Crystal Waters: The Cut Throat Committee

By Lonnie Cowan

Crystal Waters -The Cut Throat Committee gives readers a rare glimpse into the mind of hoodlums, serial killers, convicts, bank robbers, and computer hackers. Lonnie adds a special twist as he contributes to the hood-life the craft of magicians, the mystery of psychics, and dogs that are trained to do only one thing rob banks.
In the slums of downtown Miami, Florida, Crystal is the leader of the Cut Throat Committee. He attempts to accomplish the biggest robbery in Miami history. The opposition is aware of his plan. Crystals brother is out to stop him, and the Confidential Informant is someone very close to home. Crystal is running out of time. He is also out of patience. Will he run out of luck?
Enter the streets of Miami as Lonnie captivates the readers of the urban genre. Vividly detailed contributions of real robberies from some of the biggest names in bank robbery is exposed as this author brings his protagonist to life in this modern day version of The Doberman Gang.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504908894

Lonnie Cowan

Lonnie spent five years in the California Youth Authority before he was twenty-one. He spent time in San Quentin, California’s most infamous state prison. Now Lonnie is an aspiring author. His uniqueness stems from his experiences. He was raised in Los Angeles, and he builds his characters from real people that he has walked with during his journey in life. Lonnie lived the gang life, the prison life, and the drug life. Now that Lonnie changed his life, he writes about it.

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© 2015 Lonnie Cowan. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/20/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-0890-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-0889-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015906433

