I guess it all started when I was eighteen. I'd spent the best part of my childhood growing up in the Bronx. It wasn't always the safest place to go out at night but I was happy. Heck, I'd give anything to have those days back if I could. I was a happy kid with a bright future ahead of me. I was top of my class in most subjects. I took the garbage out for my mom and I had a steady girlfriend. As far as I was concerned, life was perfect. But that was the problem. It's when you're happiest the most that life fucks you in the ass and makes you its bitch. And boy, was I getting fucked.
Most kids that I'd known at school would love to brag about their dads. I'm telling you, that's all they'd talk about. They'd boast about all the money they earned, the jobs they did, stuff like that. But that's one thing I could never do. Brag about my dad. You see, my dad was an asshole. A degenerate gambler. A bottom of the barrel loser who loved to drink. And when he drank, he became a mean son of a bitch. He was hot tempered and would beat my mother just for burning the dinner. One time he beat her so bad that she couldn't see out of one eye for a whole month. The neighbours did nothing. They couldn't care less. It just wasn't proper in them days. Shit like that was between a man and his wife. And it only got worse. By the time I was fifteen, my dad was out of control. If there were nine bets on, he'd bet them all. And when he lost, which he usually always did, he'd drink six or seven beers with his friends and then half a bottle of whisky for desert when he got home. That's pretty much all he did and there was nothing my mother could do to stop him. I mean, my father was a big guy. He had fists like sledge hammers. He broke a guy's jaw once just for cutting him off at intersection. That was the type of man he was. Nice one minute and then a complete fucking psycho the next.
Don't get me wrong, my mother was no saint. She gave as good as she got, believe me. For every vase he broke, she'd break two. For every door he'd slam, she'd throw something through a window. She always seemed to be angry about something. Sometimes it was cause we didn't have a lot of money. Other times it was cause she'd find lipstick on my dad's clothes. And the rest of the time, she was angry that my dad didn't spend enough time with me and my brother. Which was partly true. I mean, the guy was out the house more times than he was in. Sometimes, I didn't even blame him.
The problems didn't end there though. When you're a degenerate gambler like my dad, you need money all the time. And when you've borrowed from every friend, bookie and shark in the city, who else can you turn to? The bank? Don't make me laugh. A job? Not in this lifetime. He turned to the only people he could. The only people who would lend money no matter what your credit rating, no matter what your skin colour or background. He turned to the mob. Or Cosa Nostra, as they like to call themselves. These weren't your average loan sharks, believe me. These guys ran the city. Murder, extortion, racketeering. Heck, it was all just business to them. The only mob family in our area was the Romano's. They were run by Louis Romano, one of the most feared men in New York. You wouldn't think so, to look at him. He was in his seventies but don't let that fool you. He'd just as soon kill you as look at you. His whole crew were like that. Every day in the papers there was a new story and every day nobody did shit. It was this big secret society that everybody tried to ignore. They weren't like you saw in the movies. They didn't walk around in pin stripe suits or go to the store with a gun in their hand. I mean, you could live across the street from a Romano gangster your whole life and you wouldn't even know it. But my dad knew it. He knew one of our neighbours was an associate of theirs. So what does the stupid son of a bitch do? He borrows money from them. And when he can't pay them back? He borrows even more. Now he's got a problem. The mob don't exactly like been paid in instalments. So here's how it works. One day they'll send over a few guys who'll break something you like, just to show they mean business. A car window or something like that. If you still don't pay, they'll send over a few guys to break something on you. An arm or a rib. Never a leg. A broken leg might mean they never get to see their money. If by this time you're still stupid enough not to pay them, they'll pop two in the back of your head. Sure, they never got their money back but it'll make anyone think twice about not paying them in the future.
So my dad, selfish prick that he is, gets us all in the car and he just drives. I lost everything. My girlfriend, my friends at school, my grades. They were all gone just like that. Now we had to live in fear, on the run from the most dangerous organization in the country. I hated him. He'd ruined my life. He'd ruined me. Every day I wished he'd just go to hell, but the truth was, I was already living there. Rochester. It's a small city at the other end of New York State and it was horrible. A real fantasy land for nine to fivers whose only future was feeding ducks in the park. It was like New York City but without a pulse. The first day we got there, dinner was a hot dog served without bread. Kill me now.
