Glen Bush

Justice Served

Glen Bush

It’s an ugly story, but it’s my story. Let’s get that straight, Detective, my story, not yours, not some guy at the bar, mine, all mine, for good or bad, mine.

I told him, I says, “Look, Jack, it ain’t gonna work. The odds ain’t right. I don’t wanna do time for sumthin dumb like this. If youse wanna make a little coin to pay off the debt, let’s check on the truck docks, maybe the truck stops. Always a truck carryin’ sumthin worth quick cash.”

“I ain’t got that kinda time. Big Man says I pay by Friday, or I get both knees broke, maybe more. I can’t have that happen. Y’know me, I can’t be spendin’ the rest of my time on crutches or in a damn wheelchair. Can’t do it!”

The beads of sweat were pourin’ down his fat face. His eyes were two big saucers with spots of coffee grounds sittin’ in the middle. Scared. Damn scared. I felt sorry for Jack. He was my friend. We had some good times back in the day. Stole a few cars here and there. Worked a little construction along the river. Even took a trip down to Cancun after we made some good money on a truck heist. Fun, yessireebob, fun. But now, Jack wasn’t havin’ fun. Yeah, after he started hangin’ out at the strip joint on South Broadway, the Girls, Girls, Girls Gentlemen’s Club, things started goin’ south for him. It didn’t begin all at once, nope, not at all. I even went with him a coupla times in the beginning. But I ain’t much for strip joints and gamblin’. I prefer sports bars. If I’m gonna bet anything, it’ll be on the game I’m watchin’, not on one bein’ monkeyed with by a sports mechanic and loan shark like Big Man. I don’t like that kind of trouble. But Jack said he had everything under control. Said him and Big Man were like two peas in a pod. But y’know, my gut told me that wasn’t the story. Guys like Big Man don’t have friends. They got people around them that do this and that and can be replaced just like that (Lew snapped his fingers loudly).

“You want a cup of coffee or a water, Lew? Sounds like your mouth is getting dry.”

I looked up and the detective was pointing toward the coffee pot and the water bottles sitting on the folding table.

“Thanks, Detective. I’d like a cup of that coffee. Cream and sugar, that is, if youse got that.” I thought maybe this cop ain’t all bad. Not all cops gotta be bums.

“Here you go, Lew.” Sittin’ the coffee in front of me, he then stepped back and sat back down in his chair across from me, so I kept on talkin’, tellin’ the three cops what I figured they wanted to hear.

Pretty soon Big Man had Jack doin’ favors for him, y’know, like runnin’ here and there, pickin’ this up and droppin’ that off. Simple shit. Y’know. Next time I see him, he’s throwin’ cash around and sayin’ that rapper crap, y’know, like, hey, it’s rainin’ up in here, real ghetto crap. He had a stripper hangin’ on each arm.

“Jack, where’ya gettin’ all the coin?” I’m about three sheets to the wind, y’know.

“I got the best deal in the world. Makin’ money hand over fist.” Then he stops and looks at me and looks around like somebody might be listenin’ and grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me close to him and whispers, “Lew, you wanna piece of this action. I know ya can use a little sumthin-sumthin in yer pockets. Right, my man?”

And I feel these weights on my shoulders. The good little angel with the white halo on my right shoulder, and the little red one, the devil, sittin’ on my left. They both whisperin’ in my ears at the same time. Do it! Youse need the money! Do it! And the other, whisperin’ don’t do it! It ain’t nuthin’ but trouble! Go home! And I’m steady lookin’ at all that green Jack’s tossin’ around, laughin’ the whole time. What could I do?

So, I sez, “Yeah, hook me up.” The pit of my stomach told me it was gonna be ugly, but I said it.

“Hook me up.” There weren’t never three more deadly words invented to get a man jammed up. Never!

“Hey, Detective, y’think ya could get me a sandwich or maybe a cheeseburger. I’m starvin’. I ain’t had nuthin’ to eat in almost two days, not since Jack and me started playin’ Dillinger.”