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Book I

Chapter One: Crystal – July 3, 2010

Chapter Two: Jeremy – July 3, 2010

Chapter Three: Maurice – July 3, 2010

Chapter Four: Crystal

Chapter Five: Jeremy

Chapter Six: Maurice

Chapter Seven: Crystal

Chapter Eight: Jeremy

Chapter Nine: Maurice – 4Th Of July 2010

Chapter Ten: Crystal

Chapter Eleven: Jeremy – July 4, 2010

Chapter Twelve: Maurice

Chapter Thirteen: Crystal

Chapter Fourteen: Jeremy – July 4, 2010

Chapter Fifteen: Maurice

Chapter Sixteen: Crystal

Chapter Seventeen: Jeremy

Chapter Eighteen: Maurice

Chapter Nineteen: Crystal

Chapter Twenty: Jeremy

Chapter Twenty-One: Maurice

Chapter Twenty-Two: Crystal – August 8, 2010

Chapter Twenty-Three: Jeremy – August 8, 2010

Chapter Twenty-Four: Maurice – August 8, 2010

Chapter Twenty-Five: Crystal – August 9, 2010

Chapter Twenty-Six: Jeremy – August 13, 2010

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Maurice – August 13, 2010

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Crystal – August 13, 2010

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Jeremy

Chapter Thirty: Maurice

Chapter Thirty-One: Crystal

Chapter Thirty-Two: Jeremy

Chapter Thirty-Three: Maurice

Chapter Thirty-Four: Crystal

Chapter Thirty-Five: Jeremy

Chapter Thirty-Six: Maurice

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Crystal

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Jeremy

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Maurice

Chapter Forty: Crystal

Book II

Chapter Forty-One: Lucipher

Chapter Forty-Two: Maurice

Chapter Forty-Three: Crystal & Jeremy – September 22, 2010

Chapter Forty-Four: Lucipher

Chapter Forty-Five: Maurice

Chapter Forty-Six: Crystal & Jeremy

Chapter Forty-Seven: Lucipher: May 24, 1998

Chapter Forty-Eight: Maurice

Chapter Forty-Nine: Crystal & Jeremy

Chapter Fifty: Lucipher

Chapter Fifty-One: Maurice

Chapter Fifty-Two: Crystal And Jeremy

Chapter Fifty-Three: Lucipher

Chapter Fifty-Four: Maurice

Chapter Fifty-Five: Crystal And Jeremy

Chapter Fifty-Six: Maurice & Rico

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Crystal & Jeremy

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Maurice & Rico

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Crystal & Jeremy

Chapter Sixty: Maurice & Rico

Chapter Sixty-One: Crystal

Chapter Sixty-Two: Maurice & Rico

Chapter Sixty-Three: Crystal

Chapter Sixty-Four: Maurice And Rico

Chapter Sixty-Five: Crystal

Chapter Sixty-Six: Maurice

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Crystal

Book III

Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Cut: Throat Committee

Chapter Sixty-Nine: Rico

Chapter Seventy: November 8Th.: The Feds

Chapter Seventy-One: Crystal

Chapter Seventy-Two: The Feds

Chapter Seventy-Three: Crystal

Chapter Seventy-Four: The Feds

Chapter Seventy-Five: Crystal

Chapter Seventy-Six: The Feds

Chapter Seventy-Seven: Crystal

Chapter Seventy-Eight: Jeremy

Chapter Seventy-Nine: Crystal

Chapter Eighty: The Feds

Chapter Eighty-One: Crystal

Chapter Eighty-Two: Maurice

Chapter Eighty-Three: Conclusion

Epilogue

Doughboy Preview

About the Author

To my daughter Lonique

December 12, 1982

PROLOGUE

To the person in the one bedroom flat, fear had become a daily companion. Along with the other fears that came to her by instinct, she had to fear that the citizens of Vieques would find out the sinister secrets of her father. There was the fear of hurting her God-fearing mother. And the fear of shame.

But tonight she was embraced in a fear of a different kind; a fear she could smell in the warm sticky odor of her own bodily fluids. Tonight she was afraid for her life.

She again awakened into darkness. This darkness at the dead of night touched by a single flicker of yellow served her as only a bitter reminder of her current circumstance. It was the same dread of darkness that held her captive for several hours. It could have been days. But she awakened nonetheless, without energy, completely exhausted in the candle-lit room as her eyes searched for el sacerdote.

Her eyes seemed to lock on his eyes. His eyes spoke of a deep malevolence and of a deep sorrow. This also frightened her. But what deepened the sorrow is that she saw in his eyes a dismal confirmation.

The child was born.

What she saw next in the eyes of el sacerdote was yet another confirmation, but there was a brief misunderstanding of his facial expressions. There was something she could not decipher. She was too occupied with exhaustion and she was too overwhelmed with what had just took place; she did not know the expression she saw on the man’s face was an expression of pure evil.

She was deflated. She was even too fatigued to wipe away the tears that seemed to blind her. And now she had to tell him what they both knew had to be done. In a voice she did not recognize as her own she heard the words, "Matalo!"

Kill it.

But before she could close her eyes, el sacerdote displayed to her what brought on the sadness. He held it in his blood-drenched hands for her to see, as if making an offering.

The girl saw what the holy man held out to her, and it took every ounce of strength she had left for her lips to form a smile. Finally fatigue overcame her and her eyes simply closed. She never felt death coming for her. She never felt pain; the girl never saw a shining light heading her way. Death came without a whisper, and she was gone.

BOOK I

Crystal – July 3, 2010

This a robbery! Everybody get on the floor! I yelled as I rushed into the bank. I pointed my strap at the heads of the customers that were still standing, too frightened to move. It’s amazing how fast a person reacts when a nigga got a Glock pointed at their heads. I could hear my heart beat.

My adrenaline was in overdrive, not from nervousness, but from excitement. I done this many times. My job is to get behind the counter and make sure nobody sets off the alarm or do anything else as stupid. This is a timed robbery, and the slightest mistake could fuck everything up.

Two tellers stood only feet from the teller booth. The assistant manager, a skinny white man with thick glasses, was already on the floor, face-down, giving orders to the other bank employees; this was not his first time getting robbed; I didn’t assume this because of his lack of nervousness; I knew it because we robbed him around this time last year.

Secure! I yelled, followed by the echo of the word ‘Secure’ from the four-man crew.

Team One: I got the manager!

Team Two: Somebody help me duct-tape the people we got in the lobby!

Team Three: I got the tapes! I’m on my way!

Team Four: Everything looks good out here.

Everything was going down smoothly so far. Just another chapter for the Cut Throat Committee. I grabbed the assistant manager around the back of his shirt collar to get him on his feet. Get yo’ Drew Carey look-alike ass up before I bust a cap in yo’ ass! I growled.

Just as the assistant manager got on his feet, Team One brought the manager to me. Okay. Where’s the money? I said with murder in my eyes. Both men were about to say something at the same time before I stopped them. There will be no warning shots! Play hero and you’ll never see Tami again, I said to the manager, and to the assistant I said, Or Tosha.