1978
Rochester, New York
For any other kid in our area, it was just a normal Friday morning. Get up for school, eat your breakfast, kiss your mother goodbye and then your off for a day of flag worshipping or whatever other bullshit they make you do at school. But for me and my brother, things were a little different. You see, this was an important day for us. A day we'd planned for weeks. Our family didn't exactly have a lot of money. Sure, my dad had stopped gambling left, right and centre but he only worked in construction and the pay sucked, it really did. I'm surprised my dad could ever afford the house that we lived in. Granted we didn't live in the nicest of areas but the neighbourhood was mostly Italian and my dad loved the place just for that reason. He always believed that people should stick with their own kind and would try and cement the idea into my head that the Italians were the best thing to ever happen to America. I'm serious; he had so many good things to say about Italy you'd think he was actually born there.
Anyway, where was I? I keep losing my train of thought. Oh yeah, right. The plan. Well rather than bore you with the details, I'm gonna cut right to the chase. Me and my kid brother were gonna rob a bank. Pretty cool, huh? Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking we were just dumb kids with an even dumber plan. But you're wrong. I'd thought this thing through and I'd gone over it a million times. I even knew who was working the tills that morning and the local police response time to a 10-43. I wasn't no schmuck like those niggers who risk twenty five years to life for a measly sixty bucks. When I saw my future it didn't have me serving Big Macs at McDonalds or pouring drinks in some shitty bar. I was an eighteen year old who was actually going somewhere. Cause while the kids at my school saw themselves as fire fighters or cops, I saw myself with money and power. And of course women. Plenty of women. The only way to get these things where I grew up was to become a criminal. That was the only answer if you wanted to get ahead. How else can a person survive in this day and age? Day jobs? Please. The working class are no different than bums. They struggle to make ends meet and work themselves dizzy just to put food on the table. Fuck that. I'd rather be dead.
So anyway, that was the plan. Me, my brother and a few of my friends were gonna walk into the Bridgewood Savings Bank and walk back out again with more money than we knew what to do with. There was just one slight problem with my amazing plan. My parents. The day didn't exactly start off the way I'd liked. First of all, my father lost his keys. He was always losing his keys. He had a shitty memory which was probably due to all the booze he drank. So, from the moment I woke up it was clear that he was pissed off. I did my best to avoid him but when I got to the kitchen I was starting to wish I hadn't. My mother ran at me before I even had a chance to sit and boy was she not happy. She's bitching at me about this and that and screaming, "that's coming out of your allowance" like I actually gave a fuck. What the hell am I supposed to spend one dollar a week on anyway? A gallon of milk? As soon as I got the money from the heist I'd be gone.
By the time my brother came downstairs it was 8:03. Finally. Time to catch the bus. But that's when my parents started yelling at each other. And every time we go to leave, my mother screams at me and my brother to sit back down which gave me a bit of a dilemma. You see, I came up with the whole heist idea. It was my plan from the start. If I don't show up on time then the other guys'll probably think I chickened out and then go to class. Which cannot happen. This heist should have been done yesterday and I wasn't about to wait until tomorrow. No way. I didn't wanna live in that house a minute longer. What was I supposed to do? Run? Maybe I should have but instead we waited. And waited and waited. They went on for something like a half hour back and forth. It was horrible. I kept watching the clock and the more I did the more I began to panic. 8:15... 8:25... Fucking 8:35. And then it happened. My dad caved. He was gonna take us to school which meant heaven forbid he was actually gonna have to spend a little time with us. My heart bleeds for the guy, it really does.
I felt like I was gonna vomit. We were actually gonna rob a bank. That's a fucking scary thought, I can tell you. My brother Robert wasn't exactly taking it well neither. We didn't say two words the whole way to school. The rest of the day seemed like it was years away. When you're stood in a huddle outside a cafeteria talking about how it's gonna go down, it all seems so easy but now I was starting to have my doubts. What if when I walked into the bank I just collapsed or worse yet what if the entire building was surrounded by cops. There wasn't exactly a how-to guide on this sort of thing that I could look to for tips and I started to wonder how John Dillinger felt the first time he robbed a bank. When we finally pulled up outside the school I almost vomited right there in the car. My brother got out first. He didn't even say goodbye. He hated my dad even more than I did. But before I could get out the car my dad's grabbing my arm and I just sat there expecting nothing more than a shit load of abuse. So what came next was a hell of a surprise I can tell you. He actually showed me concern.
