CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Ryan? Ryan, it’s me,” whispered Jeffrey into the darkness of the building. He watched as his brother walked out between two rows of pallets piled high with electronics, guns, and, most likely, drugs.

“Are you okay?” asked Ryan. “Did you see Mom?”

“I’m good, and no, I didn’t see Mom. I can’t get inside a prison right now, Ryan. We can figure out how to get her out later. Are you guys ready for tonight?”

“We’re ready,” said Ryan. “Are you going to be able to get inside that evidence warehouse?”

“Don’t worry about that. I have everything I need. Once we get in, I’ll take care of the guard, and you guys get your shit and whatever else you want. Just follow through on what you promised, Ryan. I want my money.”

“You’ll get your money,” said his brother.

They couldn’t have been more different in appearance. Ryan favored his father, who had also been in a gang. He was covered with tattoos, even on his face. He had piercings everywhere, and his clothes always looked dirty even after they were freshly washed. Their mother thought he hung the moon. Probably because he was always giving her money.

Jeffrey was different. Tall and slender, he only had one tattoo, and that was of a nude woman. It was face down on his abdomen. Her head turned to the side with her mouth wide open right at the appropriate location of his hardened cock. He got a kick out of it. Women did not.

Growing up with Ryan was hard. Older by three years, he was always more adventurous, rougher, harder. Their mother didn’t seem to mind at all. It reminded her of her one true love, Ryan’s shithead father, who left her pregnant and alone, sending a few hundred bucks via a courier every few weeks. That was all she got for raising his bastard child.

Jeffrey’s father was the owner of a local hardware store. He was respected, kind, hardworking, and the target of The Silencers. Not willing to pay their protection money, Ryan and his buddies killed him late one night, making it look like a robbery. It didn’t matter. Jeffrey knew. But he couldn’t be angry with his brother. His father should have given them what they wanted.

The number of times he’d kept him out of jail was mind-boggling. Moving evidence, having ‘conversations’ with witnesses, all to make sure big brother stayed out of prison. This time would be the last. He tried to see the faces of the men and women behind his brother, but they were careful to stay in the shadows.

“Where are the old geezers?” he grinned.

“They’re your age, Ryan,” frowned Jeffrey.

“I don’t give a fuck. Where are they?”

“I left them in a trailer we’re renting. We’ll be at the warehouse for you to get your shit. Don’t worry.”

“And what happens after that? Where are you going?” asked Ryan.

“Mexico. Maybe South America. I don’t know yet. South is about all I can tell you right now. I’d sure love it if you came with me, Ry.”

“Fuck that!” his brother scoffed. “This is my life, you know that. You could stay and join the club.”

“I can’t. My face will be everywhere. I’d only put all of you in more danger. I’ll give each of the others some money, and we can all do our own thing.”

“What the fuck does it matter? They’re all dying, aren’t they?” laughed his brother. Jeffrey once again felt the stab of his brother’s absolute coldness. He looked down at his feet, wondering if he was really doing the right thing. Of course, no one ever really taught him what the right thing was. That was the excuse he was running with, even as a grown man.

“Yeah, they’re dying. We all are, Ry. I’ll be at the warehouse by eleven.”

“Be there, bro. I wouldn’t want to have to come after you,” smirked Ryan.

The pit in Jeffrey’s stomach only grew as he drove back toward the trailer park. He watched his mirrors, checking for police cars. He kept his speed low enough to not be noticed but not high enough for a ticket.

Stopping for food, he filled the grocery basket and felt the pit grow wider. What did it matter? He’d be gone by tomorrow, and they’d be on their own. None of them would make it. Not one. He loaded the groceries and filled his gas tank before the last leg back.

When he opened the door, their faces were somber.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Mac left. Said he was holding us back,” said Ed. Jeffrey stared at them, nodding. He wasn’t wrong. His coughing was an identifiable feature that someone would be able to pin to them.

“He’s a grown man. He can make his own decisions,” said Jeffrey. They all stared at one another, then back at him.

“He was our friend,” said Ed. “He was the man who helped us the most.”

“The most? I think you’re confused, Ed. I’m the one that’s been helping the most. You guys wouldn’t have been able to figure out any of the technical aspects of these jobs. I bypassed the traffic lights, the alarms, all of it. Because of me, we got in and out, and no one suspected a damn thing.”

“Maybe not, but it’s not all about manpower, Jeffrey. It’s about being a human being. A good man. I’m just now remembering that we forgot to be good humans during all of this. We set out to help people, not hurt them.”

“In case you missed it, none of us is good any longer. None of us! We’re bank robbers, murderers. That’s what we are. You two got all nervous with those agents and killed them. Not me. I told you to let me teach you how to use the guns, but you got cocky about it.” He shoved his hair back, tired of arguing. “We can’t worry about it now. Let’s fix ourselves something to eat and rest. We need to be at the warehouse by eleven.”

“Then what?” asked Helen. He stared at the woman, her skin sallow. Her kidneys were going fast, and she’d be lucky to make it the week.

“We split the money, and you go your way, I’ll go mine.”