've got guys on the inside. According to him, they just need two, maybe three guys to help with the job. I don't know if it was Jason blowing smoke up my ass because of the shitty payout but I figure I'd ask you and your man here."
"Go on," Bruce told Donte, "Ask the man any question you got."
"How many guys on the inside?"
"Two, I've been told."
"Local bank?"
"From the sounds of it," Joey shrugged, "It's close to PA, Branch something, it's off 206."
"If we're talking a small town, local bank, just the armored truck, we're lucky if we're looking at half a million, take seventy off the top..."
"Like I said," Joey cleared his throat, both intrigued and annoyed by Donte's line of questioning, "It's shit but it's something, figured I'd run it by you, Bruce."
"We'll take it," Bruce stood up, "Appreciate the opportunity, Joe. We're going to need D'Ambrosio's guy, Charlie, for this, you understand?"
"You twos still haven't spoken about it?" Joey sucked his teeth, "Heavy is the head, right? Don't worry about it, I'll handle it."
Last edited by Soapy on 08 Aug 2022, 08:48, edited 1 time in total.
The Moolie of Port Town.
"No culture."
"I hear you," Michael hoped that his uncle would relent but he didn't, pounding another gin and tonic and sliding the now empty glass towards the bartender.
His eyes locked with Michael who gave him a slight head nod.
"Fuck you looking at him for?" Bruce snapped at the bartender who promptly filled his cup with a smile, "There's no decorum."
"Bruce, Michael," Bruce turned around to face the voice, greeting him with a hug and a kiss on each cheek, "I want you to meet some good friends of mine."
Putting his criticism of what he considered a bland wedding aside, Bruce flashed a smile to the father of the bride and the couple of other middle aged men that stood behind him.
"This is Mark, Raymond, and I think you've met Hunter already."
"From the thing this morning," Bruce enjoyed the feeling of them coming to meet him, to pay homage. He stepped to the side and held his right hand up to his nephew, "This is my nephew, Michael."
"We've met already," said one of the man, almost indistinguishable from each other, "Good to see you again, Mike."
Bruce's mood turned and while it didn't take much to cause that under the best of circumstances, Mark, Raymond, Hunter or whoever-the-fuck comments wasted no time, cutting deeply and precisely at an open wound.
The conversation continued from talks of business, golf rounds to the general small talk that went on at weddings between men that, for the most part, their next big event would be their funeral. While the conversation flowed, Bruce's mind didn't as he remain fixated on what was an innocuous remark. He wasn't a fan of weddings for obvious and not-so-obvious reasons as a single man in his sixties but he had chosen to make the trip back to Dorchester for the sole purpose of a victory parade.
It was where his father, Giuseppe, had grown up and met two other Italian boys, Alphonse Fiore and Angelo Casella, that were coming through town. Truth be told, they were on the run from the law, as was typically the case for the two boys. In a town full of Irish, Giuseppe jumped at the opportunity to house them with his pregnant wife Jackie feeding them for close to a few weeks before they continued their journey.
When they eventually stopped running, choosing to lay roots in a quiet town by the water called Port Town, they returned the favor and began a business partnership that served everyone, including both towns, really well until cancer and eventually the law caught up with Giuseppe, causing him to die in prison and miss the birth of his second son.
A lot would happen after that, both good and bad -- most of it bad -- but despite this and their decades long exodus, the Juliano family name still rung out in Dorchester. If your last name was littered with vowels, your father likely came to this town to work for Giuseppe.
Bruce often fantasized about coming back to Dorchester but those days were over. This is where old men came to live out the rest of their quiet days and these days, his existence was anything but quiet. While his late, half-brother Vincent got the blessing of never having met his father, Bruce wasn't so lucky. He had witnessed first hand his father slowly and then quickly deteriorate both during his trial and subsequent imprisonment. Bruce felt guilty about finding joy in his father's demise. The criminal aspect of one's life didn't stop on the street with his father carrying the brute and violent nature of his line of work into the home plenty of times, Bruce and Jackie often being on the end of his fists.
This was enough to keep Bruce out of the criminal element for most of his life, not out of moral imperative but out of fear of finding the same fate as his father. Meanwhile, Vincent dove head first, looking for any and every opportunity to live up to the name that his father had built.
Jackie's death paved the way for the two brothers to grow closer with Bruce leaving Dorchester and joining Vincent in Port Town. Despite being almost as old as Vincent's mother, who was his father's barely legal goomah whenever he visited Port Town, Bruce was definitely the one under Vincent's wings, the latter teaching him the family business as Vincent rose up the ladder in the Fiore crime family. Vincent's untimely death left a void that Bruce was now the eager one to fill, even if it meant stepping over his nephew.