They seemed to get the hint. We did our homework. The assistant manager grabbed the bag that Team One gave him. It was a large blue Nike duffle bag that we brought with us, and I couldn’t have put the money in it any faster then they did. I had their full cooperation now.

The assistant, red-faced and sweating, dragged the loot to the center of the room and slid it to my feet. He was just about to say something when –

Wham!

You! Team One hit him straight in the mouth with the barrel of his Army issued Colt 45, and dropped him instantly. Blood went everywhere. Mothafucka, didn’t the Commander stop you the first time from talking! Bitch-ass Cracker! I should kick yo’ mothafu–

I cut Team One off as I spoke through the ear mike. Let’s go! We got what we came for, soldier. Duct-tape’m, and we out!

I lifted the bag onto my shoulder to begin the process of getting the fuck out of here – safely. I know for a fact, robbing is easy. I’ve been doing it all my life. It’s the get-away that counts. Every successful robbery that I committed, so far, was successful because I never did one that I had to run from. The Old Man taught me years ago, you never commit a robbery you have to run from. If you couldn’t do it and walk away from it you had no business committing it in the first place. I smiled to myself as I recalled the Old Man’s philosophy. I hollered through Team Fours’ mike, How we lookin’ dawg?

I smiled to myself as I heard his voice in my ear piece. It’s clear, Commander! Let’s get the fuck out’a here!

I made sure I had the bag good and tight. Okay. Let’s roll!

CHAPTER TWO

Jeremy – July 3, 2010

Jeremy tucked in his employee issue short-sleeve button down shirt and applied a small amount of spit to his dirty-blond hair that was in need of a cut. Jeremy was an average man of average weight and height with a boxer’s nose and blue eyes. He was not an ugly man, nor was he a knight in shining armor. He was just simple and he was plain.

Cindy? Jeremy said as he lightly rapped on the door of his manager’s office. You sent for me?

Yeah. Come in. Cindy was a rehabilitated meth-head, that once sober and given a position of any substance at Cable Direct TV, had a way of making her office seem as important as the office of the ambassador to China. She appeared to be at the end of an important phone call; one would think she was discussing the World Trade Center instead of merely explaining the advantages of purchasing the current Cable Direct TV promotion package.

The small office was stuffy and airless. It seemed to perspire. As Jeremy entered, he felt like a kid that was about to get suspended from school. With no AC pumping, the office even had the stale smell of his elementary school’s principal’s office.

Being summoned to the manager’s office was never a good sign. It meant one of two things: promotion or termination; and Jeremy had a strong feeling he was not here to be promoted.

As he attempted to take a seat in the dingy blue love seat that sat in front of Cindy’s desk, she stopped him with an abrupt, Don’t bother. You won’t be here long, as she continued her conversation with whom Jeremy assumed was the President of the United States.

He managed a weak smile and awkwardly remained standing as he browsed around the meagerly furnished, uncarpeted, no windowed closet that served as Cindy’s throne. Only an idiot would put a hand-me-down love seat in an office where client’s chairs are supposed to go, he thought to himself.

A small smile reached the corners of his lips as he realized why he was here. It was just a guess, but maybe she was nominating him for ‘Employee of the Month’. That would make a lot of sense, he thought. Or maybe he was here to discuss the raise he requested last week. It was a subtle hint, but, maybe – Just maybe Cindy caught on. And instead of informing me at the next staff meeting, she decided to surprise me today. Why prolong good news? And what a good time for good news, he thought.

Everything else in Jeremy’s recent life was not amounting to shit. The stock market seemed to wait for the day he invested the family’s savings on SW Air before the market decided to crash; the first crash of this caliber in over eighteen years.

Debbie, his wife, surprised him with the fact that she was pregnant, again, on the same day that his youngest daughter broke her leg while swimming at the public swimming pool. He could not fathom how a person could break her leg while swimming. And whose idea was it to make the victim pay the ambulance bill? Make the person that called them pay the bill. Or shouldn’t medical insurance cover it. One thing was for sure, he was going to mention it now that he was in Cindy’s office; and his youngest daughter was definitely in need of swimming lessons.

