RECKLESS — Bad Boy Criminal Romance (20 page)

To avoid prosecution in case of a bust, the deed to the house was not in Curtis’s name but that of a close friend and confidante.  It was one of a handful of houses in the city like this, used to store drugs and cash, keeping his operation running.  All of the houses were in wealthy neighborhoods and he never visited any of them himself, instead ordering his underlings to manage their upkeep, while he stayed unlinked to the properties.  Curtis’s subordinates lived at each house and he demanded they all keep low profiles, keeping the shades drawn and cars parked in the garage, avoiding being seen at all if possible.

According to his information, G.C. learned of a house in which five of Curtis’s employees lived.  They had each received a large monetary bonus for their hard work and were going out to a strip club on the Fourth of July for a celebration.  In a rare circumstance, the house and the ten million dollars within would be left unguarded for a few hours.

G.C. proposed the idea.  Terrell was left to make the decision.  Aside from the obvious danger, we only had a week to prepare.  We usually spent a minimum of two months.  G.C. knew the model of their safe and was confident he could crack it quickly.  He wanted it to be our last robbery.  Split four ways, we each would walk away with over two million dollars.  G.C. said he planned to quit his regular job and retire if we went through with it.  “An opportunity like this ain’t coming around again,” he warned.  “We’ve been working our asses off, scrapping just to make thousands.  How about we make millions and have everything we ever fucking wanted?”

Terrell listened but didn’t seem to like the idea.

“We’ve got the brains to do this,” G.C. insisted.  “Plus, with your luck, who the fuck will touch us?  Instead of going for peanuts, why not go for it all?”

Terrell wanted to think about it more.  He arranged for the four of us – himself, G.C., DeAnthony, and me – to meet at his house the next afternoon to make a final decision.

The next day he called me over about an hour before we were supposed to meet.  In his bedroom he watched an old black and white film on his big-screen TV.  He muted it and dabbed a joint on an ashtray on his bedside.  “What do you think of this thing?” he asked me.

Curtis Reznok, the drug lord whose house we targeted, was someone I had never met but had heard of.  His days of personally peddling drugs were long over.  Now the actual dealers were at the bottom of a citywide chain of command of which he was the mastermind.  Physically, he stayed as far away from the illegality as possible, directing and issuing orders from afar.  Nonetheless, rumors of his operation occasionally floated around and I’d heard a few.

              One that stuck with me involved a rich sixteen-year-old private prep school kid who routinely bought cocaine from one his dealers.  The kid lived in a big house in midtown with his father and mother – a pediatrician and a stay-at-home mom, respectively.  He often stole from his mom’s purse or his dad’s wallet to support his habit, even though his parents already gave him a hefty allowance.  The kid not only bought for himself, but for his friends to hold little parties.

              His parents, upon discovering his drug use, cut down on his cash and severely restricted his time out of the house.  Nonetheless, his coke habit continued and he started a tab with the dealer, promising to pay the debt over time.  The debt only rose though, eventually totaling ten grand.  When the dealer tried to collect, the kid started avoiding him, instead seeking out a new dealer and shirking the bill.

              After a month, the kid’s home was visited by two men.  By chance, the kid wasn’t home.  The maid was.  Also at home in the kitchen was the kid’s mother who had just returned home from grocery shopping.  The maid escaped the house.  The mother’s head, decapitated from her body, was later found on the kitchen sink beside broccoli and a bag of oranges.  The two men were never arrested or identified.

              So in response to Terrell’s question I said, “I think –”

              “‘Cause I think it’s fucking stupid,” he interjected.

              I nodded.

              “Forget we have no time to scout this place out,” he said.  “We’re dealing with some motherfuckers who no doubt carry firearms twenty-four seven.  And for the shady shit I’ve done, I’ve always kept away from the gangs and the dealers and anything else related to the ghetto.  If I’m going to take something, I want to take it from some rich motherfuckers in the suburbs who are going to file a police report and collect on their insurance.  Not people who’ll track me down and put a bullet in my head because I disrespected them.  We do this and something goes wrong, even if we do survive, how long do we survive?  We’ll have to be like fucking vampires keeping an eye open even when we sleep, otherwise we’ll wake up with teeth marks in our necks.”

              I listened.

              “And I can’t forget my eighty-nine year old grandmother,” Terrell added.  “She’s made it this far. I’d don’t want her to get hurt because of my stupid ass.”

“So we’re not doing it?”

“I don’t know.”  Terrell rubbed his brow.  “Can you think of any reason we should?”

“Ten million is a lot of money.”

“Yeah.”  He sighed.  “It is a lot.”

“What does DeAnthony think?”

“I only talked to him real quick on the phone.  But he sounds all for it.”

“So how do we decide?”

Terrell picked the joint off the ashtray and took a long drag.  Then he said, “You decide.”

I chuckled.

“I’m serious.”  He sat forward and handed me the joint.

“Why do I have to decide?”

“Why not?  You’re part of this.  Your life is at stake.”

I took a drag.

“I had a good feeling about you when we met.  I knew you’d make a difference.  Make the right decision for us now.”

When G.C. and DeAnthony showed up, I still hadn’t decided.  G.C., usually passive and quiet, was eager to talk.  He sat at the chair at Terrell’s desk, clasped his hands on his knees, and asked, “Have we decided?”

“Not yet,” Terrell said.  “Brandon has the final say.”

G.C. laughed.  “Seriously, what are we doing?”

Terrell shrugged.  “I have mixed emotions.  But I want Brandon to decide for us.”

“This has to be a fucking joke,” G.C. said, dismayed.  “Why does he decide?”

“He’s the low man on the totem pole.  If we’re going to ask him to stick his neck out, I think he should be comfortable with this.”

