But despite their injuries, they were in high spirits and had nothing but praise for me. “Damn, man,” Vinnie said. “You were like a hurricane in here. I can’t wait to see what you do to these motherfuckers when we get there.”
And Bone, his broken cartilage making him sound nasal, “It’s gonna be a show. Them fuckers gonna get a stompin’!” and raised his hand to slap palms with me.
Tassie sat on the sofa, listening to the macho boy talk with a vague smile on her face, and Stoker sat beside her not speaking, only glaring at me.
We’d been over the plan—if it could be called a plan—several times, and I was beginning to have serious misgivings about it. Apparently, the strategy consisted of busting into the place with guns drawn, demanding all the money in the joint, and making a hasty exit. That was it. No paramilitary-type sieges or guerrilla-style invasions. Just a bust-in, a robbery, and an escape.
The doubt must’ve shown on my face, because Tassie said, “Nothing to worry about, Charlie. We’ve done this a few times, and it always works out. The crack dealers are usually so confident no one would try anything, it always takes them by surprise when someone does.”
I said, “What do we know about this particular house?”
“We know that the front and back doors are guarded, and that everyone comes in through the front. You have to know exactly what to say to get in, but that doesn’t concern us. We’re going in the back door, which should lead right into the kitchen, and that’s where everything goes down. Stoker and Vinnie will go in first, and Vinnie will keep the guys in the kitchen covered while Stoker moves immediately to the front of the house and secures it for us. You, me, and Bone come in right behind Vinnie, Bone last, then you disarm the bad guys and I grab up the money while Bone covers the back door. Then, when I give the word, Stoker bolts out the front, the rest of us scramble out the back, and we book like hell back to the car—which will be parked on the next block. And voila. That’s all there is to it.”
Bone said, “Nothin’ to be worried about, Charlie. We’re professionals, dig?”
As if reading my mind, Vinnie said, “If you’re worried about us dissin’ you, Charlie, you can relax. What’s past is past. We liked the way you handled yourself, even if you did bust the shit outta us, and we’re gonna be right at your back. Every single one of us has an important role to play tonight, and we can’t spare no one.”
Tassie looked at me reassuringly, still smiling. I said, “Do you know who owns this crack house?”
All of them furrowed their brows at me, perplexed by the question.
Tassie said, “What difference does that make?”
“Well, isn’t there a possibility that the place is owned by big-time gangsters? I mean, I don’t know much about it, but from what I know the gangs that run the crack houses are only the bottom rung of the ladder. They report right to big Mob types, the ones that really control the drug trade.”
“You’re thinking they may come after us for revenge?” Tassie said. I nodded, and she addressed herself to the others, “Boys, you have to remember he comes from up north. He doesn’t understand the way things are done down here.”
They all laughed at my expense, except Stoker, who only stared. Then Vinnie said, “Street gangs control drugs ’round these parts, Charlie. Just street gangs. They’re pretty good at killin’ each other, but once we get away, we don’t have nothin’ to worry about.”
Stoker looked at his watch, said, “It’s almost eleven now. Are we gonna get moving, or just sit around and coddle this guy all fuckin’ night?”
Tassie squeezed his hand. “We’re gonna get moving. Everyone ready?”
I nodded. Vinnie said, “Damn straight,” and Bone said, “Let’s fuckin’ do it!”
That’s when Stoker made his comment: “I don’t like this. I don’t like it one goddamn bit.”
The others looked at him blankly. Bone said, “Chill, my man. Whassup with you, anyway? You the only one who came away from Hurricane Charlie unscathed, and you the only one wants to cause trouble.”
“I just can’t believe,” Stoker said, “that this cracker fuck comes in here—”
“Hey,” Vinnie said, hurt by the derogatory reference to whites.
“—and you assholes are just waiting to jack him off after what he did to us.”
Tassie said, “Charlie proved himself, Stoker. He proved he could rumble with the best of them. If you’d been him, you would’ve done the same thing.”
“Fuck,” Stoker said.
“C’mon,” Vinnie said. “Chill out, Stoker. We got shit to do. Are you gonna be together?”
He sneered. “Hell, yes, I’m gonna be together. You ever seen me not together, Red? I’m just saying, don’t even think about leaving me alone in the same room with Mr. Boy Fuckin’ Wonder here.”