"Hey," my dad said, letting go of my arm, the two of us sharing eye contact for the first time in days. "You getting bullied or something? Is it that kid from down our street again? Dobson?"
"No dad," I told him. "He don't even go to our school no more. I ain't getting bullied or nothing, alright? Everything's fine. I mean it."
"Cause you know if he is, I can go talk to his father. Straighten him out."
"Everything's fine. I swear."
I knew from the way he's gazing into eyes that he didn't believe me, but then he says, "Alright then. I'll be here at four. Remember to wait around the corner. You know how much I hate traffic."
Making my way off the back seat I shut the door behind me. I remember standing there, watching as his car disappeared around a corner. What can I say, I was shocked. I kept thinking to myself, did that just happen? Had my father actually given a damn about my wellbeing for the first time in years? It didn't matter. He was still a loser working minimum wage. There were better jobs out there and he hadn't even tried. But then again, what kind of job would he do? I couldn't imagine him as a cab driver or a cop. And anyway, if he was a cop, he'd have to wear a uniform and he'd always said that uniforms owned you, you never owned it. Although, he already had a gun, that much I was sure of. Me and my brother were looking for Christmas presents one year and we stumbled across an M1911 pistol. I remember this clearly, almost like it was yesterday. Mostly because my father had beat us so bad that for weeks we'd had to hover over the toilet seat just to take a dump.
"Bout fucking time you got here. What? You forget the way?"
I turned around and there's my friend, Adam, walking down the school steps, arms outstretched, face like a gorilla. He wasn't very tall for his age but he made up for that fact with brawn and a lot of kids feared him at school because of it. Adam Pacelli. The flaw in my beautiful plan. The guy had a real attitude, I can tell you. He grew up in Brooklyn and he loved to remind us of that fact every day. He had these farfetched stories about fights he got into and would say, "It's the most dangerous place on Earth. My mother had a gun on her just to do her groceries". His dad was a cop and the way Adam described him, you'd think he was a US Marine or something. He told us that his dad got transferred here to reduce crime cause he was the only guy who could handle the job but the way I heard it, his dad got a little trigger happy with some spooks.
"We got a problem," my brother Robert called to me. "A big fucking problem."
"I was starting to think you two weren't gonna show," Adam said. "You scared the shit out of me."
I dropped my backpack and removed a half empty packet of cigarettes. "We ran into an issue. It's no big deal, okay?" Then I noticed something I didn't like. I could see Adam and Robert. Plus I could see John, my other friend if you wanna call him that. But somebody was missing. "Where's Larry?"
"That's the problem," Robert answered.
This was bad. But before I even had a chance to think, Adam's screaming, "That fat fuck. I knew he was gonna bail. What'd I say last night? Didn't I say we should cut him loose? This is fucking our shit up big time. Without him were screwed. Okay? Screwed."
Whilst Adam's rant was the last thing that I needed right now, it was without a doubt true. Larry was the most important person in my plan. Without him, we didn't have a gun. Without a gun, we didn't have a leg to stand on. The Bridgewood Savings Bank had a guard, sometimes two. Larry's absence was anything but good. And then it happened. The school bell.
"Shit," Robert said, coming down the steps to join us. "What are we gonna do? Go to class?"
"Not in this lifetime," I replied, trying to think. "We're gonna have to wait."
"I'm not waiting outside the school," Robert told me like a pussy. "I get caught out of class and that's it for me. No meeting with the principal. No letter home. I get chucked out. Do you understand what would happen to me if dad found out I was chucked out?"
"Okay, okay. Quit the melodrama for Christ's sake. We'll stand over by the football field. If butter butt shows up we should be able to see him from behind that fence. Now be quiet a sec. I need time to think."
Quiet wasn't exactly a word in Adam's vocabulary.