The next morning his Beach Cruiser got stolen, so he had to walk to work. Not a cloud in the sky when he left, but it started pouring down rain when he was a quarter mile from the job. All this in less than a week’s time. Yeah, finally some good news! he thought. He smiled as Cindy hung up with the President.

She looked at him as if she was about to inform him of the death of a loved one. Your route has been audited and I’m forced to let you go.

A five second pause. Then, What does that mean? My route has been–

Audited? she said, It means that you have over eighteen unsubscribed customers on your route.

Jeremy’s world came crashing in on him. He could imagine her hiring a private investigator to figure all this out, or maybe the fucking IRS! He stared at her with an open mouth. He did not say a word, but he did not have to. Cindy predicted what he would have said. She had a speech already prepared. "Save it for the judge, Jeremy. I actually had high hopes for you and your career here at Comcast, but it’s out of my hands now. You know the policies as well–"

Are you saying I’m fired Cindy? After three years of–

Getting fired is the least of your problems. These gentlemen would like to speak with you in regard…

Gentlemen? Jeremy did not hear the end of her sentence. What Cindy referred to as gentlemen was obviously some kind of police officers. Maybe they were detectives. He never even heard them enter the room. There were two of them. And though they were average in size, their suits and ties and guns made Jeremy feel very small. The presence of the gentlemen only enhanced the feeling of claustrophobia that he was just realizing he had. The aroma in the air converted from sweat to that of fear. Cindy’s words continued with persistence, but it seemed to come as an echo from a far away place.

What did the cops want with him? He was no angel, but he was far from a criminal. This couldn’t be happening! What about my family? Jeremy thought as he realized he spoke out loud.

We’ll have someone contact your family for you, sir, the gentleman said as the other gentleman placed the handcuffs on his wrists.

You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can, and will be held….

Jeremy could not believe it! He was being hauled off to jail!

CHAPTER THREE

Maurice – July 3, 2010

Maurice met Rico at the Foot Locker where he worked, and ever since Maurice started hanging out with Rico he’d been exposed to another glimpse of the lifestyle of the opulent.

The time he spent with his new college friends were moments he embraced with relish. He was introduced to a world so distinct from the life that he was accustomed to that he sometimes felt as if he were on another planet. While the overall ambience of Overtown was congested with pessimism and despair, this world was full of optimism and hope. The acrimony of the urban life was exciting, but it was dangerous at times and it was a complete contrast to the harmony of the rural world. Maurice was absorbed in an overwhelming sense of peace. He felt like he was in heaven, and Rico served as the tour guide to all the luxuries of heaven. Maurice fed on the treasures of this forbidden world with an appetite comparable to that of a whale.

The Rendezvous 3, a 50-foot Hatteras Convertible 2008, was nothing less than a floating paradise to Maurice. It featured a lower deck fully equipped with a bathroom complete with a shower and sink, a kitchen, a bar, three staterooms with queen-size beds, internet access and a 34-speaker surround-sound stereo system.

They had not been within a ten mile radius of land since they left the Bayside Wharf two days ago. In that time Maurice learned to water-ski, he jet skied for the first time in his life, and he spent his leisure time hand-feeding a local school of young needle-nose dolphins that lingered within a few dozen yards of the yacht at all times. This Fourth of July weekend was proving to be the best Fourth of July of his life.

Not only was he learning the lifestyle of the prosperous, he was learning in style. He was an apprentice, and Rico proved to be a great instructor. He introduced Maurice to the best of everything from the finest girls to the finest champagnes.

He was eating gourmet dishes that he couldn’t pronounce, and chewing on imported caviar like sunflower seeds. Rico set Maurice up with a beautiful dark-skinned Colombian girl who didn’t know a word of English. Her techniques of teaching him Spanish only took place in the bedroom and aroused him to such an extent that he always looked forward to his next lesson, which reminded him; where the hell were they?

Maurice was growing concerned about Rico and the girls. They had been scuba diving for a while now. Normally one of them would surface from time to time to let him know they were okay, but Maurice began to worry because nobody had surfaced within the last hour or so.

He knew he should not worry but he could not help but remember all the tragedies and all the recent scuba diving accidents that are common knowledge to all experienced scuba divers.

