“Where?”
“A warehouse, just over the line.”
“Talk about the pay,” Wayne said.
“If it g'3'em'›
“How many guns?” Tony asked.
Malone said, “We lookin’ at maybe six.” If this impressed them, they didn’t show it.
“What about the ’caine,” Wayne asked.
“The cocaine goes to Nick.”
“Who?” Wayne said and smiled.
Malone glared at him. “You heard me. And he’s in charge.” Wayne and Tony stared back but didn’t speak. Malone continued. “We’re going to need guns, and a van.”
“We got guns,” Tony said. “We can get a van.”
I cleared my throat and spoke for the first time. “The guns are for show, understand? They’re not to be used.” My voice sounded awkward and lily-white.
Tony said to Malone, “You better tell your boy what time it is. If a man holdin’ a gun on you, and he willin’ to use it, you got to fire down on his ass.”
“He knows that,” Malone said unconvincingly.
“That’s all for now,” I said abruptly, and turned over the ignition. I could feel their stares. “We’ll let you know tomorrow if it’s going to happen. We’ll let you know.”
Tony and Wayne slid out of the car. Tony leaned in the passenger window.
Malone said, “How the pay sound?”
Tony said, “Pay sound good, Home.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Malone said, “first thing.”
I yanked the column shift down into drive and pulled away from the curb. Fifteen minutes later I dropped Malone at the door of the Avenue.
That evening I drew a diagram of the warehouse and studied it. After that I phoned Malone.
“Andre, it’s Nick.”
“Nick. What’s up?”
“It’s on for tomorrow night.”
“Good.”
“Call Wayne and Tony. Tell them to meet us, with the van, on top of the Silver Spring parking garage, the one next to and on the same side of the street as the Metro station. All the way up, at seven-thirty sharp. You got that?”
“That it?”
“You want out, I mean up to the last minute?”
“I’m in, Nick.”
I hung up and smoked a couple of cigarettes at the kitchen table. The cat sat on the radiator and watched me smoke. When I was finished, I washed up, locked the front door, and went to bed. I fell asleep quickly and did not dream.
I ROSE EARLY the next morning and got permission from a high school friend to visit his property out around Thurmont, north of Frederick. An hour and a half later I was parked in front of a padlocked barn. I walked across a plowed field and into the woods.
I found the clearing where my friend kept his personal garden of vegetables and marijuana. Both had been harvested by now. I pulled a few rusty beer cans from a steel drum on the edge of the clearing and set most of them upright on stumps. I hung the remainder on the low branches of trees.
I walked to the middle of the garden, removed the Browning from my knapsack, loaded it, and undid the safety. I took my time firing at the beer cans. Eventually I emptied a full clip. When I was done, I had a reasonable approximation of the sight, and a good feel for the kick.
I replaced the gun in my knapsack and walked back into the woods. I came across a deer blind and climbed up into it, using the wooden blocks that had been hammered to the tree trunk.
For the next hour I sat in the blind smoking cigarettes and listening to the silence. There were not many birds this time of day. A rabbit bolted across some dry leaves, then down the bluff of a nearby creek.
I climbed off the tree and walked through the woods and across the field to my car, then drove back to D.C.
In my apartment I cleared out the center of my bedroom, turned my stereo up, and began to jump rope. Twenty minutes later I removed wet clothing and had a hot shower.
I shaved and dressed in jeans, a black sweatshirt, and running shoes. I had a sandwich, a cup of coffee, and, with that, a smoke. I put some dry food in the cat’s dish. I loaded the Browning and placed it in my knapsack. Then I left the apartment to pick up Malone.
We drove onto the roof of the parking garage at about seven-twenty. A thin, purple line of sunset ran between a thick mass of clouds on the western horizon.
“That would be them,” Malone said, pointing to a green, windowless Ford van parked in the far corner.
“Is it stolen?” I asked, and drove towards it.
“That’s a bet,” he said. I pulled up next to them.
We got out of my car and locked it. Malone walked around to the driver’s side. They were up front in the buckets, both wearing jeans and blue, zip-up windbreakers.
“Give me the keys and move in the back,” Malone said. They did it, but slowly. Malone got behind the wheel, and I took the passenger seat. There were no seats in back. Tony and Wayne sat with their backs against the interior walls, a blanket-covered mound between them at their feet. seeight='0em' width='27'› “All right,” I said, pulling the diagram from my knapsack and crawling back with them. “Andre and I have already gone over this, so listen up.” They moved in close and looked at the drawing. “I have a key to the office, and I know the alarm code. But the code to the warehouse is different. We’ll have to wait until they come to make the transaction before we can enter the warehouse.”
“Where they gonna be?” Tony asked.
I pointed to the diagram. “The goods are in the rear left corner. Here. Wayne, you’re going to go down the center aisle and cut left at the break in the row. You just move in and cover them from the side. Andre and me are going to walk right in on them, straight up the aisle they’re in. That way they’ll be covered on two sides. The other two sides are walls.” Wayne nodded and concentrated on the diagram.
“Where am I?” Tony asked.
“You enter the warehouse from the loft. Here. Then you climb over the railing and drop down to the top of the stock in the center aisle. Crawl along the top of it until you get to where the deal is happening, in the back. You cover us all from above.”
“What you gonna do,” Wayne said, “ask ’em, ‘Please, can I have the ’caine?’” I didn’t answer.
Malone said, “What about the guns?”
“Right here, Home.” Tony pulled back the blanket and tossed it to the side. He reached in the pile and handed Malone a blue steel pistol. “Three-eighty Beretta, holds eight rounds. Bad little gun, too.”
Malone felt the weight of the piece and checked the action. I watched Wayne slide a nine-millimeter Colt into his jacket. Tony held up some sort of semiautomatic assault pistol.
Malone said, “What you plan on doin’ with that, Tony?”
“Spray the motherfucker,” Tony said, “if I have to. MAC ten. Thirty-two rounds in the clip. Can’t nobody fuck with it.” The short barrel passed in front of me as he moved the gun to his other hand. I grabbed the barrel and glared at Tony.
“Remember what I told you,” I said.
“Sure, chief,” Tony said, and Wayne chuckled joylessly.
Malone turned the key in the ignition, and the van came alive.
We parked in the body shop lot across the street from the Nutty Nathan’s headquarter s. The trucks near the warehouse were closed and locked. The showroom doors stood open. A couple of employee cars sat parked near the entrance. The office windows above the showroom remained dark.
“How long?” Tony said.