Tassie’s smile disappeared. Her mouth tight, she said, “Stoker. Goddamnit, you listen to me. If you fuck this up, there’ll be hell to pay, you understand? You’re gonna get over this shit, and you’re gonna get over it now.”
“But—”
“Now!”
Stoker fell silent. The others shifted uncomfortably.
After a moment, Tassie took a deep breath and the smile returned to her face. “Okay,” she said. “Any last comments or questions, anyone?”
No one had any. Tassie nodded, said, “Everyone got their pieces?”
Everyone did. Vinnie and Bone both showed their loaded Uzis, hidden beneath their shirts. Tassie brandished a nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson, and Stoker raised his Colt .45 casually over his head. I showed them the .38 I’d brought with me.
Stoker said, “Hmm. You know, I used to have a gun just like that.”
“Stoker,” Tassie said.
He smiled at me, a tight, dangerous smile, and I wondered which one of us would be dead before the night was over.
The strange thing, I wasn’t even scared or nervous. When we pulled off on the side street in the city’s north side and Bone turned off the engine and clipped, “Ready to jam?” I could only nod and smile at him. I felt right in my element. The .38 felt warm and comforting in my waistband, and I knew that I was invincible.
We all stepped out of the car. Tassie said, “It’s this way,” and led us up the street. All of us wore dark clothing and hung close together on the sidewalk. The houses around us were empty and quiet and dark, some of them boarded up and falling to pieces, lawns brown and bare. The wind touched at my face with invisible hands, sometimes cool and gentle, then suddenly growing forceful and hot like a quick furnace blast.
We cut through a weed-choked yard and between two desolate houses, climbed over a rotting wood fence, and wound up in the back yard of our destination. We’d been very quiet up until that point, hardly making a sound, but now we were like ghosts, deathly silent.
From the back, the house didn’t look any more occupied than any of the others we’d passed. Two-stories, dingy gray, probably not a bad looking house seventy years ago. But now it had fallen into the sinkhole of squalor that the neighborhood had become, and the only beauty left to it was the lost notion of whatever beautiful things might have happened within its walls, all those years ago. Light showed dimly through a small window next to the back door, and a steady bass line, barely audible from outside, throbbed like a heartbeat.
The faces of my companions were drawn and grim. The only one who looked totally at ease was Tassie—she glanced at me, saw me looking at her, and smiled that inscrutable smile of hers.
I smiled back. Then, without a word, we moved.
Almost from the moment we tore into the place, it started going bad.
Stoker took the lead. Less than three feet away from the rickety steps that led up to the back door, he suddenly came alive, shed the silent specter persona. With the rest of us right behind him, he bounded up the steps, roaring, .45 in hand, and blasted two huge holes into the doorjamb. Wood splintered everywhere. While the echo of his first shot still rang in my ears, he reared up and kicked savagely at the door and it crashed open and he rushed in, screaming, “Nobody move! Nobody fuckin’ move!”
I was in third, right behind Vinnie, and could see over his shoulder the shocked faces gathered around the kitchen table. The music we’d heard from outside was now deafeningly loud. To the left, a huge guy leaning against the sink swung an Uzi off his shoulder and started to take a bead on Vinnie.
Vinnie was oblivious, focusing on the guys at the kitchen table. I started to shove him in, out of the line of fire, but Stoker was one step ahead of me—already moving into the house, he took aim and let off one short, booming round. He didn’t even stop to watch the blood explode out of the guy’s chest as he was hurtled back into the sink and slid down to the linoleum floor; he just kept moving through the kitchen, into the next room, trusting to the rest of us to deal with the guns at the kitchen table.
Vinnie, finally realizing what had just happened, looked stunned for a moment—that awful realization that, by all rights, you should be dead—but he shook it off quickly and trained his attention back where it belonged.
There were four guys at the table, all making efforts to stand up, all of them reaching for pistols in their waistbands. A shitload of money scattered on the table, surrounded by malt liquor bottles and cigarette butts and vials of crack. Vinnie covered them with his Uzi, spoke in a dazed and brutal voice, “Stay where you are!”
