The Getaway

NINE

‘It was Carmen’s idea,’ Farrell said. Archer was sitting across from him, Ortiz was leaning against the wall. ‘We were making shit from fighting, and this place isn’t gonna make us rich any time soon. So we started casing houses over in Long Island. It was easy. The owners are hardly ever there, always on vacation in the Hamptons or stuck in some office in the city. Bypass the alarms, avoid the places with guard-dogs and it’s Christmas. We hit four of them in a row. Take the stolen goods and valuables and trade them for cash and you’re laughing. Just like that, we made close to half a mil, easy.’

Archer nodded, glancing up at Ortiz. She sipped her water whilst watching him closely. The harsh naked light from above was accentuating her rock-hard cheekbones and the muscles on her arms. Her dark eyes were expressionless under her brow as she stared down at him.

‘That was so easy that we decided to step it up,’ Farrell continued. ‘Armoured trucks, on their way to the city, running through Long Island on the I-495. Pay off someone on the inside to give you the rotas and personal info on the guards and hit them out there on the road, in the countryside, all alone. Pull up a road-block, take out the tyres, threaten their families, use their names to show you know who they are. All it takes is a bit of background work, planning and some balls and the stash is yours. Doesn’t matter how secure that truck is, you tell the guy inside you’ll kill his family if he doesn’t open up, you bet your ass he’ll open that door.’

Archer nodded.

‘So then we stepped it up again. We started hitting banks.’

‘In the city?’

He smiled and nodded.

‘Not around here. Not our own neighbourhood. But let me tell you, taking a bank, that shit’s harder. But it’s possible. Managers and tellers are ordered by their bosses to comply with any thieves’ demands, which gives us an edge. We know co-operation will happen. Make sure we’re tooled up, disguised, get the bank when the lock on the vault is off, avoid the dye packs and bait money, take the security tapes and we’re home free.’

‘What about the getaway car? Surely you have to ditch it? That’ll leave tracks?’

‘Once we get the money out and into a switch car, Tate takes the bent one over to JFK and parks it in the long-stay parking spots. Right now, there are eight of them in there, all over the lot, amongst all the other vehicles. No one’s gonna find them for months, and there’s no DNA inside that could lead back to us. We make sure of it.’

Archer nodded.

‘How do you clean the money? Surely it’s still traceable?’

‘Once he ditches the car, Tate meets back up with us then does a trip down to Atlantic City with the stash. He stays there for a couple days, trades the money for chips in the different casinos, plays the table for peanuts, then cashes out. Untraceable. The feds and cops figure the money will reappear somewhere and they can trace it back to us. But if they try to track any of the bait money, they’ll end up tailing some fat housewife from New Jersey or some a*shole with a gambling problem living in a motel on the A.C water-front.’

Archer nodded.

‘Clever. So how many jobs have you pulled in total?’

‘Thirteen. Four houses, five trucks, four banks. We’ve made almost five million.’

‘I’m impressed.’

Farrell nodded.

‘But we’re running out of time,’ he said. ‘There’s a shitload of heat coming in from the FBI. They’ve taken us all in, trying to work us over, find a weak link, something they can use. The lead agent is a guy called Gerrard. He’s a real a*shole. Sooner or later, they’ll be waiting for us or he’ll find something to pin on me.’

Archer glanced up at Ortiz, who was still staring down at him, her face expressionless. He pictured her striking the pads upstairs, and shifted his gaze back to Farrell.

‘So why not cut your losses? Get out while you’re still ahead,’ Archer said.

‘That’s exactly what we’re doing,’ Farrell said. ‘Come Sunday night, we’re leaving this city forever and never coming back.’

He paused.

‘But we’ve got a big weekend coming up first. This one will go down in the record books. It’ll be legendary. Saturday is fight night at the Garden. There’s some big concert going on the night before. We’re gonna take the joint just before the fight and clean the place out.’

‘The Garden? As in Madison Square Garden?’

‘The very same.’

Pause.

‘And you know what Sunday is?’ Farrell added.

