Charlie Huston - Caught Stealing

The cop cars drive past. I can hear sirens and megaphones at Astor Place.And the chop of helicopter blades from above. I peek out from the bushes but can’t see much beyond the square. I scuttle to my left, hop another fence and dodge behind the pillars that support the church portico.

St. Mark’s Church is the oldest place of Christian worship on the island of Manhattan. It says so on a plaque next to the door. Lots of important people are buried in its small graveyard. The plaque says that as well. I read these facts over and over while I hunch behind the pillar, holding a gun and waiting to be found. I get tired of waiting.

I shift around until I’m squatting with my left shoulder pressed against the base of the pillar. I flick the safety off the gun, but I keep my finger away from the trigger because I can’t keep it from clenching over and over again. I take a few breaths. I can’t hear anything nearby. I peek out and see Roman’s knee right in front of me and bump my head into the barrel of his gun.

The rain is still pouring and little beads of it run down the barrel of his gun onto my forehead and drip right into my eye. I try not to blink because he told me not to move and I think he really means it. No one else is on the street, the civilians are hiding inside and Roman has the uniforms he ran into working the other streets. He presses the gun a little harder against my head and I know it must be making a little white circle there.

– Do you have the money, Hank?

– No.

He’s standing right over me.

– Do Ed and Paris have the money?

– Yes.

The rain is starting to taste salty, but that’s just because I’m crying. It’s difficult to cry so hard and not move.

– Do you have any way of getting the money at this point?

– No.

Standing over me, looking down at my crouched and curled body.

– The mistake you made, Hank, was in thinking of it as simply money. Four and a half million dollars in cash is not the same as four and a half million in the bank. In fact, you would be hard-pressed to find a bank with resources like those on hand. Four and a half million in cash is more a symbol than actual money. For Ed and Paris, it represents their life’s work. For the Russians, it is an investment, which they can use to expand into markets that only accept cash payment. And formyself, it represents freedom, a chance to regain a life I gave up long ago. Bolo and the rest just saw the money. Like you. And they’re all dead. Do you see the connection I’m making?

Looking down at me.Looking down at me from an angle that keeps him from seeing the gun pointed at his knee.

I pull the trigger. He falls back. His gun goes off. The world explodes and starts ringing. The bullet vibrates my skull as it passes by and I feel the muzzle flash sear and blister my scalp. I lurch upright as Roman tumbles down onto the steps of the church, his gun flying out of his hand.

He sprawls there, the lower half of his right leg semidetached and pumping blood into the rain. He’s reaching inside his coat and, as he pulls out his other gun, I step forward and bring my foot down on his wrist, pinning it to the ground. I point my gun at him.

He opens his mouth and spits out a little rain.

– You… you really are making a mistake. You don’t know what it is, but… Christ, that hurts. But this is a mistake. Trust me.

I nod.

– I trust you, Roman.

– Well. OK, then.

I shoot him in the chest. He convulses when the round hits the bulletproof vest. He spits out more rain.

– Oh, forchrissake, Hank.

– Sorry, I forgot.

I point the gun at his face and pull the trigger again. He dies this time.

When I was about eleven or twelve, I was over at a friend’s house and we were messing around with his BB gun. We plunked away at cans and little green army men for a while and then we started shooting leaves off trees and stuff and then a bird came along. My friend took a shot at the bird and missed and gave me the gun to take my turn. I aimed very carefully and tried my damnedest to hit that bird, believing deep in my heart that I could never hit it.Bull’s-eye.Knocked it right off the branch.But didn’t kill it. It sat on the ground and kind of flopped around in pain and we watched it, not really knowing what to do, and my friend said we should kill it and put it out of its misery. I couldn’t do it, so he took the gun, pumped it up, put the barrel right next to the bird’s head and killed it for me. Shooting that bird felt pretty fuckingbad.

I tuck the gun into the front of my pants and walk around the corner. Withall the ruckus they’re making, the cops may or may not have heard my shots. I walk as far as 10th Street, sort of heading home maybe, and some headlights switch on and I stand there as the Caddie pulls up from where the brothers had it parked, waiting for my call. Ed opens the rear door and steps out.

– What the fuck, man? I told you, no fucking improvisation.

I walk past him and collapse into the car. He climbs in behind me and closes the door.

– Like I said, what the fuck, man? Where are the bad guys?

I scoop up Bud from the seat and put him on my lap.

– I’m the bad guy here. I’m the fucking bad guy. Get me the fuck out of here.

– I’ll give it to you,Hank, that is one cool cat.An’ you? Well, shit.

I’m down on the floorboards in theback, Bud curled up on my stomach. Ed is up on the seat. He talks to me without looking at me. He doesn’t want the cops at the roadblock to know there’s anyone besides two black guys in the car. Both he and Paris have removed their sunglasses and cowboy hats. In this car, they look like a record producer and his driver/bodyguard. Paris has switched tapes and we’re listening to One NationUnder a Groove ,Funkadelic’s finest.

– Hey, Ed?

– Yeah?

– Aren’t you guys kind of wanted yourselves?

– Sure.

– So?

– See, Hank, all these cats are thinking about is you. I mean, your ass was just in a gunfight a few blocks from here. So they’re on the lookout for a skinny white dude, not a couple of black hard-asses wanted forrobbin ’ banks in the Midwest. Follow?

– Sure. But this car is kind of distinct.

– You think we robbed in this baby?No way, man. This thing has been in storage in Jersey awaiting our return. We used a wholeshitload a cars to do our jobs. This honey is clean.

– Yeah, but.

– Shut the fuck up. It’s our turn.

They’ve got the traffic blocked up at Union Square. Anything heading south is being diverted. Anything going north, west or east that might have come from the vicinity of Astor is being checked out. Paris pulls us forward and stops. The beam from a flashlight dances over the interior. Ed turns his head and nods. We pull forward. Ed glances down at me and winks.

– First timebein ’ black kept me fromgettin ’ hassled by the cops.

We drive west. From thefootwell I look up through the windows and the buildings swerve by overhead as Paris turns left on Seventh Avenue, taking us downtown toward the Holland Tunnel. We drive. Ed reaches forward and taps his brother on the shoulder.

– Here.

From my angle, I can just see the back of Paris ’s head as he nods. He pulls the car over and stops. Through the window behind Ed I can see part of a tenement and an old warehouse. I think we’re somewhere below Houston, inTribeca. I start to pull myself up onto the seat, but Ed puts his hand on my chest and gently pushes me back.

– Just stay there for now.

I settle back into my spot. My wound is throbbing.Throbbing. It feels like someone is stabbing me in the side. My feet hurt.

Funkadelicswings into “Maggot Brain,” their endless guitar solo from hell. Ed picks his hat up from the seat and holds it in his lap, fiddling with the shape of the brim.