"Three weeks we planned this," Adam was yelling as we crossed the street. "Three fucking weeks. And what does he do? He bails on us. Now all we got are ski masks, two knives and a fucking ballpoint pen that brains here," he said as he pointed towards John and then continued, "thought would look dangerous. This is the biggest fuck-up in the history of fuck-up's. I mean were screwed. We may as well just go to class and pay allegiance to the flag cause I'm shit out of ideas, okay?"
"Just relax alright." A few people in a nearby parking lot were looking in our direction and I didn't like it one bit. "Shut up a second."
"Relax? How can you be so calm about all this? Yesterday we had the greatest plan since Columbus decided to take a boat ride. Today were skipping class to stand behind a fence. I mean this is fucked. Really fucked."
Once we were all hidden from view, I finally lit my cigarette, taking a better look at my surroundings. The fence ran the whole length of the football field and I was sure we'd see Larry coming from a mile away. Thinking to myself as I smoked the most glorious cigarette of the day, a realization struck home. What if Larry had been caught and he had told his parents everything? Would they call the police? Could the cops be on their way to arrest us all, right now?
"What're we gonna do?" Robert asked. "We can't just stand here all day."
"I like it here," John said with that grin of his. "It reminds me of the fence at my house. Except ours is white. My dad didn't like fences but when he left, my mom got a big one. She let me paint it. It was fun. You've got a fence, haven't you Adam?"
John Winter. Poor John. What a case. John was retarded. And I don't mean he acted like an idiot. I mean he was actually retarded. There wasn't exactly a lot of help for it back in them days. He got different homework to the rest of us and during gym class he'd pretty much just sit there with that crazy grin across his face. But still, most of the time he was just like any other kid in our class. I don't really remember how it happened but one day after school he just started hanging around with us. Adam didn't like it at first. He said John made us look bad but after a while he came around to the idea. John was one of us from that day. A part of the gang. Sure, some of the kids still mocked him every once in a while but once we got through with em', they wouldn't even blink in his direction.
"Quiet," I said, wishing they'd all just sit down so I could forget them, at least for a few minutes. "I need time to think."
"The time for thinking is over," Adam cried. "The time for thinking ended with that school bell. I say we just do this thing right now. Fuck Larry. It means more money for us anyway."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let me see if I'm hearing you right. You wanna walk into a bank at ten in the morning with two knives. Is that what you're saying?"
"Don't forget the ballpoint pen," John added.
"Fuck the ballpoint pen," I told him in frustration. "What are you gonna do? Draw them a picture? This plan sucks. I say we just wait here to see if he shows up. If he does, he does. If he doesn't, then we call the whole thing off."
"After three weeks?" asked Adam. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Yes, after three weeks. I ain't going to jail. Do you know what they do to you in there? To hell with that. I think I'd rather go to class."
A few moments passed in silence. It was starting to look like Adam had nothing to say to this until he blurted out, "I can't believe what I'm hearing. This whole thing was your idea. Don't you forget that. I don't even need the money as much as you guys. I get five dollars a week allowance."
"And?"
"And I was perfectly happy with my five dollars until you came along."
Is this guy for real?
"Get the fuck out of here," I yelled at him. "We're talking thousands of dollars and you got your head up your ass over five bucks? I can't believe this. I'm working with a bunch of amateurs."
"Sure," Adam sneered at me. "Cause you're a real expert when it comes to robbing banks."
I'd heard enough. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? "You know what. Why don't you just fuck off. Do us all a favour. You've done nothing but bitch and moan for the past three weeks and frankly I'm sick of it. I put this whole thing together. You think it really matters to me whether or not you come along? Even John'll be more use than you with his fucking ballpoint pen."
"Really?" uttered John. He smiled, showing each of us the gaping hole that was once his two front teeth. "Thanks."
"Shut up John," I told him, turning on Adam, fists clenched. The rage that was building up inside me was too much to bear. "If you wanna go, then just go."
"Why don't you make me?"