“If he’s not comfortable, he doesn’t have to do it,” G.C. shouted.  “We don’t need him.  We never did.  I still don’t know what adding him to this group accomplished other than dividing the amount each of us made after each job.”

“Hey, chill out.  Brandon’s a good kid,” DeAnthony said and glanced at me, hoping my feelings weren’t hurt.  He was genuinely the nicest person of us all.  “He’s helped us move quicker and he stopped Terrell from getting his head bashed in.  If we’re going to do this, we should all be down for it.”

“Great.”  G.C. scoffed.  “So we’re not going to be millionaires because this kid is too fucking scared?  This is fucking unbelievable.”

“I think we should do it,” I announced.

The three of them turned to me.

“Yeah?” Terrell asked.

I nodded.  “I think we can.  We just have to be even more careful than usual.”

“I could probably get us some firearms,” DeAnthony added.  “Even though it’s not our usual protocol, we should go in there with some protection.”

Terrell mulled it over.  “Let’s do it.  But we need to scout this place out immediately.  We have to pack months of research into a week.”

Every day of that week I grew more and more nervous.  The robbery was scheduled for Sunday night.  On Friday afternoon I received a phone call from DeAnthony when I returned home from school.

“Have you talked to Terrell?” he asked.

“Not recently.”

“Go over to his place and check on him, will ya?  I’m at work ‘til later.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I talked to him late last night and he said he felt weird.  He said he was light-headed and all his senses were off.  I told him all the weed he smokes was fucking with his head.  But I’ve called him three times today and he’s not answering.”

              I jogged over to Terrell’s house.  As I stepped onto the lawn, the front door swung open and his girlfriend Tameka walked out holding a bowl of chicken soup.

              “Is Terrell okay?” I asked.

              “Fuck that miserable motherfucker,” she screamed.  “He can die.  See if I care.”

              “What’s going on?”

              “He’s got the stomach flu,” Tameka said, still angry.  “I heard he was sick so I fixed him some soup.  You think he’d appreciate me, huh?”

              I shrugged.

              “Of course not.  He doesn’t say ‘thank you.”  He says, ‘Bitch, I can’t even drink water without throwing up.  What do you want me to do with chicken soup?’  Even sick when he can hardly move, he can’t be grateful for nothing.”

              I nodded.

              The bowl of soup cupped in her hand, Tameka turned her body and flung it against the front of the house.  The bowl shattered against the brick and soup splattered onto the cement stoop. Chunks of chicken landed atop broth that streamed off the stoop and dripped into the grass of the lawn.  “Tell him I don’t care how much he says ‘I’m sorry’ or how much he says he loves me,” Tameka yelled as she stormed away.  “I don’t want to see his ass again.”

              In the living room Terrell’s grandmother sat in her chair.  The television was off and she looked worried.  “Your Terrell’s friend, right?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Can you check on him?” she asked me.  “I don’t think he’s well.”

              “Yeah, I’ll make sure he’s okay.”  I rapped my knuckles lightly on his bedroom door.  “It’s Brandon.  Are you holding up alright?”

              “I’ve thrown up nine times and I’m dehydrated as fuck.”  He moaned.  “My whole body aches.”

              “Try to sip some water slowly if you can.”

“It doesn’t matter if I drink fast, slow or medium.  I can’t keep shit down.  I’m fucked.”

I cracked open his door and stood in the doorway.  “Is there anything you want me to do for you?”

“What the fuck can you do that’ll help me?  I just have to endure this shit until it goes away.”

              “Okay.”  I started to close his door and leave.

              “Hey, wait!”  He stopped me.  “Can you make something for my grandma to eat?  I don’t think she’s had anything all day.  And tell her I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I’ll handle it.”

“Thanks,” he said and rolled over and pulled his comforter over his head.

On the kitchen stove I made grilled cheese and boiled a kettle for tea.  I served his grandmother the meal and joined her at their small plywood table.

She took a bite of her sandwich.  “Your Terrell’s friend, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s the weather today?” 

“Humid.”

“Do you go to school?”

“Yeah, I do.  It’s kind of boring to me though.”

She nodded.  “Terrell was always the same way.  It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart though.  He made good grades, but he just hated it.  He’d cry, pretend he was sick – whatever it took to get out of going.  When he was little I had to promise I’d buy him ice cream at the end of every week if he didn’t skip any days.” 

I listened attentively.

She finished her sandwich and tea and I rinsed off the cup and plate in the sink.  “Where is Terrell?” she asked.

“In his room.  He’s not feeling well.  He’ll be alright though.”  I helped her back into her chair in the living room.  “I’m leaving now, okay?  You need anything before I go?”

“What’s your name again?” she asked.

“Brandon.”

“You’re a really sweet young man.  I’m glad Terrell has a nice friend like you.”

I exhaled a chuckle.  “Well … thank you.”

That evening I had a three-way phone call with DeAnthony and G.C.

              “Terrell’s supposed to be scouting the place out tonight and tomorrow,” G.C. said.  “Is he on for that?”

              “No,” I said.  “He needs time to recover.”

“Fuck,” G.C. responded.

“I’ll fill in tonight,” DeAnthony said.

“Alright,” G.C. said, calming down.

“I could do it tomorrow,” I offered.

“You’ve never scouted before,” G.C. shot back.  “I’m supposed to have work, but fuck it.  We’re about to be millionaires anyway, right?  I’ll take a sick day and take care of it.”

“We need to meet up early Sunday at Terrell’s house,” DeAnthony said.  “We have a short time frame to cram for everything we need to know.”

Sunday, the morning of the robbery, I showed up at Terrell’s house before anyone else.

“Not too close,” Terrell told me as I stepped into his bedroom.  “Grab a chair and sit away from me.  I don’t want to get you sick.”