Rico himself told Maurice that more people die annually from scuba diving accidents than from any other outdoor water sport in the world, which was enough to scare Maurice into being the official designated bubble watcher while the others dove. After all, that was the law.

Maurice was a good sport, but he could only go so far. He could jet-ski, water-ski, he even learned how to boogie board. He’d fed and swam with the dolphins so often that all he had to do was jump in the water and yell out, Let’s eat! and the dolphins seemed to know that that meant feeding time.

All of these activities consisted of Maurice being above the surface of water and fully equipped with a life preserver, but diving over one-hundred feet into the dark depths of the ocean was not Maurice’s idea of a thrill. Too much could go wrong! What if you ran out of air one-hundred feet down? Not to mention the ever-present danger of sharks, stingrays and barracudas. And what about Killer Whales?

Rico informed Maurice that whales were considered large dolphins and, like dolphins, they weren’t a threat to humans. When Maurice asked him why they were called Killer Whales, Rico – in all his brilliance – could not come up with a logical answer. It’s a simple case of mistaken identity. Rico had told him. Killer Whales often mistake humans for seals.

Didn’t you say Killer Whales are the second most intelligent creatures on the planet? Coming second in intelligence only to the human race?

Yeah.

If whales aren’t bright enough to distinguish the contrast between a human and a seal, I think the whales’ level of intelligence is extremely over-rated, Maurice had said.

Rico laughed. Maurice was right. Well, don’t worry, Killer Whales aren’t found in this part of the Atlantic anyway.

But nevertheless, Maurice did not plan on risking his life in the clutches of the deep sea. He was content as the man onboard.

He walked to the bow of the yacht, looking for any sign of his scuba-diving friends. Finally he entered the cabin and reclined in the Captain’s chair. He was on the verge of falling asleep when he heard an odd sound coming from the lower deck. He got up to investigate.

As he headed towards the lower deck he froze in his tracks. The lower deck was flooding with water. All of a sudden the placid blue waters of the Atlantic took on a different light. He was sinking.

And sinking fast!

CHAPTER FOUR

Crystal

I am eager to learn, but I never set foot on a high school campus. The education I have can’t be found in school. I have an appetite for knowledge; I just don’t have the patience for school.

People like Abraham Lincoln don’t have anything to do with my life. And I don’t give a fuck about Columbus and when he discovered America. How can you discover something that was already there? And math questions like, If Mike is two years older than John, how old would Susie be in five years? are irrelevant to me; I don’t even know these people.

But I know how to count money well. I know fifty twenties equal one stack, and I know every bill weighs a gram. Sometimes after a lick I get so tired of counting money I say hell with it, put all the twenties together and weigh them. Twenty grams of fifties equals a Gee too. I count my success in increments of a Gee.

That’s what math is to me. English? Well, some of the actions people do can be translated into thousands of languages. For example when I run up in a bank shooting in the air and pointing guns at everybody, I always yell out, This is a robbery! just for the hell of it; but I’m sure everybody knows what time it is as soon as they see the strap. Glocks and Smith & Wessons speak a universal language. English has never been as important to me as a person’s actions; that is what’s meant by, actions speak louder than words.

The appetite for knowledge that I speak of is an appetite for the knowledge of the game. As a kid, when most young boys learned to color and draw I was learning to pick locks and to pick pockets. I don’t know which came first.

The Old Man taught me how to play Three-card Monte and the Shell Game around the same time I learned to tie my shoes correctly. At the age when most boys were fascinated with Hot Wheels I was fascinated with stealing cars; and when most kids started experimenting with cigarettes I was already selling dope. I was very young when I witnessed the effects of drugs, so I didn’t last long as a doughboy.

My biggest accomplishment to date is that I never been in jail. I spent a lot of time in boys’ homes as a kid, so I learned to appreciate my freedom before I really knew what freedom was. I don’t personally know any black man my age that has never been to jail. According to statistics, I should’ve been dead years ago; or doing a life sentence. But I don’t pay attention to statistics, I believe more in Karma. But I ain’t’ no fool either. The Old Man always said, You might get by but you won’t get away. I know I’ve been getting by.

Three hours after the robbery I dropped everyone off and made it home. Everybody was happy with the amount of change we lifted out of the Citibank; a little over a hundred stacks.