“Hey, Joe, bring Lew one of those baloney and cheese sandwiches from the machine.”

“Thanks. Yer a real stand-up guy for bein’ a cop and all.”

Anyways, to make a long story short, I meet Jack the next afternoon over on Grand and Wyoming. He tells me we gotta make four stops, the first one’s down the block. The next three are further south. Ya see, Big Man’s got these bookie joints scattered about the city. Every day one of his cowboys goes and picks up the receipts from the day before. Small time stuff, neighborhood stuff, but when ya start addin’ up the small stuff, there’s a lot of goddam money bein’ gambled by these neighborhood barflies. And Jack’s checkin’ the receipts against the take and throwin’ away the paper and pocketin’ the change. Never a big, big amount, but considerin’ he's makin’ maybe a dozen of these pick-ups a day, seven days a week, he’s makin’ a killin’. Killin’. Ain’t that the truth!

That first day my cut was three hundred. Not bad for two hours of drivin’ around. And, get this, that was a Tuesday, a slow day. Not much action on Mondays. I figured I couldn’t go anywheres but up.

But my up didn’t last that long. Jack was takin’ the money he skimmed off the receipts and started betting on every game that came up on screen. Me? I wasn’t bettin’ but I wasn’t helpin’ or thinkin’. My cut was either goin’ up my nose or into the hands of some hooker. Then Little Man, Big Man’s older brother, started askin’ us questions. At first, he was just askin’ Jack, but then he came around to me.

“Say, Jack, how is it youse keep losin’ on every friggin’ bet but keep comin’ back with more money than you had the day before, and this is what is fuckin’ botherin’ me, you can’t pay my brother the vig on the bets you lost? How is that, Jack? How is that?”

“Little Man, I been collectin’ on some loans to a coupla fellas on the East Side. ’Bout six months ago I loaned them a coupla grand and now they got their shit together and are payin’ me off, bit by bit. Y’know what I mean?”

Jack’s tellin’ me Little Man went for the explanation, but that little angel on my right shoulder, the one with the white halo, is whisperin’ to me that ain’t the real story. Next day, Little Man comes to me and asks me the same questions about Jack. I just tell him I don’t know nuthin’ about Jack’s business and say I’ll let him know if I hear anything that I think Big Man should know. That’s when I started thinkin’ it’s about time to start thinkin’ about movin’ south, maybe Key West or further, maybe the Islands.

“Smart, Lew. Why didn’t you go?”

“I wish I had. But that’s when Jack came to me with the plan to rob that bank. He said he’d seen it in a movie, some damn cowboy movie about how these two brothers would rob banks in the morning when the bank first opened up before many people were around. Perfect crime, he sez to me. Yeah, right, perfect fuck-up!”

“Say, officer, that was a real good sandwich. Thanks. My moms used to make me baloney and cheese sandwiches with catchup. She was a good woman. She’d a liked ’cha.”

“So, what happened, Lew, with the bank? Why’d you shoot that woman?”

“It was a mistake. She shoulda never been there. That’s not how Jack said it would be. And, get this, that ain’t the worst of it. We didn’t know it, but Big Man had been havin’ us followed. So’s even if the bank job would have gone right, Big Man’s fellas woulda popped a cap in our asses and took the coin before we could pay him off and split with the rest. It was a clusterfuck from the word Go.”

Jack puts his piece in the teller’s face and tells her he wants all the money in the counter drawers. Forget about the safe. She’s nervous, but she’s stuffin’ the money into the bag. I’m standing a little to the side, closer to the front door, with my piece aimed at the security guard. The sun’s shinin’ in the window, right in my eyes. My eyes are hurtin’ from the sun bein’ so bright. I’m nervous. I just want to leave, quick. Then the teller accidentally drops the bag and the money spills out on the floor. Jack’s really pissed. He starts yellin’ his head off at her. Cursin’ her out. And then the guard starts to get froggy and tells Jack to watch his language when talkin’ to a woman. Damn! Jack goes ballistic and shoots the guard. Now, I’m really scared. Then, to beat all, the friggin’ woman and the whinin’ kid comes into the bank!

