"But you said tha..."
"Forget what I said, just do what I tell you!"
For the next several weeks they "hit" various places along the beach as Joe's education continued--an education leading up to to "The Big Job".
Jack's territory ran from Miami Beach to Pompano Beach. He had all kinds of tricks and systems to generate the bucks. One of his favorites was renting a group of adjoining suites in a luxury hotel and jamming the doors that separated them. He would then wait several days and inform the desk that his expected associates canceled their trip. Keeping only one suite, he would jam the connecting door so as to make it seem it was truly locked and wait until someone rented the adjoining suite. In the middle of the night, he would open the door in stealth--while the occupants slept soundly--and remove all the cash from their wallets and pocket books. The strange thing was, he never had a problem: the tourists would wake up and go about their business only to discover that some how, some way, they had lost their money! Remember Harry, major use of credit card use was still far away... cash was the way.
Another operation--one to be used when the big pre-planned pickings were slim--was to go along the hotels on the beach and pick out and set up wealthy tourists. Once all information such as room number and sleeping habits had been secured, he would swallow some booze, walk along the breezeway with a stuper-like shuffle until he reached one he had staked out, and, using a pick kit, he would open the lock. If any one came out he would feign drunkenness, say something like -- "Oh! Sorry. Got the wrong room-- and walk off. If no one walked out, he would place one hand at the top of the door, the other on the knob, and using his foot and top hand to push while pulling on the knob, he would open the door without a sound. Then, crouching down, so as to protect himself against a possible wary occupant waiting behind the door, he would enter effortlessly. If someone was in fact waiting behind the door, and they came around, he would jam the door against them and get away before the individual knew what happened.
The track soon became Joe's home away from home. The wise guys got used to him hanging and he was in demand as a runner. He'd run numbers for them, make drop offs of receipts, and get them coffee and things. Though he had not forgotten his predicament--the Shorty deal--he enjoyed the attention and the feeling of belonging. The only time he thought about NY was when he went to sleep. It was in his dreams that his guilt raised it's head.... "THAT GUY IS SHORTY... YOUR SWORN ENEMY!"
"The big job is tonight." Jack stated as Shorty grinned and slapped him on the back.
"You just make sure the goods get to my place by nine in the morning."
"I'll get them there, don't you worry!"
"Who is your climber?" Shorty asked.
"Someone who's an expert!" Jack replied as he winked at Joe, whom sat close enough to hear yet far enough not to raise eyebrows.
"You want to leave the kid at my place?"
"No, he will be staying at his grandmothers for the night."
It was a major hit in a major neighborhood: Golden Beach and a mansion owned by a very wealthy businessman! A beautifull place with walls, fences, and a security system that was state of the art. Jack would have to defeat the system and break into a safe: his specialty! Shorty had agreed to pay Jack upfront and fence the jewelry and negotiable bonds later in New York. The "score" was said to be worth two-hundred G's; which meant at least seventy thou for Jack in cool, hard, ready cash!
Though the moon was full, lighting up the entire lawn, two dark shapes zipped the shadows unnoticed. The outer perimitter devices, rigged trip switches and active and silent alarms, were defeated and a primary and a secondary route swept to the mansion--one in front, one in the rear--and then the units were switched back on, leaving the majority of detection units operational. In this way, if by a twist of fate someone approached outside of the narrow corridors of safety, they would trip the alarms notifying the two silent figures working the mansion wall of the violation! Jack new it all! He was In Like Flint, It Takes A Thief, Mission Impossible and OO7 all in one! At the mansion wall, Jack defeated the primary alarm and rerouted the phone lines into an electronic black box that would send a code of impersonating pulses! Even if they missed a wire, switch, button or sensor for the mansion itself, the alarm would never ring, beep, scream, nor telephone to anyone. Though a secondary system with micro-switches randomly placed under Persian carpets was always a tickler, the "sophisticated" main system was a mute and blind ignoramus. They set out to gain entrance to the main building--
Straight to one of the stained glass windows which lined the garden with a sharp steel knife, Jack removed three pieces, enough to reach in and open the window. Joe slipped in, "walked the wall" to the Persian covered, marble floored double staircase and, walking the edge of the lower marble riser, he climbed the carved, mahogany outer railings until he reached one of the outer wall windows which dressed both ends of the stair case. Jumping from the rail to the marble ledge, he opened the window, tied a nylon rope to a decorative wrought iron mold cap on the interior windows edge, and swung it out and down to the ground where Jack tied it to a marble statue.
