Ray crossed his arms. “What if something goes wrong?”
“Ain’t nothing going wrong,” Porter said.
Ray stirred his coffee as sea gulls circled overhead. “And you think we can pull this off?”
“I know we can,” Porter said, nodding and smiling. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Next you’re gonna tell me it’s an easy score.”
“No such thing as an easy score. You ever hear me say that?” Porter asked.
Once again Ray turned away. “But what if something goes wrong? Something happens we didn’t anticipate?”
Porter shook his head and his attitude hardened.
“Don’t think too much,” he said. “You stay cool and focused and it’ll be fine. Do this right and you won’t even need to show your thirty-eight.”
“Then what’s the point of carrying it?”
“We went over this a million times,” Porter said, his voice rising. “You’re on the outside. The outside guy is the lookout. You don’t need to pull your gun.”
“No reason to pull your gun if you don’t have to,” Porter added as an edge crept back in his voice. “Shit like that increases the odds of something going wrong.”
“And once we do this job, we can get out of here?”
Porter smiled. “We do this score and we’re gone,” he said. “Get on the Turnpike and head anywhere you like.”
“As long as it’s warm. I don’t want to be up here for the winter,” Ray said. “Really don’t like the cold.”
“Any place you want,” Porter said again, reaching for the pack of Camels.
“Maybe California,” Ray said. “Got a sister out there I haven’t seen in years.”
“That’s okay by me,” Porter said.
Ray walked to the railing at the edge of the boardwalk.
“We can have it all,” Porter said. “Anything we want.”
“Just don’t want to lose,” Ray replied. “Every time I think I’m winning it’s just one more thing to lose. Something else they take away that I can’t get back.”
Porter got to his feet, reaching out a hand. “You got to stop thinking that way. It’s different this time.”
“It’s always different,” Ray snapped, turning a shoulder. After a long silence he asked, “Okay if I get more coffee?”
“We got time.”
They went back to the table and sat. Ray stared at the ocean while Porter looked for clues in his expression. He struggled for something to say but came up with nothing, so he let the moment drift away and sipped his coffee instead.
Ray leaned back in his chair and sighed, laying his hands across the table and tapping his fingers on the menu while the waitress refilled their coffee.
Ray smiled brightly to thank her.
Porter reached into his jacket and felt the forty-five. The weight of the gun pulled on his jacket and he buttoned up, distributing the weight evenly to minimize the bulge. He could feel the ski mask inside the other pocket and tried smoothing out the wrinkles. His tee shirt was moist and damp, and he wiped the sweat from his face with one of the paper napkins.
“You okay now?” he asked.
“Better,” Ray nodded. “Maybe we got enough time, we can hit the slots again. Kill a little time?”
The gun was comfortable in his hand and Porter liked the way his finger felt against the trigger.
“Sure. Why not?’
“Good,” Ray smiled as he reached for his coffee cup. “I’d like that.”
“It’s gonna be okay,” Porter told him again. “Nothing to worry about.”
On the last morning he would ever know, Jimmy Waters hit the snooze button too many times until he woke in a late-for-work panic. His boss was a no-nonsense company prick. Everything was important – from the black polish on his shoes to the way each guard uniform was pressed to the creases in their pants. An ex-state trooper who forgot sometimes he was running Boardwalk Hall’s security detail – not pulling guard duty for the Governor. Waters had been late three times this month and was out of excuses – this time the guy would be all over his ass, especially with the concert that night.
Waters had covered for somebody the night before, picking up his shift so the guy could celebrate his wedding anniversary.
He made it to the shower, thinking that marriage was still one big pain in the ass. Nothing good about it for anybody.
The hot spray brought him back and Waters remembered his own anniversary a year earlier. It had been a romantic dinner, a long walk on the boardwalk holding hands and talking quietly, then slow dancing at one of the clubs off Pacific Avenue. He remembered the scent of Angel on Donna’s neck and the way her hair smelled when she buried her face in his shoulder while they danced. Like they were the only two people and nothing else mattered.
Like their love was so strong it would last forever.
Didn’t last another month.
All he had now were angry texts, late night messages, and letters from lawyers. His mailbox bulged with envelopes filled with motions or interrogatories demanding answers he didn’t know. Or letters from lawyers wanting money he didn’t have, for fees he couldn’t afford. Once Waters believed he would love Donna deeply and forever.
Now he felt only anger, bitterness, and betrayal that left an emptiness in his chest and a hole in his wallet.
Love wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Waters tucked his shirt in his pants, grabbed his keys, and hurried out of the house. He just wanted to get through his shift.
He wasn’t a real cop but he wasn’t one of those guys pretending to be more important than he was, either. Other than breaking up fights and tossing out drunks, he spent his shifts patrolling the hallways and checking the ID’s of kids trying to sneak beers from the concession stands. Over a year on the job and he had never even drawn his gun.
The last thing he wanted was stress or aggravation – marriage had given him enough of that to last a lifetime.
He wanted the day over before it began.
Five minutes.
If everything went right, they would hit the cash room inside five minutes and get away without attracting attention.
Noise from the morning news program echoed throughout the hotel room until Archer hit the MUTE button – the sound disappeared although the images continued silently across the TV screen. Lady GaGa was in town. It was all over the news and on every channel. He took a final drag on the Camel, holding the smoke in his lungs until the nicotine burned, then let it out before crushing the butt in the ash tray. The whole time he was thinking about Ray instead of the job.
Something about him was slightly off – hard to put a finger on exactly what that was, but it was the kind of thing that could create problems.
Archer stood naked in the center of the hotel room and watched TV. Boardwalk Hall was sold out, with twenty thousand teenagers ready to drop cash for tee shirts, jewelry, caps, and all kinds of crap with GaGa’s name or face on it. What they didn’t spend on souvenirs was going towards snacks, food, and drinks at the concessions stands.
All that money in one place.
It was a perfect plan.
Simple, well-thought out, and so precise in detail there was no way it could go wrong; as long as they didn’t get sloppy or careless.
“Hit the place before the doors open,” Porter had said. “Nobody’s gonna expect that.”
Porter had worked in Boardwalk Hall for eight months; he knew where the money was counted before they dispersed it and how the guards patrolled. Knew where the hidden security cameras were located. More importantly, he had a master key pass card that opened the cash room door.
They never expected anybody to walk in and rob the place before the show. Certainly not two guys with guns and bad intentions.