The Lexington Avenue Job

We met in Joe's offices, in the conference room.  Joe's a legit businessman during the day, a property developer, though we weren't there for no legit business.

Joe had assembled the usual gang, the first time we had seen each other in well over a year. Hugo had moved down to Boston, where he owned and ran a bar, Tony ran a small security company in Queens and I was in semi-retirement in Brooklyn, but we all came when we were called, like so many trained hounds.  It was partly the money, partly the camaraderie, but mostly the challenge, we were professional thieves, not the semi-retired, semi-legit businessmen we'd become. 

We were sat round the boardroom table, goofing around before the serious business started. There were two other faces for this job;  Lambchop, a burly seven-footer, ex-college ball player, who'd done a number of jobs for us over the years. 

Then there was the new guy.  Standing next to Lambchop, they looked like a comedy act, he was half his size, scrawny and pressed into an Armani suit, they looked like Arnie and that other guy in Twins.  "This is Turkey," said Joe, by way of introduction. "He comes with the best of references from a brother in Maine.  He's a reconnaissance expert and is helping plan the job.  Any questions?"

Any questions, was Joe's way of saying 'No questions'.  

"Good.  The reason I've got extra bodies is this is an extra big job.  I'm talking Big Money, big, big money, it'll take all of us to carry the cash out, let alone to do the job." Joe paused for us to laugh.  We'd worked together so long now we all told the same jokes.  

"It's a bank.  I know, I know," he said, holding up his hand in mock apology, "corny as hell, risky as heck.  But I've got a contact on the inside, it's gonna be sweet as a candy prison (We had a long standing joke at Joe's luck at never getting busted, we always said that if he ever did get caught he'd get locked up in a candy prison). 

"It's the Standard State Bank in Lexington Avenue, I've got codes, work schedules, spare keys and know how to take out the alarm. More important than that, I've got it on the best authority that there's gonna be a major withdrawal made, in cash, on Wednesday week, some union-busting business that involves paying workers in cash.  But the strike-breakers aren't gonna get paid this time, are they boys?"

We laughed again, then settled to the serious business. At these sort of meetings you don't say much.  Tony and Hugo took notes, I have a photographic memory so I just listened intently and asked the right questions.  Turkey did most of the talking, with Lambchop acting as his assistant, walking round with copies of maps and key-codes, showing us slides of photos of the place and the people.  Joe had even managed to locate some security camera footage from within the bank, just in case we didn't believe him about the insider.

Right from the start I wasn't easy, there was something too good about the job, but I trusted Joe's judgement enough to say nothing.  The meeting went on for four hours, with a break for bagels and root beer, after which Lambchop drove Turkey back to his hotel. 

We followed them out of Joe's building, but instead of saying "See you guys tomorrow," he put on his coat and said, "Come with me."  We walked round the corner to his local diner and got a table for four by the window.  The waiter knew us well enough to leave us pretty much alone when we were talking, which was as soon as our arses hit the chairs.

"You probably noticed something weren't quite right about that settup,” said Joe.  We all nodded, we knew each other pretty well, words weren't too much of an issue in our communications. "Truth is, the bank job's not happening. It's a ruse, smoke and mirrors."  Smoke and mirrors is a term for the conjuring tricks a magician uses, the slight of hand, the distractions.  When Joe used it, it generally meant some way of putting the cops off the scent. 

"I don't trust a tip-off like that: I didn't have to do any work, just handed to me on a plate, with the big fat cherry of a double money pay-off.  It stank of cops."

"I did sort of wonder," said Hugo.  What about Turkey, is he legit?"

Joe shook his big, fat head.  "I don't know.  He sounds clean, works with my friend Tommy, who I trust.  But he pops up at exactly the same time as this job, he's gotta be a rat."

"So why we stringing him along?" it was my turn to speak.

The table went silent as our food arrived, four heaving plates of pancakes and waffles and a jug of coffee each.  

"Smoke and mirrors sonny, smoke and mirrors.  If the cops think we're gonna do this job on Wednesday week, they'll not be expecting us to do a job on the Monday. On Monday, they'll all be catching up their beauty sleep, so they're fit ready for the big day, won't have a clue what hit them.  

Joe explained the plan while we swallowed our food.

