My Cut (872 hits)
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Rating: 1.93 on 33 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2007-09-11 18:53:13 EDT
I was finishing the last cut when I felt a gentle tap on one shoulder. I kept the torch steady and eased my head out of the hole, raising my faceplate and visor.
It was Colorado, looming over me. "Nearly done?"
I looked beyond him and saw Jersey holding his rivet-gun, giving me a wide-eyed stare.
Without turning around Colorado said, "You finished those rails yet?"
Jersey didn't say anything, but he bent over his rivet gun pretty quick, firing rivets into the concrete floor, securing the tracks that led back to the freight elevator.
"Just finishing up," I said.
"Why did you stop using the plasma torch?" Colorado crossed his arms, looking down on me and frowning, like a CO. "Isn't it faster?"
"You want to discuss techniques, or do you want to walk through this door?"
Colorado's left eye scrunched up, almost closing. Jersey had told me about that. Watch the eye, he'd said. When the eye gets twitchy, watch your ass.
"The plasma needs that big power source," I said, hooking a thumb over one shoulder at the torch and the cables attaching it to a heavy cube of red metal. "I'm halfway inside the door. I can reach the pins easier with this oxy-acetylene handheld. In another minute I'll have the pins disengaged. Then you spin the wheel, open the door, and the vault is yours."
Colorado didn't say anything. He took a few steps back, still watching me, still making me feel like I was back inside, on toilet or mop detail.
We'd been having little confrontations like that for weeks now. Colorado would pull his Alpha dog bullshit and the other guys would cave. I wasn't in his face, but I wasn't taking his posturing crap, either.
We were supposed to be in and out in under an hour, before any security sweeps came back this way. I was right on schedule.
Washington and Kansas had finished putting together the last cart. The carts were made of heavy-duty polyurethane, squat tubs on wheels that were big enough to hold a body and strong enough bear a thousand pounds. They set the carts on the rails just as Jersey stepped back. Delaware was a shadow in the corridor, holding the sawed off twelve gauge Mossberg he called his pigmy pump.
Connecticut was upstairs, waiting by the truck. The truck was full of dirty air filters. A building like this went through a lot of air filters. We were going to drive out of the building along with all the other commercial traffic, just another bunch of service technicians doing their jobs.
I finished cutting and shut off the torch, backing out of the cut in the vault door.
I felt the concrete under my feet shudder. It almost seemed to bow and flex like plywood.
"What the hell was that?"
"Relax," Colorado said. There's parking above us. Probably a rig passing overhead.
I held my breath, listening, standing completely still.
"Look at this pussy," Colorado said.
Jersey showed a big toothy grin, but his eyes were wide. Scared.
Colorado grinned. He brushed by me, almost knocking me off balance, and then turned the big wheel. The massive door swung open in silence.
The manufacturers of the vault created an almost impenetrable cube. All six walls were sandwiches of concrete, steel, and titanium.
They also chose a locking mechanism that was a breeze to defeat, if you knew what you were doing. That two ton door was just a head game. It looked big and imposing, but it was weak in the guts.
I cut out its guts.
Colorado started snapping orders to the other guys in the crew, checked with Connecticut on the radio, connected with everyone but me. These guys were a team. I was the new guy. Colorado didn't trust me.
Jersey told me their last cutter had done something to piss off Colorado. The crew boss had shoved a torch into the cutter's mouth, angling the flame upward. Jersey said the flame had baked the man's brain. Colorado didn't let up until the man's hair caught fire and the bones of his skull cracked like dinner plates left in the oven too long.
"Still, he delivers the goods," Jersey had said.
The crew went into the vault, rolling the tubs right up to the door on Jersey's rails. They started loading the first tub.
I felt another one of those jolts.
Alarms started going off nearby, and a garbled voice made an announcement through an overhead speaker. Something about a fire.
"Concentrate on your business," Colorado said. "There's always some jerk-off tripping the fire alarms in a place this big."
Colorado counted as the men placed bars of solid gold into the tub.
"We aren't taking all of it," Colorado had told us a week ago, when all of our preparations, the fake IDs and uniforms and the building access permits, were confirmed. "We just take enough. Enough that we can manage. Enough so we can disappear and never lift another heavy thing as long as we fuckin live."
I packed up my gear and asked Colorado if he needed anything.
"Yeah," he said, reaching into his nylon windbreaker. "You can fuck off."
He was holding a gun on me. Some fancy new automatic. It looked like it was made of plastic.
I don't like guns, and I never use them.
"What about my cut?"
"Fuck you," Colorado said.
We stood staring at each other a long time. The only sounds were the hum of air in the HVAC system and the muted clink of gold bars, heavy and delicate at the same time.
The first cart was rolled down the rails. The men began loading the second one.
"This isn't right," I said. I was fucked. Colorado's crew, Colorado's gun.