It happened in an instant. I don't even remember who swung first. All I know is we lunged at each other, brawling like animals, fists flying, shirts ripping. It was a horrible sight. John was hysterical, jumping up and down, screaming for us to stop. Robert was doing everything he could to try and break it up. He's yelling, "come on guys. Were supposed to be friends," as he dives between us, trying his best to create some sort of distance. Then we froze, all of us, each staring at the brightly coloured backpack that had landed on the ground beneath us. There were more sounds. Shoes scraping against wood, heavy breathing and cursing. For a brief second, I half expected the cops to appear, guns raised, badges showing. That was until two chubby hands grabbed the uppermost part of the fence. Nobody said anything. We just waited and watched, disbelief etched across our faces. An overweight kid had just landed on the ground beside us, breathing like it's going out of fashion.
"Hey," he said. "What's going on?"
Almost a half hour late and yet there he was, looking like he just received his first blowjob. Larry Hogan. The fattest kid in school. Kids like Larry, there's two ways they go. Either they get laughs or they get laughed at. Luckily for him, he was a regular comedian. Unlucky for me, he was an irregular moron.
"Hey? Where the fuck have you been?"
"What?" Larry asked. "I got here as fast as I could. I had to wait for my dad to leave the house. Were you two just fighting?"
"You're over twenty minutes late," I told him. "We were about to call the whole thing off. Jesus, am I the only one taking this thing seriously?"
Larry arched his eyebrows. "What's up with you? You look like you're about to have a heart attack or something. I'm here now aren't I? What did you think? You think I'm just gonna take this from my dad's dresser while he's getting ready for work?"
This new information was like a magnet. "You actually got it?"
"Was there ever any doubt? Of course I got it." The fat fuck was loving this. He always loved been centre of attention. He removes a .38 Special from his backpack, raising it in the air like it's some kind of trophy. "Ain't she beautiful?"
"Alright, yeah," Adam agreed, "now can you just stop pointing her at me."
"Don't worry about it," Larry told him. "My dad never keeps his gun loaded."
I froze on the spot. "You brought the bullets through, right?"
"What, am I speaking in tongues? I just said he never keeps it loaded. There are no bullets. What you see is what you got."
"I don't believe what I'm hearing. You brought an unloaded gun to an armed robbery? Do you know how fucking stupid that sounds? We may as well have just brought water pistols and have done with it."
"Don't worry about it," Larry said, unfazed by my cold eyes staring back at him. "When they see this beauty, they're gonna shit their pants. And besides, you never said anything about shooting nobody."
"Just when I thought you couldn't get any more stupid," I snapped, "you go and do this." Now I'm pacing up and down, weighing out the pros and cons, lighting myself another cigarette. This wasn't exactly how I'd planned it. I'd underestimated the stupidity of my friends. Something kept telling me to walk away, to go back to school and pretend this never happened. But it wasn't as simple as that. My dad had ruined my life. This was my chance to get it all back. "Alright, look, fuck it. Let's just do it. Right now."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. Just do me a favour, okay? Put the gun away. Don't be a stupid motherfucker, you wanna get us arrested?"
As we made our way to the bank I could tell Robert was itching to say something. He kept opening his mouth, seeing the look on my face and then closing it again. He'd been like this for three weeks now, adding nothing to the plan, just agreeing with everything I said and pointing out what could go wrong. I was starting to regret ever bringing him on board.
"Can I talk to you?" he finally asked.
"Can't it wait?" I said.
"No, it really can't. Look bro, I'm all for getting rich, you know, getting out of town and all that. But there's other ways to do it. We could get jobs-"
"Don't do this to me now. I don't wanna hear that shit. We're doing it, end of story."
In under fifteen minutes, we could see the bank. The streets seemed quiet, a car or two here and a car or two there. Only a few stores were open and those that dared were deserted. The timing was perfect. It had to be now. We stood in this shitty alley, secluded and dark, each passing around ski masks and psyching ourselves up for the task ahead.
"Okay," I said proudly, "we all ready?"
"Let's just do it," Adam answered, taking deep breathes.
"I think my hats upside down," added John.
We each shared a chuckle. It was the first time we'd laughed and it felt good. But it didn't last long. Robert's thrown his ski mask at the ground and he's shaking his head furiously. "Screw this. This is madness. I'm not ready. I'm not ready at all. What if we get caught? I'm really starting to think this is a bad idea. People have gone to hell for less than this."