“Lew, grab that bitch,” and he points to the woman and kid.

“What d’ya want me to do, shoot her?” Before Jack can answer, I happened to look out the window and see Big Man’s black Escalade parked across the street. He’s sittin’ in the back with the window down, watchin’ us robbin’ the bank. Holy crap!

“Jack, Big Man’s outside waitin’ for us! Look! He’s right across the damn street.”

The woman starts yellin’ and her kid starts in, too.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I just lost it. My head was spinnin’ like crazy. I was still a little high from the night before. Everything was a blur. The dead guard. The teller. The screamin’ woman and kid. The money on the floor. Blood all over the floor. Big Man waitin’ for us to walk out of the bank. I just snapped and shot the woman. I didn’t wanna shoot her. She looked like decent people, but what was I gonna do? I was scared. Me and Jack was gonna get jammed up. That was my only choice.”

“No, Lew, that wasn’t your only choice. You could have walked out the door and left the woman alive. You didn’t have to shoot her.”

I wish, but, anyways, Jack grabs the bag with the chump change, and we run out the door and jump into our car. We could hear the sirens comin’ from all directions. Big Man is still watchin’ us. We’re in the car, Jack’s drivin’ like a bat out of hell. And I’m not thinkin’ about anything but gettin’ outta Dodge. I’m not thinkin’ about the dead people in the bank or the cops comin’ or even Big Man watchin’ us. I just wanted it all to be over with.

We get to the end of the block and Jack crashes into an oncoming truck. He’s crushed behind the wheel. I’m dazed. Tryin’ to figure out what to do. That’s when I see Big Man standing next to the car, opening the door, and reaching in and grabbin’ the money bag.

“Serves you two dumbasses right,” he says.

I crawled outta the car and pulled my piece and aimed it at Big Man’s back. I figure I can still get the money and run away before the cops get to me. Little Man was watchin’ everything. He let off three or four shots and dove back into his car. That’s all the time the cops needed. Big Man was gone with the money. Jack was dead behind the wheel, and I was hiding in the front seat like a little bitch.

“What d’ya think, Detective? Any chance we can make a deal? I don’t mind doin’ ten, even fifteen years. What’dya think?”

“Lew, you killed an innocent woman and left her eight-year old kid an orphan, and robbed a bank. You’re going to burn in hell. We’ve got the death penalty in this state for guys like you.”

“What? No, man! That’s ugly, real damn ugly.”

“Yeah, Lew, but that’s justice.”

The End

A Long Way from Yesterday

by Glen Bush

Where is Lorrie? It should take her maybe an hour to get here.

What a crazy world. Man, oh man. Waitin’ for my baby, thinkin’ about this morning like it was a hundred years ago. Life! What can I say?

So, here I am, sitting at this bar, my feet firmly planted on the bottom brass rail, leanin’ my elbows on this high class curved oak bar. Diggin’ it. My stubby fingers spinnin’ my double rocks glass, killin’ time, while watchin’ the television. The local news playing. Jenny Big-Tits givin’ the rundown of a warehouse fire across town. Four alarm fire.

Warehouse fire? Ummmm. Wonder if Jimmy Matches helped out with that one?

Jenny’s explainin’ to Joe Schmo and Mrs. Schmo that it’s twelve degrees below zero outside. Yeah, right, Big-Tits, ya think folks don’t know that after freezin’ their asses off in the wind and snow, and seein’ the firefighters tryin’ to keep the water pumpin’ and the ice from freezin’ up their equipment? Watchin’ the flames spreadin’ every which way, I understand why Jimmy took to arson. Good pay. Quick work. And when youse did it right, it was a livin’ piece of friggin’ artwork. Reds, yellows, and greens with clouds of dark smoke—beau-tee-ful. Really goddamn pretty. Not like the stuff I did. Mine wasn’t pretty, like this morning, that sure as hell wasn’t pretty. It was supposed to be pretty. Fun, too. The plan was simple: Go in, flash my piece, say some gangster shit, scare any wannabe tough guys, maybe slap some dude with my pistola. Grab the cash and run my ass out the door like a jackrabbit in heat. Jump in my baby’s ride. Bing-a-Bam-Bam-Boom! Just like always. In and out.