Archer shrugged. ‘What?’

‘End of the first week’s play at the U.S Open. The tennis tournament, over in Flushing Meadows on the other side of Queens. At 7 pm, an armoured truck is headed for Long Island with the takings from the first week’s play. Millions and millions of dollars. And we’re going to be waiting for them.’

Archer looked at him, genuinely surprised.

‘Are you serious? Two jobs in two days?’

‘Dead serious. The moment after we hit the truck, we’re out of here. We’ll head down to A.C, clean the cash, then we’re going straight to Florida. Get a private jet off-radar to the Dominican, then leapfrog our way all the way to Mexico. Spend the rest of our lives sipping cocktails, living the dream on a beach somewhere, far away from here and the FBI.’

He paused, seeing the look on Archer’s face.

‘You think it can’t be done?’

‘It sounds like a good plan. I hate to be a downer but these aren’t just liquor store hold-ups or house burglaries. You know how many cops are going to be down there at the Garden?’

‘Thirty five. But that works in our favour. We’ll go in as cops. We’ll blend right in.’

‘After you hit the tennis truck, you can’t just drive away. The NYPD and feds will put up roadblocks. They’ll comb the entire State looking for you.’

‘We won’t drive. We’ll fly. We’ve got a helicopter at Flushing Airport, hidden in one of the old hangars. We bought it with some of our stolen cash, and Bill’s taken lessons on how to fly it. The place is deserted. No one ever goes in there. We’ll take that down to AC and over any roadblocks, high up in the sky, undetected, right over their heads.’

Archer looked at him, then Ortiz, who sipped her water, looking into his eyes.

‘Check these out,’ Farrell said, indicating to the blueprints on the table. Archer pulled his gaze from Ortiz, and looked at the sheets on the table-top. Each page was a layout of the lower levels of Madison Square Garden. The background was blue, everything on top white, and they were extensively detailed, showing every room, every area. He saw the two changing rooms, the trophy room, corporate areas, concessions stands.

‘Where the hell did you get these?’

‘Public Library.’

Archer looked up at him. ‘You’re kidding?’

Farrell shook his head.

‘New York Public Library. Withdrawn under a false name so they won’t lead back to us. These are the latest prints too. They were drawn up three months ago.’

Archer looked at the maps. They were forensically detailed and precise, showing every nook and cranny, every side room, every exit.

‘The biggest fight of the year,’ Farrell continued. ‘Not in Vegas. Here. The Mecca of boxing. 20,000 seats, and not a single one of them empty. It’s going to be so busy down there that it’ll work perfectly in our favour. Like I said, we’re going in as cops, blending into the crowd. The plan is me, Carmen and Regan go-’

‘What about Tate?’ Archer interrupted.

‘He’ll be down in AC cleaning the cash we’ve got piled up. You saw the boxes upstairs?’

Archer nodded.

‘Let’s just say not all of them are filled with t-shirts. All that money is backing up and we need to get that shit out of here. Tate’ll do it and get back on Sunday for the tennis truck.’

He pointed to the highest blueprint on the table.

‘Anyway, me, Carmen and Regan will go in. You’ll be parked on the kerb on 33 Street, facing east in a cop car, in uniform,’ he continued. ‘Carmen and Bill will come out first. They’ll load the first batch. They’ll come back and help me with the second load. We take the holdings, throw in the bags, then walk straight out. You get us over the water, we switch the car and get away clean and lay low.’

‘Alibis?’

‘Bought and paid for. We’re all going to be at a fight in East Rutherford. At least ten people saw all of us there. Tate’ll make himself visible in the casinos in AC that night, so his story will check out.’

‘You can’t just walk into the place and take the cash. What’s your plan when you get inside?’

‘Never mind about that. You just worry about getting us out of there.’

Archer thought for a moment.

‘And what about the Flushing job?’ he asked.

Farrell shook his head.

‘Don’t worry about that either. We need you for the Garden, and that’s it.’

Pause.

