Sweet Dreams, page 19
“We wear caps, try not to show our faces, take the money, and run. Look, if you’re not up for it, if you’re too much of a pussy, I’ll go by myself, show you how it’s done.” Lowell thought he was tough and didn’t like it when someone talked to him that way, questioning his manhood.
Two days later, ten at night, Ray entered the 7-Eleven, passed the cashier, a short hairy man of Eastern European descent, went to the back wall of the store where the cooler was, and stopped. There on the shelf to his immediate right was a 1.25-gallon container of 100 percent pure soybean oil. The label said “Use for salad dressings, cooking, baking, and frying.” And Ray wanted to add, “Creating a diversion when you’re robbing a convenience store.”
The problem: Lowell was late as always. Ray waited a couple minutes before unscrewing the cap and emptying the oil on the tan tile floor and dropping the plastic container into the widening pool of liquid.
Lowell was in the candy aisle when Ray moved toward the cashier. “Sir, you have a big problem in aisle three. Someone spilled something and it’s a mess.”
The cashier looked at him like he didn’t believe it, but locked the cash register with a key he slid in his pocket and followed Ray. The man stared at the mess and swore in a hard, guttural language.
Standing behind him, Ray said, “I hear you, but there’s another more pressing problem that needs your attention.” He aimed the revolver at the man and pulled the hammer back. “Who’s in the backroom?”
The man pointed at Ray and said, “fuck you,” but with his accent it didn’t sound right. Ray stepped forward and drove the butt of the gun into the cashier’s head and the man went down into the pool of vegetable oil. Now Lowell appeared, tearing open a candy bar, and said, “What the hell’d you do to him?”
Ray crouched, reached his hand in the cashier’s pocket, grabbed a wad of bills and the cash register key. “Take him in back and tie him good.” Ray threw him a roll of duct tape he’d found on aisle four.
“What’re you gonna do?” Lowell said.
Ray was cleaning out the cash register when a police car parked in front and a cop entered the store and glanced at him. “Where’s Kosta?”
“He wasn’t feeling well, went home.” Ray told himself to stay cool, thinking that if the police knew a robbery was in progress, the cop would’ve come in with a gun in his hand.
“You new here?”
“Hi, I’m Bobby. I started a few days ago. Kosta asked me to close for him.”
“Is the coffee fresh?”
“I think so. Try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll make a fresh pot.” Ray’s main concern was Lowell seeing the cop and doing something dumb.
The cop poured a cup, sniffed, and said, “It’ll do.” The man brought the large coffee and two donuts to the counter and reached for his wallet.
Ray glanced down and noticed a revolver on a shelf under the register. “No charge, Officer. It’s the least we can do for keeping our neighborhood safe,” Ray said, laying it on heavy.
“Thank you, son. I appreciate that. Give Kosta my best.”
Ray examined the matte black .32 pussy gun he found in the store, spun the cylinder that had five rounds, and put the hammer on an empty chamber the way Jerry had taught him. He laid it on the table in front of Lowell and regretted it immediately. He wasn’t sure if giving Lowell a gun was such a good idea.
Ray counted the money at the kitchen table while Lowell rolled a joint and took a monster hit. “How much we get?” The words drifting on the jet stream of his exhale.
“Twenty-two hundred and seventeen dollars.”
“That’s all?”
Lowell handed the joint to him and Ray shook his head. “If this is a typical day, the store makes eight-hundred grand a year. But I agree with you. It isn’t enough. Too much risk for too little reward.” The other problem was Lowell. He was a wild card. The situation tonight had been a little hinky. Robbing a store was all about timing and Lowell wasn’t where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there. He also seemed buzzed. “You didn’t by chance spark one before our first attempt at armed robbery, did you?”
Lowell, taking another bodacious hit, said, “What do you care?”
Ray didn’t say it, but Lowell was part of the problem. This wasn’t the time to get into it. Ray wanted Lowell in control of his faculties when he brought it up.
The next morning, after Lowell apologized and promised he’d never get high before a job again, Ray decided to give him another chance. It was easier with two of the them as long as they had their shit together.
Ray, wearing a Miami Dolphins cap low over his eyes, checked out a Walgreens in West Palm Beach. There was a cashier near the front door and an old man in a green vest ringing up a customer’s purchases. He walked toward the back, where two pharmacists were working behind a high counter.
There was another cashier at a register next to the pharmacy where customers picked up prescriptions. He had to believe there was a safe somewhere in the store. Ray pretended to look at greeting cards while he watched people pay for their drugs.
Everyone, customers and employees, was old. Ray thought he brought the median age down to about eighty-two.
When he went outside Lowell was sitting on the hood of the car, smoking a cigarette, talking to a cute blonde wearing shorts and a bathing suit top. Lowell saw him, said something to the girl, and she walked away. “How’s the store look?”
“You didn’t go in?”
“If you like it,” Lowell said, “I like it.”
“Who’s the girl?”
“Little spinner. Name’s Caprice. Is that cool or what?”
“What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her anything. She walked by, and I said hello. We were just talking. I asked if she wanted to hang out later.”