“There's a company I’ve had my eye on for years, security firm, a private vault with a few hundred strong boxes, all piling over with cash. I’ve put in a lot of effort, bribed people that work there; I know how to disable the alarms, everything I need to know. The only problem is the security guards, there’s a lot of them, 24/7, all highly professional.” He waved a forkful of pancake at as, as if to underscore the difficulty.

“But an opportunity has arisen,” he continued.  “A couple of the guards play ball for a local team. They’re reached the final of some cup or other and most of the security staff are going to be out watching the ball game.

“Now, this is a high quality security organisation, they've hired replacements and on paper it’s still impossible to take the place.  But here's the thing. I’ve also got a contact at the firm they've hired the backup from, all six of the crew are travelling in the same truck that morning, I know what time they’re leaving and the route they’re travelling.” 

The plan Joe outlined was straightforward. Lambchop was going to take a car and block off their route, a simple roadblock, cause as much disruption as he could, giving us half an hour to walk into the vault, show a bit of shotgun and walk out with as many of the boxes as we could empty.  Simple, but effective, these type of raids can net millions.

The smoke and mirrors continued though, we had to act like we were really planning to do the bank and went through the plan, the rehearsals, everything.  Lambchop and Turkey spent a couple of days staking out the bank.

For all his ways, Joe is something of a religious guy and, if he could help it, never worked on a Sunday, I can't remember seeing him on the holy day more than twice in all our time together.  So when he phoned me that Sunday afternoon I knew there was trouble.  He called me, Tony and Hugo to his boardroom, an emergency conference.

"Turkey and Lambchop have managed to get into a fight in some bar, Turkey pulled out a gun and before you know it there's cops all over them. Turkey's banged up, probably facing five years. Lambchop got away, but he's lying low, can't risk showing his face 'til after the job." 

"So Turkey was a good guy after all?" Hugo said. 

"Yeah, though a prize idiot, getting busted just before a job. That’s not professional. But it works out okay for us, Turkey's sure to tell the cops about the bank and our plan goes ahead."

"What about the security van?" I asked, "who's doing Lambchop's job?"

"That's all sorted too boys, I phoned Dave in Chicago and he's flying out tonight.  This time tomorrow all we'll have to worry about is spending the money."

Chicago Dave was one of the gang in the old days.  Unlike us, he'd really retired and had flown out west where he sits in a house by the sea writing crime novels.  Chances are you've read them, he doesn't use his real name of course, but I recognise some of the jobs he writes about. 

So the job went ahead.  Without the replacement security staff we disabled the remaining guards no problem and piled into the cash boxes.  We don't mess about with lock-picking or no subtle stuff; we used cattle-guns to disable the locks and crowbars to open the boxes, tipping everything into sacks, no matter how precious and fragile it looked.  If we broke a fragile jewel worth thousands it didn't matter a jot, we each had a sack full of equally precious gold, jewels and green stuff. 

On schedule, we ran out fully loaded, straight into the arms of a thousand cops, I swear there were more cops and cars there than if the President himself was raiding the bank.  I looked over to our car, and there's Joe face up against the face of the passenger door being read his rights by a dozen of NYPD's finest.

It turned out that the first the cops knew about the bank, the security boxes and our plan was when Chicago Dave phoned them that Sunday, as soon as he'd gotten off the phone to Joe.  He'd been busted on some dope deal and sold us out to get off.  All our smoke and mirrors achieved was to confuse our plan so much we never had a Plan B in place.  With a bit more care about the raid itself we could easily have got Brendan or Mad Mickey in to cover for Lambchop, but Joe was too wrapped up in the phantom bank job. 

None of us got slung into candy prisons, either.  I got twelve years, Hugo and Tony ten. The cops couldn't prove that Joe had planned the raid, and all he got was five years for being the driver.  Again, stupid of him, there were half a dozen drivers he could've used, but he liked to be there, at the scene, in case something went wrong.  Well it sure did this time. 

If you go into the bookstores today, you'll see Chicago Dave's new novel, just out in hardcover, and be able to read all about it. He's changed the names, even made me out to be an ugly bastard, whereas in real life I'm a sweetie, but the details all there, as it happened, real life crime. If you do get a copy, bring me one, during the next visiting time.  If you could slip a twenty dollar bill in-between pages 235 and 236 it'd sure come in handy too.