21.
Rocky Higgins had a pop up his sleeve, and pulled Tony off the cab stand to work the wheel. Tony agreed, and met Rocky and his friends to scope the hit. The Marzano brothers were in their late thirties. Mike, the older, and his kid brother, screwy Louie. They were bugging a lead on a high stakes poker marathon. A batch of big rollers in one suite. The bank, and one armed guard holed down the hall. Mike and Louie Marzano to storm the suite. Rocky, a look out. Scram to pilot the break.
Rocky blocked with Mike while banging out the bank hitch.
Mike was knocking out five years for armed burglary. Louie was busy pounding life for insanity, with no shot for a cure. A fly buzzing jar walls. Psychotic. He did time in Rahway, and State down in Trenton. Shooting up bars, bodegas, and other show off shit.
The team set up the bug theater. In the shell of a mini van, they scoped the Towne Cars, Escalade's, and a Benz. The rides pulled into the valet area. The Towne Cars were hired shuttles.
The Benz and Escalade's, were left with the valets. A guy pulled up in a Jag, parking his own wheels. He walked through the lot, shades on, beneath a cloudy sky. Nice and slow, eyeballing any stake outs.
"That’s the guard," claimed Mike, sure as shit. It wasn’t critical if the guard spotted the van. The crew were hidden nicely behind panels and tinted glass. The plan would be to come in every week with a different car. Lenny, deep in wheels.
Every Thursday, each player brings in twenty large, cash.
Eight players, and a dealer in the main room. The armed guard, and the money, stashed on the floor, undisclosed. Security, huge part of the routine. Rotating suites, floors, but never hotels.
"How do we find out where the money is?" asked Tony.
"Right here," Mike claimed. He flipped open a lap top, punching keys. The screen snatched surveillance feeds. Live shots in a chess board. Hallways, banquet rooms, elevators, parking lots. Mike rolled the mouse, and clicked a square. Bango. The square blew up, full screen. Sharp, high pixel focus. The times, they are a changin'.
"How'd you learn all this computer stuff?" asked Tony.
"Prison," Mike said.
The team watched the players enter the suite. The guy from the Jag squeezed in. Mike kept a spare lap top, back-up for extra clicks. The guard emerged, humping a super sized gym bag. He strolled the hall, entering another suite. Mike moused the box, as the guard shut the door. Mike fingered the mouse, locking in on the door. He tapped keys, zooming the door’s gold plate. The numbers blew up, crystal clear, full screen. Unbelievable.
Next Thursday came, and so did the game. They were on.
They huddled over the computers, and watched the charade’s second run through. Like the previous week, the guard carried the loot to another suite.
Mike shut the lap tops, and tossed them in the trunk. The Marzano’s vested up, and entered through the side of the hotel.
Rocky, on the other side of the hotel, dressed in a security uniform, checking his watch. As the brothers entered, Rocky did too. Tony took off, and circled the building. He was to stop at Rocky’s entrance, and wait.
Pump shotguns, ski masks. Old school. Through the door.
Bing, bang, boom. Once the guard scoped sawed off twelve gauge, he’d fork the loot.
Louie walked up to the door, raised the sawed off, and blasted the handle. He kicked the door open, Mike bolted in. Louie followed. The guard fired, clipping Mike in the arm. Louie went ape shit. Nitro psycho. Blast, pump, blast. Point blank. Louie paced the suite, blasting the guard into oblivion. Blood, bones, body parts.
Exploding confetti.
The slab of humanoid bounced the wall, and flopped the carpet. Mike grabbed the over sized gym bag, calling for screwball to kill the Terminator audition, and hump the loot. Louie snatched the bag, and they split.
The ruckus rocked the building. Tony knew the world of shit when he heard the sirens. Sounded more like the London black outs.
Tony waited, and waited. So did Rocky. He was supposed to escort the team out the side, into the wheels. Tony to punch the gas, and only one, very quick traffic light, if they caught it.
Beyond that, the jug handle apron to I-95 north, straight shot to the George.
Rocky tried the escapes. Security sealed the stairs, floors, and elevators. Local, Bergen County, and State badge peeling ass.
Tony spotted them. The ruse. The Marzano mugs, flashing in the windows of the other getaway car. The ride slung the far apron, like a meteor, north towards the George. No way Tony could catch them. No way Tony would leave Rocky behind. They knew this, and played it right.
Rocky emerged, poking his head out the door to check on Tony. Scram waved him over. The move your ass, get out of town wave. The big guy chugged towards Tony.
"C’mon, we gotta get the fuck outta here." Rocky opened the passenger door, hopped in, and Tony gassed it.
"I don’t know what the fuck happened up there," the big guy said.
"It’s a goose."
"What?"
"Yeah man. I seen ‘em take off in another car."
"Why didn‘t you go after ‘em?"
"I didn‘t want to leave you behind," Tony said. On seconds, Scram figured it was better this way. Let the cops go after the car with the shot guns and money. That’s who they wanted. Once there's a murder, the game changes. Had the Marzano's gotten in Tony's car, Scram and Rocky would have been culpable, and pinned for this nonsense. Let them go. Deep, far, and wide.
Tony dropped the big guy, and wrote it off. Rocky wasn’t so forgiving. King Kong was determined to settle up with the meat heads. Either way, Tony hocked one lap top, and figured he’d give Rocky that catch. The other, his, he’d hold for Steve.
Tony went back to the cab stand at the George, and figured he’d roll it the legit way, until something better brewed. One slow night at the stand, Tony flipped through the paper. For the fun of it, Tony read the article. He always wanted to know how much they knew. The pix of the two, side by side. Typical order.
Gangland slaying. Brothers. Mike and Louie Marzano. The bad-ass cowboys met their match. Oh, by the way, wanted for questioning, possible connection from the blast and grab. No shit.
Case closed. That was the best pay-off Scram could hope for at this point.
Had Tony Scrammed, Rocky could have been bagged and charged. Tony stuck. That's the equation. The rep. It didn't matter that a team of five and dime thugs knew this, and played him. The way things turned out, the reality of it, who's ahead of the game now?
Tony reached the crossword puzzle, and dug in. He jumped out pretty quick. Across, Across, Down. He didn’t have trouble remembering when Mickey Mantle won the Triple Crown. Tony penciled in fifty six. There was a tap on his window. Tony looked up. Eddie Bones, his fedora, Whitey Russo, and the Phoenix depot pitch.