‘So are you in?’ Farrell said. ‘If you do this, you can either disappear or head straight back to the U.K. You can get your money out through an off-shore bank account, or stay in the country and spend it all. I don’t care.’

‘What’s my cut?’

‘Fifty thousand.’

Archer looked at him. ‘That’s it? Two jobs, and that’s my cut?’

‘I need you for one job. Take it or leave it. I recommend you take it.’ Archer looked at him. Then at Ortiz, whose face hadn’t softened an inch, glaring down at him. ‘We need you pal.’

Archer paused a suitably long time, seemingly making up his mind.

‘OK. I’m in.’

Farrell nodded.

‘Good.’

He rose.

‘You got a phone?’ he asked.

Archer nodded and gave him the number.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ Farrell said. Archer got the message. The meeting was over. Without a word, he rose and moved to the door.

‘One more thing. I meant what I said,’ Farrell said from behind him. ‘You say a word to anyone about this, I’ll kill you myself. You’ll join that a*shole Brown and that fed from D.C who got his head blown off.’

Archer kept staring at the door.

He didn’t turn.

It would show the expression on his face.

‘You got it.’

Then he turned and twisting the handle, walked out of the room.



‘It’s a double job,’ Archer told Gerrard, as they sat in the back of a white van nine hours later. Each man was munching on a foil-wrapped burrito Gerrard had picked up on the way. They were parked in Union Square, and the time was just past 7:30 pm, still Wednesday 31, the last day of August. The heat was clammy and Mexican food probably wasn’t the best choice considering the temperature, but Gerrard had set up a fan in the back of the van and it was keeping them both cool.

‘A double job?’ Gerrard asked.

He bit down into his food, and some guacamole squirted out of the side of the foil and hit him on the shoulder of his black suit jacket.

‘Oh shit.’

Archer passed him a napkin and he wiped the green splodge off his shoulder. It left a stain, however, and Gerrard shook his head and cursed.

‘Goddammit, this is my best suit. Anyway, keep going.’

‘It’s two jobs. The stash-rooms at MSG and the tennis truck in Flushing. The plan is to hit the Garden just before the fight starts. The whole place will be packed and distracted, the takings at the concessions from the night before will be loaded up in the rooms. They’re planning to clean the place out, in-and-out in a couple of minutes. I think they’ve paid someone off to give them access to the lower levels, then they’re going to go in armed in the stash-room and tie and gag everyone inside.’

‘Jesus Christ, they’re getting cocky,’ Gerrard said. ‘And stupid. There’ll be a shitload of cops down there.’

Archer shook his head.

‘Cocky maybe, but not stupid. They’re going for an all-time record. Three jobs in one week, then they’re going to leave the city forever. Farrell knows your team is trying to take them down. He called you a real a*shole.’

‘Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.’

‘He said it’s just matter of time before you manage to pin something on him so he’s bailing out. After the two jobs, they’re going straight to Atlantic City on Sunday, then Florida, and then to the Dominican by private jet. They’re headed for Mexico eventually. Trying to steal enough money in one week to live on for the rest of their lives.’

Gerrard nodded, taking another bite from his food.

‘What about the Flushing job?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. Farrell wouldn’t tell me much about it, save that there’s some kind of armoured truck they’re going after. They’ll try to hit it before it gets to its destination, either on the I-495 or even in Flushing Corona Park itself. Their transport is hidden at Flushing Airport, so they won’t have to go far.’

‘Transport? A car?’

‘A helicopter. They’re planning to fly over any roadblocks at the city and State borders and ride all the way down to AC.’

Gerrard looked at him for a moment, then shook his head.

‘Son of a bitch. A damn fighter shouldn’t be that smart.’

Archer nodded, taking a bite from his burrito.

‘Farrell and his team have a couple of secret rooms at the back of his gym, behind a secret doorway,’ he said. ‘When I was down there, I saw Regan and Tate stitching some fabric on sewing machines. Tate showed us what he was working on. It was a black, long-sleeved vest, reinforced with Aramid and steel-plated body armour.’

‘Like the North Hollywood shootout.’

