A serialized novella in twelve parts
Stiles returned with the guns.
It took everything they had - the guitars, the drum set, the amps they had, and about $20 in cash. Ryder figures once they do the heist, they’d have more than enough to get them new gear and bus tickets to Los Angeles. Stiles was all-in. “New York is over,” he’d said. “Too competitive.” NATO would find its audience on the west coast.
Ryder’s hurt over Kristen had morphed into a sort of hopeless anger. Somewhere in the back of his head a voice was telling him this is all a really bad idea, this heist. But Stiles, self-destructive to a fault, was so excited it was easy to just go with it.
Stiles had pawned the gear and picked up a battered walnut-handled .38 Special and a matte black Vietnam-era M16.
The idea came to Ryder when he was up on the roof listening to traffic. He confirmed it over a week of surveillance. An armored car visited Hudson Bank on Avenue C two times a week, one of those times being 4pm on Thursdays. Stiles figured it was dropping off cash to cover Friday payday, and Ryder thought that sounded right.
The armored truck didn’t look anything close to top-of-the-line, and probably the guards weren’t either.
The armored truck turns onto Avenue C from Houston. Liberty Secure Systems is painted on its side, along with an image of the Statue of Liberty so faded she looks like a ghost. Everywhere else is covered with graffiti. The company does not care about any of that, it just has to run. Which it does, passing East 2nd St, gears grinding.
At the next red light, the driver - name tag reading Mackey - lights up a cigarette. His partner - Reyes - checks his watch. “We’re four minutes early,” he says. Mackey gestures at the traffic lights. “It’s gonna take us at least that much time to get there if we keep hitting reds,” he replies.
“Should I call it in?” Reyes asks.
Mackey laughs. “Over a few minutes? Knock yourself out.”
Reyes doesn’t call it in.
Three blocks north, Ryder lights a plastic bic and waits under he hears the truck coming up the block. He lights a wad of newspaper and drops it into the shopping cart. Earlier that day, he and Stiles had fun collecting stuff off the street they figured would burn well. A gutted couch cushion, newspaper bundles tied up with twine, the remains of a particle-board bookshelf. They siphoned a little gas earlier in the day to make sure everything catches.
He grips the handle of the cart and runs out into the street. About five feet in he tips the cart, spilling fire across most of the street. He continues on to the opposite sidewalk and pulls the .38 from his waistband.
Stiles was three seconds behind him, the M16 in his hands. The armored truck had reflexively slammed on the brakes when Mackay saw the fire, but he’s trying to get it moving again. Piece of shit truck can’t get moving that fast. Stiles has plenty of time to get into position off its left front bumper and level the rifle at the two men. They both show their hands.
As per the plan, Ryder’s made his way to the rear of the truck and fires a single round into the lock, shattering it. He pulls the doors open and is relieved to see there’s no third guard riding with the money. Another one of Liberty Secure System’s cost-cutting measures, no doubt.
Ryder pulls a military surplus canvas bag from his jacket pocket and starts stuffing cash into it. They decided not to be greedy - fill just the one bag and then bug out as quickly as possible.
He calls to Stiles and the two of them start running down the street towards the FDR, the canvas duffel bouncing on Ryder’s back with each step. They could hear Mackay yelling after them, sounding far away. The whole thing took them no more than 30 seconds. Stiles was laughing like an insane person.
Ryder trips over a broken bit of sidewalk and goes down hard, his knee exploding in pain. The duffel opens, spilling cash across the concrete. He and Stiles stuff most of it back in and resume running.
Stiles is laughing hysterically.
Ryder’s just thinking about Kristen.
##