Everyone but me.

With my record, every time I went on a lick it was like throwing bricks at the penitentiary begging for a twenty five year stretch. For bank robbery. Stealing by means of force or fear. Armed bank robbery carries at least twenty years fed time. At that rate $20,000 does not amount to eight hundred a year. I gotta find another way, I thought aloud.

I had just recently moved to a three-bedroom two bathroom North Miami home sitting on half an acre of land, which is a major change for me. Before now I stayed between motels, my girl’s house, and my brother’s house. Not ’cause I didn’t have the money to get my own place, but because I like to stay on the move.

But my girl Shantell convinced me to get my own spot. She prefers to live separately until our relationship is more ‘insured,’ whatever that is supposed to mean. She learns these clichés every time she reads a new urban romance novel. Lately she’s been reading some romantic bullshit from Andrew Jerome Dickey, so I already knew what was up.

The house I leased is a perfect setting for me and my two roommates, Roscoe, and Sheba; two full-blooded champion bloodline German Rottweiler’s; highly trained to attack and kill, among other things.

I was deep in thought when I felt Roscoe’s heavy paws hit me square in the chest. He licked me right on the lips. All the time I spent on training these mutts to attack and kill, but around me they are as harmless as two baby kittens.

I threw the canine off me. What I told you ’bout that? I shouted at the dog. Sheba came in with her fetch stick in her mouth, but she kept her distance after sensing her master’s mood. Finally she came to me and rubbed her heavy head on my brand new Polo jeans.

Get back Sheba! I shouted at her.

She dropped her toy in my lap, which is the biggest display of generosity she could ever show. Through her search training which is a prerequisite to teaching a dog how to sniff out drugs, which is what we been working on lately, she did what most well-trained search dogs do, she became infatuated with her fetch stick, her toy. When I ignored her offer, she put her right paw in my lap and stared at me sadly, her way of apologizing. She spilled slobber all over my pants and shoes. I patted both dogs on the head as a show of reconciliation, then I commanded them to their room. Their training was starting to show results. We had established a fluent sign language, and as much as I enjoyed the Rott’s company I wanted to be left alone for the moment.

I made my way to the large kitchen which was stocked as if a hurricane was about to hit Miami at any minute. Growing up ‘without’ is a good teacher. When I say, ‘without,’ I mean without food, without clothes, without shoes, without love, just ‘without.’ But now one thing for sure and two things for certain, I won’t go ‘without’ again.

Just then the phone rang. The loud shrilling of the phone made me jump but it was a welcome sound because the dead silence of the house was disturbing. I headed for the living room.

State yo’ business. Time is money and money is time.

Why you ain’t answering your cell phone? Shantell shouted into the receiver, I been trying to call you all day, Crystal, where you been?

I love Shantell’s accent. When she said, ‘trying’ it came off as one syllable, and it rhymed with fine or line. I took the phone from my ear while she screamed and hollered at me, then I spoke into the receiver. Damn Shantell, you didn’t have to holler in my fuckin’ ear! I cursed intentionally to get the argument started. I know when she’s cranked up and ready to argue, but one asset Shantell has is she looks her best when she’s mad. She is cinnamon complexioned and cinnamon sweet. Thick, with almond eyes, a smile that glows and a career as a registered x-ray technician. I only been with her for six months now, but I felt like I known her all my life.

You was the one hollering when you answered your phone like I did something to you, she said.

I quickly gathered myself. Baby, I’m sorry. I’m having a rough day, and I ain’t got no right to take it out on you. I flopped down on the soft white Italian leather sofa, kicked off my Jordans and grabbed the remote off the large glass coffee table and turned the 64 inch Sony to the news.

Almost immediately a reporter came on the screen from CNN. He introduced himself and then proceeded to give an exaggerated sixty second summary of the day’s events.

Is everything alright? Shantell asked.

No. Everything ain’t alright, baby. Let me call you back. I hung up the receiver without giving her a chance to consent. The reporter looked gravely into the camera. "A south Miami Citibank was robbed at gunpoint at approximately 2:45 this afternoon. We take you there live with Barbara Cruz. Barbara?"