"The same, sir?"
"Water," Bruce said with a sarcastic tone, "Yes, the fucking same!"
The bartender's eyes once again drifted, causing Bruce to slam the counter, "Hey!"
"Right away," he began pouring him another glass before Michael seemingly came from nowhere.
"Let's take a walk," Michael put his arm around his uncle, "Get some fresh air."
"Fuck off," Bruce pushed Michael's hand away, turning around to see that most of the attendees were now looking at him, "It's a fucking wedding! Have a drink or two!"
The comment drew a nervous laugh or two but sent most eyes scurrying away, not accustomed to train wrecks talking back.
"Come on," Michael pleaded.
"Fuck you," Bruce downed another gin and tonic. While problematic, it was an impressive performance he was putting on. When he went to slide his glass down the counter once more, Michael grabbed it.
"Hey," Michael took out his wallet and handed the bartender a few dollar bills, "I think it's time for your fifteen minute break, son."
The bartender obliged, drawing the ire out of Bruce who was now feeling the effects of his countless drinks, unable to even put up an argument until the bartender was well on his way.
"You don't feel like celebrating Mikey?" Bruce asked him, purposefully using a moniker he knew would get under his skin.
"We're all celebrating," Michael laughed it off, "I got a couple Cubans in the car, was going to enjoy with the groom but fuck it. What do you say?"
"With that mick? Have you no shame, Michele?"
"Micks have been plenty good to me," Michael shrugged.
"Moolies," Bruce nodded, "Moolies have been plenty good to me."
"Oh yeah? Where is he tonight?" Michael asked as he looked around, "Looks like you're going to need him to drive you home tonight."
"He's off doing important things," Bruce bragged, "You ain't hear? Half a mil in two weeks, maybe even more."
"What are you talking about?"
"You squeeze me out of my own brother's business...."
"Nobody got squeezed out of shit," Michael groaned, "We agreed on the split, okay? You got your half, I got mine and even then, might I say, I'm still the one getting calls when shit goes down and you don't see me complaining about."
"You squeezed me out of my own's brother business....you gave me a few chink stores, a couple black joints, you call that a split or a squeeze?"
"When's the last time you actually did the fucking job? Those 'chink stores' you talking about? One of them got knocked the other day. Did you hear about it? No, you didn't because I did and I was the one with my guys that took care of it and who are they paying? Sure as shit not me, going straight to your pocket and you don't see me complaining. So do both of us a favor and shut the fuck up and stop making a fool of yourself, okay?"
"You'll see," Bruce laughed, "When Donte and Charlie get down with this job, you can have the whole shit. You hear me? All of it. I'm moving on to bigger and better things, Mikey."
"I hear you," Michael hoped that his uncle would relent but he didn't, pounding another gin and tonic and sliding the now empty glass towards the bartender.
His eyes locked with Michael who gave him a slight head nod.
"Fuck you looking at him for?" Bruce snapped at the bartender who promptly filled his cup with a smile, "There's no decorum."
"Bruce, Michael," Bruce turned around to face the voice, greeting him with a hug and a kiss on each cheek, "I want you to meet some good friends of mine."
Putting his criticism of what he considered a bland wedding aside, Bruce flashed a smile to the father of the bride and the couple of other middle aged men that stood behind him.
"This is Mark, Raymond, and I think you've met Hunter already."
"From the thing this morning," Bruce enjoyed the feeling of them coming to meet him, to pay homage. He stepped to the side and held his right hand up to his nephew, "This is my nephew, Michael."
"We've met already," said one of the man, almost indistinguishable from each other, "Good to see you again, Mike."
Bruce's mood turned and while it didn't take much to cause that under the best of circumstances, Mark, Raymond, Hunter or whoever-the-fuck comments wasted no time, cutting deeply and precisely at an open wound.
The conversation continued from talks of business, golf rounds to the general small talk that went on at weddings between men that, for the most part, their next big event would be their funeral. While the conversation flowed, Bruce's mind didn't as he remain fixated on what was an innocuous remark. He wasn't a fan of weddings for obvious and not-so-obvious reasons as a single man in his sixties but he had chosen to make the trip back to Dorchester for the sole purpose of a victory parade.
It was where his father, Giuseppe, had grown up and met two other Italian boys, Alphonse Fiore and Angelo Casella, that were coming through town. Truth be told, they were on the run from the law, as was typically the case for the two boys. In a town full of Irish, Giuseppe jumped at the opportunity to house them with his pregnant wife Jackie feeding them for close to a few weeks before they continued their journey.