"Fuck off," Colorado said. "I do my homework. I know where you live. I know you got an ex-wife and a kid in Chicago and your old momma living in a trailer park down in Tallahassee. Walk away now, don't say a fuckin word to anyone, ever, or I fuck them up, then you."
"What about my cut?" I had to ask again. Even staring at that sleek automatic in Colorado's hand, I had to ask again, because this is what I do.
Colorado made a little shoo-fly motion with the gun.
"Jeez," Jersey said, "Boss, maybe just one bar, you know, give him one and tell him to blow." He was holding a gold bar. The bleak light of the fluorescent tubes overhead settled on the bar soft and warm, like melted butter.
Colorado looked back at him and Jersey shut up, dropping the bar in the second cart.
"Your cut," Colorado said, as both carts were loaded into the freight elevator, "is that you get to live."
I left my gear. I left everything. Colorado wouldn't even let me ride the freight. He directed me to a stairwell. I went up a few levels, stripping off my gloves and cap and grimy jacket, hoping my jeans didn't look too dirty. As I was approaching the concourse level, pulling on a tie and straightening the collar of my button down shirt, I could hear some commotion.
I stepped out into a wide space of shops and walkways, surprised to see so many people running around when they should have been at their desks.
The place was a mess. There was water leaking from pipes, some shop windows had shattered, and a guy in a nice suit walked by, one hand holding a briefcase, the other holding his rolled-up tie against a bleeding gash in his forehead.
I thought about going back and warning Colorado that something was up when a Port Authority cop waved a hand in my face and told me to clear out immediately.
Somebody shouted that all the elevators were messed up.
There was a lot of yelling. A lot of alarms.
When I got outside I looked up.
All I could do was stare.
After a few minutes I got out of there. I walked a few blocks, found a cab, and went to a greasy spoon I knew in the East Village.
I was just settling in to a plate of eggs when a waitress turned on the TV and I got to watch the South Tower come down.
Every time September 11th rolls around I wonder if Colorado and his crew made it out of there. There's no way I could ever know either way. They might have, but I doubt it. They had to ride the freight elevator up to the truck, load the truck, clean themselves up, and then drive out.
I don't think they had enough time.
So here I am, six years later. The only guy who got away with his cut. Your cut is that you get to live, Colorado had said.
I'll take it.
http://www.911review.com/motive/gold.html
User Reviews
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2007-09-12 20:07:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2007-09-12 19:53:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i like it
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-09-12 18:28:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
more surprising than The Crying Game
Submitted by Respek (user info) at 2007-09-12 15:22:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
well played.
Submitted by wookie (user info) at 2007-09-12 15:17:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-09-12 14:57:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2007-09-12 11:06:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
1 BAJILLION shades of awesome.
Submitted by mikethescottish (user info) at 2007-09-12 10:21:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Bloody great.
Submitted by interloper (user info) at 2007-09-12 09:59:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2007-09-12 09:06:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by crosschris (user info) at 2007-09-11 23:22:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Exactly the reason to view posts on Uber
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2007-09-12 09:05:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
saw it coming but still quite excellent.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2007-09-12 09:00:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very good.
Submitted by creep_firebombing (user info) at 2007-09-12 07:33:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Natures_Biggest_Mistake (user info) at 2007-09-12 04:41:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Jimmy Macleroy: "Get out of my face!"
Chaz Michael Michaels: "I'll get in your face"
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2007-09-12 04:25:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
FOR THE WIN!
Submitted by RabiedRooster (user info) at 2007-09-12 04:00:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WINNAR!
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2007-09-12 03:17:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well done.
Submitted by Creepy_guy (user info) at 2007-09-12 03:14:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
A damn fine read
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2007-09-12 00:25:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fantastic man, good work.
Submitted by ilikesteak (user info) at 2007-09-11 23:46:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Thanks Jack. Inadvertently gave me an idea. Like static from getting socks from the dryer, but without the fun of electricity. Also, static is green. Found out the fun way.
Submitted by crosschris (user info) at 2007-09-11 23:22:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Exactly the reason to view posts on Uber
Submitted by jamowilly40 (user info) at 2007-09-11 22:05:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WTFINRAT!
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-09-11 21:22:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The rating you always deserve. . .
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-09-11 20:46:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Let's see if THIS works...http://www.ubersite.com/m/111636
Submitted by beer-turtle (user info) at 2007-09-11 20:38:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Jack...a stunner... I like the twist.
Submitted by Zampano (user info) at 2007-09-11 20:02:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
A stretch, but a nice read, just the same.
Submitted by BranDo (user info) at 2007-09-11 20:02:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
he's a wobber!
Submitted by SunnyG (user info) at 2007-09-11 19:45:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
pretty sweet!
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-09-11 19:23:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
far fetched but a decent read.
Submitted by sideshow (user info) at 2007-09-11 19:19:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Awseome!
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2007-09-11 19:02:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Yozz (user info) at 2007-09-11 19:01:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cool as shit.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-09-11 18:53:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'll be the first to admit this requires some suspension of disbelief.
Still...