Jack climbed the rope and, from a long, black, nylon backpack, pulled out flat, steel bars, which he placed in a series across the floor to gain entrance to the main study; the bars wedged into the sides of the hallway walls so one could step on top of them and never touch the carpet! Once at the door to the office, he ran a battery powered device locating two wires running through the walls on both sides of the door. Gently chipping the plaster off the wood underlay of the walls, he used pins to pierce the wires and then connected jumpers across them with out cutting them. Wallah! He opened the main doors to the study. Joe never saw how he managed to traverse the floor of the study nor how he "cracked" the safe. His job was to remain down the hall at the window and keep look out.
Thirty minutes later, Jack emerged with a grin and a weighted down backpack. Going through the whole procedure in reverse, Jack and Joe climbed the rope and disappeared into the tropics of the city called Miami!
One hundred and seventy five thousand dollars in bonds alone! And the jewels! We're talking diamonds, diamonds, and diamonds! Jack also discovered a host of other items which brought the total to three hundred thousand! A sure ninety five thousand hard cash! Joe was assured at least thirty thousand dollars cash! Jack had promised he would get a third. Joe was set to go home and RESCUE HIS FAMILY! He would return the Knight in Shining Armor to rescue everyone! He was so excited. He even decided to go to church and give a thousand dollars to the priest! He promised to God, thanked God, gave God the credit! "Oh Lord, you have seen fit to end my families nightmare! Thank you!"
Listen Joe, you wait here and I will be back in a couple of hours. Then we take a triop to the Islands for a few weeks, allow the heat to die, and then you can return to New York a man of respect! Now, how many teenagers... though I'm not calling you a kid.. but how many young men get to start their lives with that kind of cash!?"
Jack left and returned several hours later upset and talking to himself. When Joe asked excitably about the money, Jack cut him short.
"The %$%^& didn't have the damn cash! He ^%^&^% me! Said he would have it by the end of the week. He's a wiseguy, made and connected, can't steal a damn hot dog with out his permission. I had to give the stuff to him and wait! I cannot believe this $%^%!! He said something came up and he had to use 100 thou to bail someone out of a bind... ^%^&%$ he has three times that much in his safe!"
On and on he ranted until Joe decided to go down to the pool and chill out leaving Jack, whom he never saw yell once let alone have a fit, to burn him self out...
Joe had a rough time and awoke within his dreams...
He had journeyed back in time with visions of priests, pastors, and demons awash in his mind: though the gulls cried across the waves and a cool breeze wafted in through the open balcony doors of Jack's luxurious apartment, it was a vision of darkness, pain, and the heat in which he was swimming that overwhelmed him. It took all of his concentration to entomb this dread and retake reality. Was it an omen?
Two weeks had gone by and other than the quick jobs Jack put together, they sat waiting. Jack seemed to be worried he was not going to see a "single red quarter" from one of his best heists. Joe soon discovered this was his first deal with Shorty. Though Jack had sent money up to him from his action for seven years, he never did a "job" in partnership with him before. In fact, Shorty did not even know of the work Jack did; not the actual jobs nor amounts. Shorty collected his "tax" on Jack through Sonny Black, one of Shorty's guys. Sonny ran a car rental business on Biscaine Blvd. Jack had only met Shorty on Sonny Black's word of the big heist!
After Joe dressed and ate a light breakfast, he checked on Jack: whom was sleeping--he never awoke before noon. He then went down to the pool and began a conversation with the pool boy. They were deep in conversation when he heard the distinct sounds of a large caliber, semi-automatic weapon: "Bang. Bang. BANG BANG BANG!" It's sounds shattered the morning silence. But, as quick and fast as it came, it left. He looked at the pool guy, but he acted like he hadn't heard the sounds. "You didn't hear those gun shots?" He asked.
"What gun shots," he answered as he continued to sweep the water with his net.
Joe looked up towards to the area the shots seemed to originate from. Due to the layout, it was difficult to determine it's source, yet it seemed to come from the area of Jack's apartment. Feeling strange, he got up and decided to leave and go back to the apartment...
The door was unlocked -- Jack was a stickler for locking his door and Joe knew he had locked it! Entering, he called Jacks name out loud. No voice returned his greetings. Slipping cautiously down the hallway, he reached Jack's door. Warily, he turned the knob and rushed in...
Jack was snoring loudly....
It was time to go... he knew, deep inside, that this entire awakening was a message from somewhere, someone! Gathering his clothing -- he had purchased an extensive wardrobe -- he scooped up the money he had hidden under the carpet, and silently closed the door behind him.
Hailing the first cab he could find, he rode back to the projects and Diane. You do not know how happy he was to leave the situation he had traveled in for three months--including the biker episode.