‘Exactly. They’ve done their homework. I think that’s got something to do with Sunday. I’m guessing that armoured truck from the tennis is going to have armed guards inside, maybe more than usual. I think they’ll try to take them out head on, duke it out with a gunfight. The body-armour is insurance against getting hit. They wouldn’t need it for the Garden heist.’

Archer bit into his burrito again, tasting the warm meat, rice and cheese. It was good, if a little too spicy. Across the van, Gerrard was thinking hard, and seemed to come to some kind of decision.

‘OK. Today’s Wednesday,’ he said. ‘That gives us three days to prepare. We can take them at the Garden. Don’t worry about the tennis truck. They won’t even make it that far. You said they’re going through the Penn Station entrance?’

Archer nodded.

‘Farrell, Regan and Ortiz will go inside in cop uniforms, headed for the stash room. It sounds like they’ve paid off the necessary people to let them inside. Not the guys in the coal room, but the guys who are protecting them I guess.’

‘What about Tate?’

Archer took a bite of the burrito and nodded.

‘That’s the part you’d like. They send him down to Atlantic City every fortnight, packed up with the stolen cash from their previous jobs. He drives slow, breaking no laws, drawing no attention. He spends the weekend down there, passing the cash through the chips at the casinos, then settles up and comes straight back. He’s headed down there the night of the fight. He’s coming back for the main event on Sunday.’

Gerrard nodded, taking a last bite and finishing his burrito, scrunching up the foil.

‘So they want you in the car?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I’ll be kerb-side in a cop car, on 33, facing east. Plan is to move across town as fast as possible and get to the Midtown Tunnel before anyone can close it off.’

‘OK.’

And with that, Archer stayed silent. He took another bite of burrito and looked at Gerry. He’d told him everything he knew.

‘Wow,’ Gerrard said. ‘I’m speechless. Great job kid. This is beyond anything I could have hoped for. You sure as hell take after your father.’

Archer bit into his food, saying nothing.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘OK.’

‘Has Farrell talked about Jimmy’s murder?’

‘He knows about it. He threatened me. Said if I told anyone what I saw or what he told me I’d end up with Brown and the dead Fed, as he put it.’

‘Did you pursue it?’

‘I can’t. It’ll set off alarm bells instantly. I need him to bring it up again, talk about it himself, unprovoked.’ Archer paused. He looked at the older man on the other side of the van. ‘But I still mean what I said to you. I’ll back off, but if he tells me he did it and I’ve got a chance to take him out, I’m doing it. He put a gun to my head yesterday, Gerry. I’m not going to forget that.’

Gerrard nodded, wiping his hands with a napkin.

‘No argument from me. Get rid of Ortiz too whilst you’re at it.’

And just like that, the conversation had ended. Archer finished his burrito, then rolled up the foil, wiping his hands on a napkin.

‘Thanks for the grub.’

‘Least I can do,’ Gerrard said. ‘You’re certainly a cop, kid. It’s in your DNA.’

Archer nodded.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said. ‘Just start getting your team ready,’

‘Good work, Sam. Your dad would be proud of you.’

Archer thought for a moment, then reached for the door handle. He pulled it open and stepped outside into the humid evening air of Union Square.

Slamming it shut behind him, he checked to make sure no one had followed or was watching the van. Satisfied, he tossed the rolled up ball of foil into a trash can beside him and headed off into the night.



Across the street, a woman was slumped down behind the wheel of a silver Ford. She watched the English guy climb out of the white van, slamming the door and heading off across the Square. She stayed still, keeping her eyes on the van, waiting to see who would appear and move into the driver’s seat.

After a moment, a figure in a suit emerged.

It was Gerrard.

She watched him fire the ignition and move off uptown. As he left, she raised herself upright in her seat. So they were working together. That much was clear.

Her eyes narrowed as she thought of the situation and its ramifications.

Gerrard was clever, using the English guy. Farrell would never have seen this play coming. She watched the Brit walk to the subway entrance, disappearing down the steps and out of sight.

And wondered how she could use him and all this to her advantage.