I glanced behind, saw Tassie moving in beside me, and Bone covering the door. My eyes went back to the table just in time; Vinnie was obviously not on the ball. One of the guys was making a subtle move to get up and rush him.
I stepped right up to him and placed the barrel of my .38 against his forehead.
“Sit down,” I said. “You’ve had a hard day.”
Tassie, at my right shoulder, said, “It’s about to get worse.”
While she started scooping up the bills and Vinnie kept his Uzi trained on them, I ordered them to lay their weapons on the table, gently. They all complied, taking on airs of professional indifference. But I caught one of them staring at each of us in turn, staring hard, committing our faces to memory.
“Bold fuckers,” he said, more to himself than any of us.
“Shut up,” Tassie said. The guy shrugged.
From the living room, someone screamed, and three gunshots shook the walls. The rap music ended prematurely with a crash. We all started, and Bone yelled, “Situation!”
Stoker replied, “Cool! Took one out! Move it!”
Tassie looked pained—she hadn’t counted on this much bloodshed, but it seemed Stoker had something to prove tonight. “Go, Charlie! Take the guns!”
I did, dropping them into various pockets, and she managed to stuff the last of the bills into the special compartments she’d sewn into her jacket.
“Shit!” Stoker yelled from the other room. “Three more coming up the walk!”
“Okay!” Tassie replied. “You come out this way! Let’s move!”
Right about that time, less than a minute in, the whole thing fell apart. We hadn’t even had a chance to get used to our success. Stoker started to answer Tassie’s instructions, when suddenly there was a huge crash—it sounded like the front door being forced open—and gunfire roared.
The observant guy at the table took quick advantage of our distraction. He dove for Vinnie, going for his Uzi. The other three followed his example, one lunging at me, and the last two tackling Tassie.
All the bottles and vials came smashing down as the table fell over, and before I knew what was happening, I was struggling for my gun against a very pissed off gangster. Both of us went to the floor, slick with blood and broken glass, him on top. The guns clattered out of my pockets, a convenient little circumstance for our enemies.
I heard an Uzi rattle, saw from the corner of my eye the little line of holes appear in the ceiling, and a glimpse of Vinnie’s long red hair as he was forced back into the kitchen counter. The guy he fought with had his fingers around the Uzi’s handle, and another string of bullets scattered across the kitchen and punched holes in the cabinets above us.
Bone’s Uzi answered. The guy screamed as bullets tore open his throat.
I wrestled with the guy on top of me, punching at his face with my gun when I could, using my legs to try and work some leverage, but he was strong as a fucking ox and I wasn’t making a lot of progress. Twice, he managed to pound me in the temple, but mostly he used his knee, ramming it over and over into my balls. Then he noticed the profusion of guns lying around and started trying to reach for one and keep me subdued at the same time.
I couldn’t see Tassie, but I heard her cursing and fighting, and I heard one of her attackers yell, “Ow! Bitch!” Her gun went off once, and something warm and wet fell against my cheek. Tassie yelled, “Help, goddamnit!”
The guy on top of me managed to get one of the guns in his hand, but he had to let go of my left wrist to do it. I immediately made him regret it, hitting him with all my strength in the throat. He weakened. I shoved against his chest until he fell off me and into the lower cabinets. He hit his head on the corner, dazing him.
I pounded him in the face with my fist and his head snapped back and into the cabinet corner again. His eyes rolled up, and he slid slowly down to the floor.
I pulled myself up using the cabinets, saw Bone and Vinnie struggling with the two bastards who’d jumped Tassie. One of the gangsters had a nasty bullet wound in the shoulder, and Bone’s forehead was smeared with blood. Tassie was on the floor, trying to pull herself up by the back of a chair. Her lip was bleeding, and a black bruise already formed around her right eye. Gunfire still ricocheted off the walls in the other room, and Stoker screamed a kind of terrified battle cry and it sounded like a natural disaster was tearing the place apart.
I grabbed up a nine-millimeter off the floor. Carrying it in my right hand and the .38 in my left, I rushed into the living room to help Stoker. Sure, he was an asshole. But I’m not totally callous, and it would’ve been wrong to abandon him.
There were three of them, loaded to the max—one half-hidden at the door and two others practically right out in the open, firing like lunatics. Two bodies lay on the floor, their blood soaking into the carpet.