“Did you tell her your name and where you live?”
“Nope. Didn’t go there.” Lowell dropped his cigarette butt on the parking lot and stepped on it. “You’d like some of that, wouldn’t you? Well, you’re in luck, ’cause she’s got a friend.”
Ray’s first thought was to wear a ski mask, but where was he gonna find a ski mask in South Florida? His second thought was to wear a fake beard and glasses, and that actually made sense. He bought disguises for both of them at a costume shop on Federal Highway.
Ray put his on in the motel parking lot and walked in the room.
Lowell, startled before he recognized him, said, “Jesus, you look like a homeless dude.”
“Then they’ll underestimate me, won’t they?”
“Seriously, who’re you supposed to be?”
“A lumberjack.”
“A lumberjack in West Palm? You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“I got one for you too.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to attract attention. We walk in the store lookin’ like ZZ Top, and you don’t think that’s a problem?” Lowell lit a cigarette. “I’ll do my own disguise.”
They hit Walgreens just before closing. Ray parked in the strip mall lot. Still in the car he turned to Lowell and said, “Remember, all you have to do is lock the door, tie up the cashier, and empty the register. If you can see with those sunglasses on.”
“Why’re you talking at me like I’m some goddamn kid?”
“I want to make sure all the bases are covered before I put my ass on the line.”
Ray entered the store, passing the cashier, a girl in her twenties with white blonde hair that had streaks of purple. He moved along the pharmacy area to the register. No one was there. He stepped behind the counter. The two pharmacists, a man in his fifties with readers on the end of his nose, and a younger woman, were preoccupied filling prescriptions.
As he got closer the woman noticed him, and in a condescending voice said, “Sir, what are you doing? You’re not allowed back here.”
“I think under the circumstances you’ll make an exception,” Ray said, pointing the .38 at them. “What I’d like you to do is get on the floor.” They stood frozen, eyes glued to him until Ray clicked the hammer back and now they went to their knees. “On your stomach.” He duct-taped their hands behind their backs and their legs together. “What’re your names?”
“Alejandro,” the man said with a Spanish accent.
“Natalie.”
“I like that. And you can call me Bobby. You see? Now we’re friends.” Ray paused, looking at the drawers full of drugs. “All right. Aside from the three of us and the cashier up front, who else is in the store?”
“No one,” Natalie said.
“Are you expecting anyone? Anyone being picked up?”
“No,” she said.
Ray could see her face, eyes straining to see him. “You’re sure? ’Cause if someone unexpected suddenly appears, you’re the one I’m gonna shoot first.”
“I have a daughter.”
“Congratulations. You want to see her again, do what I tell you.”
“There’s no one.”
“Hey, Al, she telling the truth?”
“Yes, of course.”
“All right, where’s the safe?”
Silence.
“It’s not your money. Why put yourselves at risk? Think Walgreens gives a shit about you?”
“Is there in the cabinet,” Al said, tilting his head toward it. “The top one, push the right edge.”
Ray did and it opened and there was a safe in the wall behind it. “What’s the combination?”
“We don’t know,” Al said.
Ray rotated the cylinder and clicked the hammer back.
“Six right, ten left, eight right,” Natalie said.
“See how easy that was,” Ray said. “How much is in there?”
“We don’t know,” Al said.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll find out soon enough.” Ray opened the safe and was stuffing stacks of bills in his backpack when Lowell, wearing mirrored aviators and a Florida State cap, entered the scene.
“The hell’s taking so long?”
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting—an important man like yourself. Why don’t you make yourself useful, clean out the register behind you and go sit till I’m done.”
Ray emptied the safe and zipped the backpack closed. He fit strips of duct tape over the mouths of the pharmacists and walked out. No sign of Lowell. And then he appeared coming down an aisle with a box of Hershey bars.
“What’re you doing?”
“You think I’m gonna pass up free chocolate bars?”
They went out the front door and walked to the car. Ray popped the trunk, dropped the backpack in, and closed the lid.
Lowell had a joint in his mouth before they walked in the motel room and lit it as the door closed. “How much you think we got?”
Ray dumped the contents of his backpack on the table. “A lot.”
“Ho-ly shit,” Lowell said.
“Gimme what you took out of the registers, or better yet, count it yourself.” Ray divided the cash into thousand-dollar stacks. When he was finished there were seventeen and a smaller one with $486. Seeing the piles of money reminded him of playing Monopoly. Only this was real.
Lowell sat on the couch counting out loud and swearing.
Ray said, “What’s the problem?”
“I keep losing my place.”
“That’s cause you’re high as Zeus. Bring it over here.”
When all was said and done Ray glanced at Lowell. “What would you say if I told you we got eighteen thousand three hundred and fifty-one dollars?”
Lowell, still holding what was left of the joint, grinned big. “Are you shitting me?” He shook his head in disbelief. “We’re rich. We’ve got to celebrate. I’ll get some party favors and call Caprice, tell her to come by with her friend.”
“Don’t mention the money.”
“Come on. Why would I do that?”
“’Cause you like to show off.”