Harry, does God work in mysterious ways, NO? He works in well thought out ways: two nights after he left, Jack was found on the beach--suffocated with a plastic bag. The man whom began his career hawking gold coins on the phone and worked his way into a spot as a preeminent second story man whom racked in ten large a week was gone. Mob respect had claimed another. Joe did not know if he had a family, if he had been married, or if he had a child. Joe realized he had journeyed to a place very rare for a teenager. None of the players were the type whom "hung" out with kids! Joe concluded that Jack realy desired a son? That had to be it because after Joe began to hang with Jack, Jack began to introduce Joe as his nephew, and treated him as if he were his father! Things he had missed came crashing to the front of his mind: how everyone reacted when they discovered Jack had an orphaned nephew: the word swept the underground and he was excepted even though he was but thirteen and a half!! What irked Joe was the fact that the same guy he was sure murdered Jack, might be the same person whom murdered his father...
A gentle, caressing surf stroked the shore line as the black shadow whisked across the sand dunes... to settle against the rustling palm covered tiki hut. With deft ability, it wavered only for a moments moratorium and then flashed up and over the pitted railing to land upon a darkened landing. A spiders grasp, and the shadow covered the vertical until arising above the third floor balcony, it's outline imposed against the chalk-white exterior wall, it disappeared once again; only a glint of reflection as a patio door slid effortlessly proof of its reality... Silent and determined, it slithered across the smooth, soft, snowy-white carpet until it rested against the lavender, hide covered sofa. Timing deep bursts of nasal breathing eminating from the target, it shifted its route untill contacting the supple down of the black and white checkered comforter. Once there, it reached for the metalic object it carried with reverence and placed it against the comforter. Once connected to an outlet of energy, the shadow proscribed it to pay due homage to its host. Once more, it whisked back to its origins...leaving not a trace of its existence!
One week after the death of Jack, before the dawn of a clear and cool morning, an electrical fire broke out in Shorty's condiminium. Lucky for him, a sidekick rescued him; he escaped with only minor burns. Though his condiminium was a total disaster, he had good insurance--yet "the word on the street" was that he had lost a fortune in "undeclared" assets?
"So, what happened to you?" She asked...
For the next two weeks, he lived in a motel two blocks from the projects. Partying. Dressing up. Showing off. He spent the seven hundred on all of the guys and gals whom lived in the overwhelming poverty of the projects. He visited the track a couple of times, but knew it was time to go home and deal with his situation. With tearful--on the ladies part-- parting, he gave away all of his goodies and clothing and with fifty dollars, put his thumb out and headed for NY. He began his track home... a seasoned traveler.
Chapter Twenty-One: Harry, the battle continued..
The Hitchhiker
He placed his thumb out for a ride,
new memories, visions by his side;
'an hops aboard sleek racing stripes,
or cluttered jalopy--he hardly gripes.
He's hooked: adventure, travel finds
all responsibility left far behind!
"Hey, Sonny... need a ride?"
Red, bright red, fire engine red, souped up and rumbling, with a deep throaty sound, full blown engine, double, four barrel carbs, high-rise intake, dual exhaust, the '65, two-door Ford came to a stop. With delightful exuberation, Joe ran towards the car. One guy, a heavy, swarthy looking man of fifty, eyes glaring and bloodshot, wearing a greasy mechanics uniform, steps out of the passenger door and holds the front seat down so Joe can enter the back seat. Joe squeezes himself into the tight interior and makes himself as comfortable as the space between the rear passenger and the window allows. Roar, the engine revs to life, and with a Oooommm... Click! Screech.... Oooooooommmm... Click! Screech... Click! Oooooommmmmm... they were on their way to cruising altitude in what seemed like three seconds in a rocket ship with tires and a gear box....
"Welcome aboard, where ya headin'?" The mechanic asked.
"Southwest."
"Oh, Wet-Back territory"... the front passenger piped--leading to a barrage of greaser jokes and back slapping...
It was not long before Joe realized something was wrong with the picture! Three men, two in their fifties and one twenty-four but looking sixteen, drinking moon-shine straight from a jug, riding hell bent in a bright and shiny race car with Florida tags--in Tennessee with out five bucks between them--and no destination! Joe soon discovered the drivers name was Davis and he was from New Mexico. The other two "nice men" were from New Orleans. Their names were Papa Joe and Pigny--or was it Pigmy? He really could not understand their accent! They had "purchased" the car with a check.... stolen by Pigny(?) from his boss (ex!) in Florida: "Was the car therefore stolen?"... seemed to be the discussion going on as Joe desperately rolled the facts over in his mind.... One: These guys were crazy. Two: They were drunk. Three: They were armed. Four: There was no rear door to escape from. Five: Why were they so open in their conversation of their misdeeds and circumstances in front of a stranger.... unless they planned to rob (though Joe had not a cent nor any thing of value)that stranger and......!