But it didn’t work out that way this morning. Nope. It wasn’t smooth or pretty. Fact is, it was damn ugly.

But not all bad.

Hell, I’m sitting here drinking my Jack and coke with a fresh slice of lemon. My baby’s on her way. She should be here pretty soon. Then we drive to the airport long term parking lot, grab another ride, and head south to white sand beaches and hot sunny days. We can forget about this morning. I’m damn glad I tossed that bank bag into the car before that joker grabbed my sleeve. Why’d that guy do that? He thinks he’s a friggin’ hero? Wanna see himself on the evening news? Maybe get the bank reward? Hey, Joker, it ain’t worth it. He probably has a regular nine to five, and here he goes playing Dudley Do-Right. He coulda just stepped back and let me get in the car and adios amigo. He’s probably got a couple kids and a wife with an extra thirty pounds she didn’t have when he married her. They’re probably sitting outside the operating room wonderin’ what the hell was Pops thinkin’ pullin’ that Hollywood crap.

Where’s Lorrie? It don’t take that long to drive across town . . . even in this snow. Hope she didn’t get into no accident.

This kinda reminds me of my first job with my old man. I wanted to go to school that morning. I remember like it was yesterday, I had this test in history. I liked history. I even was thinkin’ about goin’ to college and bein’ a history teacher. But Pops sez, “Frankie One-Eye’s in lockup. Come on, I need’cha.” Said I was the only other guy he could trust. So, there I was, fourteen years old, sitting behind the steering wheel of our Camaro. Pops said it would be a piece of cake. Quick. The owner would be counting the money from last night’s registers in his office. In and out. Quick. Pops always said things would be quick. Thinking about it now, it was never quick. Pops was no mastermind. He was a small-time crook with a monkey on his back. And that monkey wouldn’t let go.

“Keep the engine runnin’,” he sez. And me, “Sure, Pop.” I didn’t know he was gonna play Jesse-friggin’-James. That plastic grocery bag in one hand, the snub-nose revolver in the other, him blastin’ away into the bar, laughing like a crazy man. Man, oh man, was that fun! I knew right then and there I’d found my life’s callin’. I’d never planned on being a stick-up artist, but, hey, it is what it is. When we found out about a month later that one of them shots hit a man sittin’ at the bar and put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, Pops just shrugged. That was the way Pops was. A shrug and a laugh. He didn’t give a damn about nobody.

Where in the god-awful hell is Lorrie?

Hey, bartender, give me another Jack and coke.

Lorrie, now that’s one damn good woman! I wouldn’t trade her for all the skanks along Broadway. Nooo, sir! She’s a prize. Like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I love that damn woman with every drop of my blood. Pops told me not to get tangled up with no woman.

“She’ll just hold ya back. Keep ya from doin’ whatcha gotta do. Besides, there’s always another woman around the next corner or in the next bar.”

I lived that way most of my life. A couple of them were good women. I’d stay with them maybe two-three months, but then I’d see another one and have to say adios. Some men latch on to a woman, marry’em, have kids, and settle down to a nine to five, or, more times than not, a six to three in some factory. I thought about that, but it never came about. Almost. There was that redhead from Little Rock that said I got her knocked up and she was havin’ my kid. I told her to go see the doc and get it taken care of. We didn’t have time for no kids. She left the next day. Wonder what happened to her? Kid’s probably no good. She wasn’t no mother material anyway. Ahhh, whatever.

“Bartender, can I get a bag of them skins and a bottle of that hot sauce there?”

Where in the hell is Lorrie?

