Part 9 (1/2)

”So, I thought you might like to go on a little field trip,” Souther continued.

Souther's odd suggestion piqued Aaron's interest and he looked at him. ”What do you mean, a field trip?”

”I have a problem, you see,” Souther explained. ”It takes at least three men to pull a bank job, and well, I'm a bit short handed at the moment.”

Aaron paused. ”I saw two men with you last night. Counting you, that's three.”

”Observant,” Souther said. ”However, I have other business to attend to today and won't be available.” He looked at his watch. ”It's eight o'clock. You'll leave here in an hour.”

”Why would I want to help you rob a bank?” Aaron said stupidly a he had forgotten for a moment the dire situation he was in.

Souther leaned forward and grabbed him by the jaw with a grip that might have torn off his face. ”Listen, punk,” he said, eyes flat. ”If you think I don't know where your mother is ... think again. I'm not asking you to help me, you little s.h.i.+t ... I'm telling you, okay? So shut-the-h.e.l.l-up and cooperate.” He released Aaron's chin with a jerk, then turned and started up the stairs. ”And if I were you,” he added over his shoulder, ”I wouldn't f.u.c.k it up.”

Chapter 26.

Pink Polka Dots At 8:45 a.m., Needles and Beeks readied some equipment in the cannery's main warehouse. Aaron looked on from a chair in the corner, his hands taped behind his back. He was still reeling from Souther's pep talk.

Beeks called to him. ”Hey, boy. You an artist?”

”Huh?” Aaron said, surprised.

”I'm in need of an artist. You an artist or ain't you?”

”Uh, not really,” Aaron said modestly, having no idea why Beeks would ask him that question. ”I've done some art in school I guess ... does that count?”

”Get your puny artist-a.s.s over here.”

”He's taped to the chair, dumba.s.s,” Needles said.

”s.h.i.+t ... you think I don't know that?” Beeks said, trying to hide his embarra.s.sment. He walked over and with a flash of his knife cut Aaron's restraints then grabbed him by the shoulder with one of his big hands. ”I don't have to worry *bout you doin' nothin' stupid,” he said, ”do I, boy?”

”No, sir,” Aaron replied, wincing under Beeks's powerful grip. He recalled how terrifyingly unreal it had felt the moment Beeks's big hand took him down to the asphalt in the alley.

Beeks had set up a makes.h.i.+ft workbench and stocked it with art supplies. ”You think you can make me some bad-a.s.s masks outa all this s.h.i.+t?” he asked. ”I'm gettin' real f.u.c.kin' tired of those d.a.m.n panty-hose.”

Aaron paused at an image of Beeks's face smashed into a nylon stocking then blinked it away. ”Uh, yeah,” he replied. ”I think I can handle it.”

The project had caught his imagination. He took a quick inventory of the tools and supplies Beeks had laid out for him: four Styrofoam heads, four white ski masks, four colorful cans of spray paint.

”No amateur bulls.h.i.+t c.r.a.p,” Beeks insisted. ”I want *em bad-a.s.s. You got it, boy? Bad f.u.c.kin' a.s.s.”

”No problem,” Aaron said, growing more nervous now that Beeks had raised the artistic bar so high.

He stood at the workbench, rubbing the blood back into his wrists, running ideas around in his head. He thought of clown faces, but that had been done to death; horror themed masks didn't seem right to him either. He settled on a simple design he thought Beeks would like then set to work.

He stretched one of the ski masks over the first form, gave the can of electric-blue a vigorous shake, and painted a row of simple vertical stripes onto the white knit fabric head. He followed with shocking-pink polka-dots on head two, neon-green horizontal stripes on head three, and jet-black circles on head four. Then he stepped back to admire his work.

Beeks came over and tested the paint on the black mask with his finger; then he pulled it off its form. He stretched it over his glossy head and checked himself out in a mirror. One of the black circles went around the eye, like a pit bull. He smiled.

”Not bad, boy,” he said, adjusting the fit, his teeth gleaming through the mouth hole. ”Not too d.a.m.n bad.”

Aaron grinned. He couldn't remember the last time he received a compliment from anyone other than his mother, and maybe w.i.l.l.y.

Needles laughed at the sight of his friend. ”Nice, Beeks ... really nice.”

”You can kiss my big, black a.s.s,” Beeks said, still admiring himself in the mirror. ”I like it fine, motherf.u.c.ker. I like it just fine.”

Needles selected the green horizontal stripes then tossed the pink polka-dots to Aaron.

Chapter 27.

Aaron Goes to Work It was 9 a.m. when Beeks loaded the last of the equipment into the white van. Needles had briefed Aaron on procedure.

”You think you got it?” Needles asked.

Aaron's heart was racing in antic.i.p.ation, but he had no clue what they were actually heading out to do. But it was an adventure, and he loved adventure a its mystery, its excitement, its remoteness from everyday life. ”I think so,” he replied, doubtfully.

”Okay,” Needles said. ”Let's get it done.”

Needles took the driver's seat, and Beeks, still masked, rode shotgun. They pulled out and waited in the street while Aaron rolled the big door closed. He jumped into the back of the van, and when Needles. .h.i.t the gas they were half way down the block before Aaron managed to get the van's side door shut.

While Needles negotiated traffic, Beeks tapped out a beat on the dashboard. He turned to Aaron and extended his hand.

”They call me Beeks,” he said. ”This here's Needles.”

Aaron shook their hands, making sure to use a firm grip this time. ”I'm Aaron,” he said, grinning from ear to ear like a naive new-hire who just signed on as one of the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang.

Beeks tossed him a walkie-talkie. ”Here,” he said, ”you're gonna need that.”

Aaron turned the radio over in his hand and recalled how he and w.i.l.l.y used to love to play with walkie-talkies. They would spend hours roaming the city, chatting to each other about who knows what a until w.i.l.l.y lost his, that is.