The female reporter was now standing at the front door of the Citibank that I had just left a few hours ago. Well, Michael according to the fourteen victims there were four perpetrators spread throughout the bank and before anybody knew what was going on they were forced at gunpoint, and they were duct-taped. None of the victims could give an accurate description of the four perpetrators; however, they all said the perpetrators were dressed as construction workers and they were African American….

The president of the bank claimed they were robbed for a little over $300,000. Yeah right. We came out with a little more than a hundred stacks, but I don’t blame him. The insurance company will no doubt get his version of the story, and the bank will be compensated for the amount the bank president claimed to be missing.

I turned off the TV and sat back and smiled at the ceiling. I don’t know what I was smiling at. Maybe the fact that I got away. We only hit them for a hundred stacks, but it could’ve been worse. I gave it a little more thought. Something’s gotta give.

So far we been pretty lucky. But we weren’t making enough. Not even close. I been wanting to hit something big since – well, since forever. If planned right and timed right any bank can be hit. But I’m running out of patience.

And out of luck.

CHAPTER FIVE

Jeremy

You have a collect call from—

Jeremy.

…who is an inmate at the Martin County Detention Center. To accept the call dial one. To refuse the call dial two…

Debbie answer the phone!

Disconnection.

Jeremy tried dialing again before finally getting through.

Jeremy?

Debbie. I’m in jail.

What? Why’re you in prison?

Not prison. Jail. It’s a long story baby. Listen, look, I’ll explain it to you when I get home. I need to get out of here. I need you to get ahold of a bail bonds guy. They accept money to get people out of jail. See how much it’ll cost to get me out.

Debbie began to cry.

Baby, Jeremy persuaded, I need you to be strong. I need you to call and see how much my bond is, okay? I’ll be home before you know it, and I’ll explain everything then, okay? I’ll call you back in like ten minutes, okay? I need you to hurry.

He could hear nothing on the other end of the line, but he knew Debbie was still there.

Baby?

After an eternal pause he heard, I’m here.

Ten minutes okay?

A sniffle. Okay.

And Debbie? I need you to do one more thing. I need you to turn off the computer – the way I showed you. Then unplug it and put it in the shed for tonight okay?

The kids are on the internet right now, she sniffled.

Just do it! Please, okay? I can’t discuss all the details right now. Just do it okay?

Jeremy, she whined, What are you involved in? I don’t want to lose our house and I don’t want a husband in prison.

Debbie, it’s not prison. It’s jail. And the ‘house’ that you’re talking about is a trailer and –

Well I don’t want to lose the trailer. It’s a house to me. And it’s a house to the kids, and it’s all we got. And I don’t want to lose you. I thought we talked about this, she said in a half-whine half-yell monotone.

If you don’t want to lose me you’ll do as I ask. He was exasperated, but how could he make her understand? Babe, just do it, okay? Do it for me okay? Put the computer in the shed and get a hold of a bail bondsman. I’ll call you back in ten minutes, and when I get home we’ll talk about it. But for right now I got to go, okay?

She sniffled.

I love you, and I love the girls, and everything is gonna be alright. It’s nothing like you think, so don’t jump to conclusions okay baby? Then after listening to the silence on the other end of the line he said, I love you, okay?

I love you too, she whispered.

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes.

Jeremy hung up. He looked around. Martin County jail. It was nothing like the movies. He expected filth and grime. He expected rats and roaches and hollering and screaming and big guys with tattoos.

But not Martin County. This jail looked more like a modern day low-security federal detention center: Martin County had clean white tiled floors, electric operated water fountains, bright ceiling lights and central air. Jeremy could smell the scent of cooking food that reminded him of his high school cafeteria. The corridors reminded him of the hallways at Cornell University. Everything was as crisp and clean as a hospital ward. And as quiet as a funeral home.

But the Martin County Detention Center could have been paved in gold and served meals fit for a king it would not have changed the fact that his freedom had been taken and he was forced to be away from his wife and kids.

Jeremy felt encapsulated.

The tall ceilings did nothing to hide the overbearing feeling Jeremy had inside. He was a caged animal. This is no life for me, he thought as he reached for the phone to call his wife back.

Jeremy Cristie! yelled the jailor.

Jeremy complied.

Roll it up! You’re going to general population! the jailor drawled with a tone lathered