Lorrie, what a woman. She’s as smooth as fine Kentucky bourbon. That first time I seen her in the Purple Parrot I knew right off that she was the woman for me. She had that red dress pulled tight around her like some Italian movie star. The tighter she pulled it, the more it showed her big ass and those big tits. Her long hair draped over her shoulders like a thick fur scarf. It was damn near midnight, and she was still wearing her dark glasses. When she said hello to me, I could see a flash of glitter from the diamond she had pierced through the tip of her tongue. She was my kind of woman times ten. We hit it off like a cuppla high school sweethearts at a Fourth of July picnic.

“Hey, bartender, y’know what I love about my Lorrie? She ain’t never asked me to marry her. No, sireee, never, not one time!”

“Hold on, mister. I’ll be right there. I have to take care of this couple at the end of the bar.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

She never said, “no,” to me about anything, anytime. Even when I asked her to drive the getaway car for me last summer. She coulda said, “Nope, not me,” but she just smiled and kissed me and said, “Sure thing, honey.” We got away with twenty-five hundred dollars and two points of meth and a half ball. Not a bad haul. We sold the junk across town and had ourselves a nice party. That’s when she told me she’d never sell me out. Wow! I loved the sound of that. Other women had told me that, too, but they were sleazes, and I knew they was lyin’. But not Lorrie. She’s no sleaze or liar.

Where is she? We got to get goin’ before the cops figure out who we are. I told her to meet me here in two hours. Drive to the mall, do a little shopping. Stay low key. Where is she?

This morning’s job should have gone smooth, but then. . . Well, what the hell is that? Jenny Big-Tits is talking about us.

“Here we are at the Webster Bank and Trust where two people, a man and woman, robbed the tellers this morning shortly after the bank opened. One man was shot when he tried to stop the robber. The shooter’s accomplice, an unidentified woman, was the driver of the getaway car. She left the scene of the robbery before the man could get into the car. The police think he tossed the bank money into the car before she drove off. A few minutes later the unidentified robber carjacked a vehicle pulling into the bank parking lot. The police are looking at surveillance tapes of the area. They said they were sure they would locate the two robbers.”

The bartender was standing there watching the TV, too.

“What do you think about that, mister? A couple of local Bonnie and Clyde’s trying to pull a job like that. Dumb! With all the cameras and technology around today, this crap won’t work. This is the day of white-collar crime.”

“Hey, as long as banks have money, there’ll always be bank robbers. That’s the way life is. Always been that way. Jesse James, Bonnie and Clyde, and now these two. What’dya know about them anyway? I bet they’re just a cuppla hard-working people tryin’ to pay their bills. Life’s tough on the street. Not everybody gets the same shot as guys like you or them fuckin’ cops.”

“Hey, calm down, mister. I was just saying I didn’t see any point to it. There’re better ways to make it in life today. Jeeeezz!”

“Whatever. Just bring me another Jack and coke.”

Then I felt it, a big meaty hand resting heavy on my left shoulder. I could see another guy in a trench coat standing to my right. He reached over, picked up my drink, took a swig of it, and pushed it out of my reach.

“Bartender,” the guy on the right says, “forget that Jack and coke. Mr. Harold Calo won’t be needing that drink.”

Lookin’ at the two men, I got that sick feelin’ in my stomach like the first time I got pinched. Then I thought about Lorrie. I sure hope she got away. But even if she did get snatched up in some roadblock, she ain’t never gonna talk to cops, no, sirreee.

“Stand up. Harold Calo, you’re under arrest for bank robbery and attempted murder.”

“You got the wrong guy. I been here all day waitin’ for my girlfriend. She’s shoppin’. Ask the bartender. He’ll tell you. Hey, bartender, tell these cops I been here all day, right?”

“Forget about it, Calo. Lorrie’s already told us everything, including how you shot that guy this morning.”

“Yeah, Harold, she rolled on you. Quick. Spilled the whole shitload.”

“What? What? She did what?”

“You heard it right, Calo. She flipped and left you with the rap. Ain’t that a bitch?” Then both of them cops started laughin’.

All I could think was, I shoulda been a history teacher.

The End