"Will you stop been such a pussy," Adam told him. "Grow a fucking pair, will you."
"Robert," I said. "Come on. This is just nerves talking. There ain't no chance of us getting caught."
Now he's pacing up and down. I thought he was gonna cry right there and then. "That's easy for you to say," he tells me. "You don't even have a record. They'll throw the book at me. I'm telling you, I got this feeling in my stomach. Something bad is gonna happen. Look. Maybe we haven't got over the plan enough, you know. If we just give it a couple more weeks-"
I couldn't believe it. Twenty feet away from the bank and he's pissing his pants. I swear I'm cursed. "There ain't gonna be no couple more weeks, you understand? We're doing this now."
Then lard ass starts pussying out too. No way John Dillinger had to put up with this shit. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow," he says. "Go over the plan a few more times. You know, just to be safe. I mean, your brothers got a point. This don't feel right."
"Jesus Christ," I'm screaming. "You guys are gonna kill me before I'm nineteen. We really don't have time for this. We've gone over the plan a million times. We go in, we split up, we cover all sides of the bank. It ain't exactly rocket science. If any of them press an alarm, we put them down."
"Down?" Adam repeats. "What do you mean down? We kill them?"
"No we don't fucking kill them. We just hit em."
"Hit them? Hit them with what exactly?"
"A pillow. What the fuck do you think? Use your imagination." You see what I gotta put up with? It's 9:58 and we're still going over the plan. "It's time. Now come on."
"No," Robert said. "I'm not going."
I kicked the wall in frustration. It might seem a little childish when you think about it but put yourself in my shoes. "You wanna stay here all your life?" I screamed at him. "Is that what you want? To live with those fucked up excuses for parents? Well not me. You hear? Maybe you do but not me. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of watching our dad drink himself to death. I'm tired of our dad beating the living shit out of us but then telling us not to cry too loud cause our mom's worried about what the neighbours will think. And I'm really tired of not having any money. I mean, look at us Robert. Don't you wanna know what it's like to live a normal life?"
"Normal?" He starts advancing on me, disgusted and angry. "You call this normal? You're stood here talking about robbing a bank like it's an everyday thing. There's people in that building right now who you're gonna traumatise the shit out of just so you can lead a normal life. You don't see anything wrong with that?"
"You know of all the people here, you're the last person I'd expect to walk away. My own brother. I guess it ain't true what they say. Blood ain't thicker than water."
"You see. You're not even listening to me. All you care about is yourself. You couldn't give a fuck about me, Adam or Larry and you damned well don't give a fuck about John. Have you actually stopped to consider what'd happen to him if he went to jail?"
Fuck him. "I think it's time you left."
"Don't worry, I'm going." He grabs John by the arm and starts dragging him to his feet. "Come on."
"Where are we going?" John asked, his smile withering in confusion.
"I'm taking you back to school."
"Leave him alone," I shouted. "Let him make up his own mind."
This was madness. The bank was so close. Ten minutes and we'd be counting our money. The thought of getting caught didn't even matter to me. It was worth the risk. When you turn your back on nine to five's and taxes, you gotta be willing to take a few risks.
"I'm going too."
Larry jumps on the band wagon and it tore me a new one. "I suppose you're next," I snarled, turning on Adam who was been a little too quiet for my liking.
"They have got a point. And my mother'd be heartbroken if I went to jail," he said. "But fuck it. I'm still in."
Thank god. I was starting to think I'd have to rob the bank all on my own. "Bro," I whispered, wondering how it had come to this. If I could just convince him, convince them all. "Come on Robert. This is our last chance to get it all back."
"I'm sorry," he replied.
They walked away, leaving me and Adam alone, hidden in shadow like vermin. I wanted to follow them. I wanted to catch them up and start joking around, to tell them they were right and I was wrong. But I was angry. I'm throwing my arms in the air, screaming at the top of my lungs, "Fuck you then. All of you. You think we can't do this? The two if us. Huh? I'm Carlo Ralieri. That names gonna mean something in this town. You all stay here. Me? I'm going to the top. I got the fucking best of the best coming to me." I didn't mean it. I was letting my emotions show and it made me vulnerable. I wanted them to hurt like I was hurting.