When they eventually stopped running, choosing to lay roots in a quiet town by the water called Port Town, they returned the favor and began a business partnership that served everyone, including both towns, really well until cancer and eventually the law caught up with Giuseppe, causing him to die in prison and miss the birth of his second son.
A lot would happen after that, both good and bad -- most of it bad -- but despite this and their decades long exodus, the Juliano family name still rung out in Dorchester. If your last name was littered with vowels, your father likely came to this town to work for Giuseppe.
Bruce often fantasized about coming back to Dorchester but those days were over. This is where old men came to live out the rest of their quiet days and these days, his existence was anything but quiet. While his late, half-brother Vincent got the blessing of never having met his father, Bruce wasn't so lucky. He had witnessed first hand his father slowly and then quickly deteriorate both during his trial and subsequent imprisonment. Bruce felt guilty about finding joy in his father's demise. The criminal aspect of one's life didn't stop on the street with his father carrying the brute and violent nature of his line of work into the home plenty of times, Bruce and Jackie often being on the end of his fists.
This was enough to keep Bruce out of the criminal element for most of his life, not out of moral imperative but out of fear of finding the same fate as his father. Meanwhile, Vincent dove head first, looking for any and every opportunity to live up to the name that his father had built.
Jackie's death paved the way for the two brothers to grow closer with Bruce leaving Dorchester and joining Vincent in Port Town. Despite being almost as old as Vincent's mother, who was his father's barely legal goomah whenever he visited Port Town, Bruce was definitely the one under Vincent's wings, the latter teaching him the family business as Vincent rose up the ladder in the Fiore crime family. Vincent's untimely death left a void that Bruce was now the eager one to fill, even if it meant stepping over his nephew.
"The same, sir?"
"Water," Bruce said with a sarcastic tone, "Yes, the fucking same!"
The bartender's eyes once again drifted, causing Bruce to slam the counter, "Hey!"
"Right away," he began pouring him another glass before Michael seemingly came from nowhere.
"Let's take a walk," Michael put his arm around his uncle, "Get some fresh air."
"Fuck off," Bruce pushed Michael's hand away, turning around to see that most of the attendees were now looking at him, "It's a fucking wedding! Have a drink or two!"
The comment drew a nervous laugh or two but sent most eyes scurrying away, not accustomed to train wrecks talking back.
"Come on," Michael pleaded.
"Fuck you," Bruce downed another gin and tonic. While problematic, it was an impressive performance he was putting on. When he went to slide his glass down the counter once more, Michael grabbed it.
"Hey," Michael took out his wallet and handed the bartender a few dollar bills, "I think it's time for your fifteen minute break, son."
The bartender obliged, drawing the ire out of Bruce who was now feeling the effects of his countless drinks, unable to even put up an argument until the bartender was well on his way.
"You don't feel like celebrating Mikey?" Bruce asked him, purposefully using a moniker he knew would get under his skin.
"We're all celebrating," Michael laughed it off, "I got a couple Cubans in the car, was going to enjoy with the groom but fuck it. What do you say?"
"With that mick? Have you no shame, Michele?"
"Micks have been plenty good to me," Michael shrugged.
"Moolies," Bruce nodded, "Moolies have been plenty good to me."
"Oh yeah? Where is he tonight?" Michael asked as he looked around, "Looks like you're going to need him to drive you home tonight."
"He's off doing important things," Bruce bragged, "You ain't hear? Half a mil in two weeks, maybe even more."
"What are you talking about?"
"You squeeze me out of my own brother's business...."
"Nobody got squeezed out of shit," Michael groaned, "We agreed on the split, okay? You got your half, I got mine and even then, might I say, I'm still the one getting calls when shit goes down and you don't see me complaining about."
"You squeezed me out of my own's brother business....you gave me a few chink stores, a couple black joints, you call that a split or a squeeze?"
"When's the last time you actually did the fucking job? Those 'chink stores' you talking about? One of them got knocked the other day. Did you hear about it? No, you didn't because I did and I was the one with my guys that took care of it and who are they paying? Sure as shit not me, going straight to your pocket and you don't see me complaining. So do both of us a favor and shut the fuck up and stop making a fool of yourself, okay?"
"You'll see," Bruce laughed, "When Donte and Charlie get down with this job, you can have the whole shit. You hear me? All of it. I'm moving on to bigger and better things, Mikey."