Pigny sharpened the twelve inch blade of his Bowie knife upon a strip of leather with the dexterity of a butcher...all in tune to the Louisiana Bayou music twanging from the radio.
'Hanging music, Yep, that's what it was, hanging music!' Joe thought. He was sure he had heard this very tune in some damned movie where people butchered hogs, drank corn liqueur, and groped bare foot women deep in the swamps of Louisiana--or was it Georgia?--as they prepared a New Yorker for the hangin' party! One thing was for sure: Joe would never set foot in a swamp!
Joe shifted uncomfortably when Papa Joe, whom sat in the back with Joe, began passing gas in tune to the sounds of a banjo that suddenly appeared in his hands.
The racket of Popa Joe's twanging and dwanging mixed with the roar of the engine and the loud, quick tempo of Davis's hands tapping the dash board as he steered the car with his knees in wide, sweeping, screeching motions across a thin, crumbling, black-top road.
Pigny yelled, "Hey, Mike (Joe's phony ID road name)...he be doin the tune? Eh!"
"Yea man. Cool man. Cool!" Was all Joe could say; his knuckles turning shades of purple and white as he grabbed the seat with both hands... "Cool, I like that music, but listen, hey, Pimgny, I was going to go north... not southwest. You can let me out at the next cross road. OK?"
"His names Pigny, got that? Why don't you drink some of this..." Papa Joe said, handing a jug to Joe. "You'll git where your goin soon enough!"
Joe took the jug, pretended to take a long swallow, then wiped his mouth in the fashion of the trio. With a forced burp, he handed the jug to Pigny and thought his best chance of escape was to get them drunker...unless Davis crashed first!
"Hey, where almost out of gas?" Davis inquired.
"You got some money to chip in?" Pigny "asked".
"I ain't got a plum nickel." Joe replied as his stomach began to twist.
"You gota pay your way some how." Papa Joe said, belching room for another swig of the corn.
"I got an idea..." Pigny interjected, "...we can do the thing using the kid!"
"Yea! Good idea!"
Joe began to worry. What was this great idea that that they had agreed on?
As the car roared on a journey through the outer limits with Pigny and Papa Joe dozing off, Joe set his eyes upon the rear of Davis's head and began to think of a plan. Davis, an eagle eyed, pimple faced guy, with long black hair, whom, unless he was spitting gobs of slushy chewing tobaky, leaving dripping streaks as wide as the tires of the car across his face--which he promptly wiped away with the sleeve of his stained denim jacket-- seemed out of place in this environment of toxic waste. Educated and well spoken, he lacked the "communication skills" of Pigny and Papa Joe--his words did not creep and crawl through a mind field of broken teeth and slurred thought. Joe knew, if he was to escape this cargo of dramatic destiny, Davis was the key to his release. He began to encourage conversation and soon discovered that Davis had been "picked-up" by Pigny and Papa Joe several months before. He was from New Mexico. Said he was a half breed, Navaho and Irish. It had been four years since he began his hike to Michigan and fortune--he had yet to make it! He kept getting blown off course--sounded familiar! This, his most recent detour, was the worst: the guys from New Orleans were using Davis in con games; they drove the entire breadth of the Southeast, drinking, driving, and stopping frequently at large, expensive homes to beg for money...using a teenage looking Davis to plead for "A few dollars to help me an' my son! Or, pulling up to a major shopping center and, after bruising Davis about his body, pretending that "My son just fell and hurt himself..." settling for a cash payoff....
Papa Joe drifted out of his stupor and cuffed Davis across his right ear as he shouted an order for him to "Pull the hell off the highway and head towards those there lights of that damn house on the hill".
Davis was intimidated by Papa Joe; Joe noticed when ever Papa Joe spoke at him, he would begin to stammer. This stuttering seemed to excite Papa Joe in some perverse way. Joe had seen that look before: in Miami--on the predator's face!
"Pull over here... STOP! You, Mike, get out of the car with me".
Once outside of the car, Papa Joe continued, " You just keep your mouth shut" "BAM!" Papa Joe smacked Joe so hard his face reddened and his eyes watered. "That's it, you look perfect, lets go...."
"Knock! Knock!"
"Click. Creak." "Can I help you?" A wary, middle aged woman asked.