After the girls arrived—Caprice, who Ray had seen, and Lotus, a sexy little Oriental—Lowell popped the cork on a bottle of sparkling wine and poured some into four plastic cups.
“Wow, champagne,” Caprice said. “What’s the occasion?”
“You’re here,” Lowell said.
They drank the sparkling wine, smoked weed, and paired off. Lowell and Caprice went into the bedroom. Ray and Lotus sat next to each other on the couch. Lotus was skinny but she had shape, a nice ass and great tits. She was pretty, too, with long dark hair past her shoulders.
Ray told her about running away from the orphanage, and she told him about leaving home when she was eighteen. Her parents believed women should be subservient in the old-fashioned Japanese tradition. Lotus, who had been brought up in Atlanta, thought of herself as an American and wanted to be free.
Now she worked as a secretary at a law firm in Pompano Beach and shared an apartment with Caprice.
“What do you do?” Lotus asked.
“I buy cars, fix them up, and sell them,” Ray said. He’d been thinking about it as a way to someday legitimize his life. After all those years helping Jerry, he knew he could do it. All he needed was money, some working capital—which he now had, courtesy of Walgreens.
Thirty-four
Charlie drove and Kate sat next to him. Yumi was in the back of the minivan in a transport cage that had mesh screens over the windows and a steel partition behind the front seats. They had picked her up in the sally port at the county jail. Kate insisted Yumi wear street clothes, wanting her to get a taste of freedom after being cooped up for days and some added incentive to help them find Ray. Judge Gant had arranged to have her released into their custody for the day.
Charlie cruised along Grand Boulevard to the Fisher Building, Yumi staring out the side window, looking at old buildings that had once housed machine shops that made parts for the auto industry.
“Anything look familiar?” Kate said, turning, looking at her through the mesh screen.
Yumi shook her head.
“You sure this is where it’s at?” Charlie said, flashing a look of doubt.
Now Kate was wondering why Ray Skinner, who was fanatical about covering his tracks, would show Yumi something that might one day incriminate him. Kate couldn’t imagine Skinner trusting her. He didn’t trust anyone.
Charlie made a U-turn, drove past the old GM building and past Woodward Avenue. “I think it’s up here. Take a right on Brush,” Yumi said, pointing at a two-story brick building with glass block windows and a vacant parking lot.
Kate held Yumi in her gaze. “Does anyone live upstairs?”
“No, it’s just empty rooms.”
“Why did Ray bring you here?”
“He had to drop off a car. I was following him.”
Charlie parked on the street and they got out and walked to the entrance. Kate knocked on the door and they waited but nobody came. They had a warrant to search the premises. Charlie went to the car, got the breaching ram out of the trunk, and opened the front door. The lobby was empty. On the other side of a glass partition was a room full of cubicles with desks still in place.
Charlie led them through a door into the shop, a big room with an expansive concrete floor that had faded outlines where machines used to sit.
“What did Ray do here?”
“Changed the license plates and worked on the engines to make sure they were in good shape and wouldn’t have problems when we were driving away from a bank.”
Kate moved toward a wooden work bench along the far wall and saw tools scattered here and there. Charlie was across the room, opening drawers in an old metal desk.
“I have to use the restroom,” Yumi said. “It’s through there,” she said, pointing toward the hallway that led to the front of the building. Kate followed her to the door, checked the room, and then watched Yumi enter and close the door behind her. She had an idea what was going to happen next but waited for a few minutes before knocking. “You okay in there?” She heard the toilet flush. Kate gave her a little more time and then said, “Yumi.” No response. Now Kate turned the handle, but the door was locked.
•••
Yumi unlocked the window and struggled to open it. The frame was warped and it wouldn’t budge. She was nervous, trying to hurry, knew she didn’t have much time. She grabbed the brass handles. Lifting with her legs and all of her strength, she felt the wood give. The window moved a little and then a little more. Yumi heard Marshal Kate’s voice, flushed the toilet, and lifted the window high enough to slide through.
She crossed the street and ran along the sidewalk as fast as she could. At Baltimore Avenue she stopped, lungs burning, bent over, hands on her knees, trying to get her wind back. There was a house that was almost hidden behind trees and overgrown shrubs. The windows and doors were covered with sheets of plywood. A scruffy white man about fifty sat on crumbling brick stairs, smoking and watching her. “You okay? Need some help?” He stood and moved toward her. “What’re you doing around here?” Studying her, he said, “Lost, huh? Why don’t you come over here. Sit, have a smoke, make you feel good.”
Yumi turned, looking back the way she had come and saw the marshals’ car and now she ran down the street and hid behind another abandoned house. She was exhausted and afraid. She couldn’t go back to jail or she might kill herself.
The marshals didn’t see her, their car continuing on, giving her temporary relief until she saw the man again, unsteady, coming toward her through the tall grass.
She took a couple steps to her left, going along the side of the house, and the man moved with her. “You in trouble? I seen the police looking for you.” He moved closer to her. “I got a place I can take you, they never find you.” The man spread his arms open. She could see his heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes. And she could smell him, the foul odor of sweat, and something stronger, like decaying meat.
