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“Nope,” I say, avoiding his gaze. The last thing I want Van—anyone—to know about is my catastrophic lack of judgment inalmostsleeping with the enemy. “You were right about him, is all. We shouldn’t trust him. He’s an outsider.”
A smug grin spreads across Van’s face. “I knew it. I told you from the start. What did he do?”
“Keep it down, will you?” I glance around, making sure no one’s paying us any mind. “He didn’t do anything. We just need to focus on the job at hand. He’s an outsider, but he’s still my responsibility whether I like it or not.”
“Fine, fine, don’t go pulling your ‘I’m Capo’ shit again,” Van grumbles, but I can tell he’s pleased.
And why wouldn’t he be? He was right about Max all along.
“I’m serious,” I tell him. “I want morale high and I want everyone at their best for this job. That includes Pedretti.”
Van purses his lips skeptically. “Why let him in on the job at all?”
“Because he knows his shit.” I feel a pang of regret as Van’s face shutters over. That last armored car plan was his baby. It sucks that things went wrong in front of the Castellani, and I don’t blame Van for what happened, but maybe he feels different.
His jaw works as though he’s trying to keep something to himself, but I know Van. He’ll brood over small shit and explode later. “Spit it out,” I tell him. “Whatever your issue is.”
“You don’t wanna hear it.”
“Come on. Tell me.”
He glances over at the crew, making sure they’re busy, before he leans in closer. “You and me, we’re real tight, Cap. Brothers in arms. But since that Castellani came around, you’re acting like I’m some grunt. I don’t like it. Just because he’s an old man—”
“He’s forty-nine!” I snap.
“—doesn’t make him some fucking font of wisdom. He’s causing trouble just by being here. Stirring things up.”
Van isn’t wrong, in as much as Van himself is being really fucking weird about the whole thing. But he’s not the only one. The crew has been on edge for a while. Maybe Max’s arrival had something to do with it, or maybe it just made it more obvious. I don’t know.
I understand the anti-Castellani vibes. Us Espositos like to keep to ourselves, and it’s strange that Anna-Vittoria is suddenly buddying up to some Sicilian Family, so different from our own. But Max is earning the respect and trust of the crew, that’s for sure. Rook gets this rapturous hero-worship look in his eye every time Max explains something to him. Even Nico shuts up and listens when Max talks. And somehow Max manages to do all this in a way that still feels deferential to me as Capo.
Plus it’s nice to have a calming influence around. God knows we need it. But there seems to be something else under Van’s objections, though I’m not sure what.
“I mean it, Cap,” he insists. “Pedretti’s trouble. It’sournecks on the line, the rest of us. We’re the expendable ones.”
“It’smyneck on the line with the Maestra,” I remind him. “This job goes south, my ass is the one that gets reamed. So excuse me if I’m a little tired of your bitching and moaning. Now let’s get back to business.” Irritated with our conversation, and with Van as well, I walk away.
Tank and Jazz return after lunch with confirmation of the daily schedules of staff and money deliveries to First National, and I call for the crew to gather around. It’s time to review the plan and discuss the roles for the upcoming bank job.
“Alright, everyone, here we go again,” I tell them, spreading the blueprints of the bank over the table. We do this daily, or did before Max arrived: go over our roles, our plans. I want them all to know it inside-out so it becomes automatic when we get in there. Since Max became aware of the job, I’ve returned to the habit. The crew gathers around, eyes on the plans. “Call it out.”
“Cash deliveries to the bank are all done by two,” Van says. “We arrive at two-twenty.” We need that vault full so we can make a real statement. It’s not about the money, not really.
It’s about reminding PacSyn of their place.
Tony the Pony goes next. “I pull in here,” he says, pointing at the road outside the bank. “And I wait for you losers.” Pony’s skill behind the wheel is unparalleled, and we’ll need a fast escape.
“I’m on crowd control with Rook,” Giddy says, and Rook nods. “And Max,” he adds.
I decided to go ahead and put Max on the floor for this job to help me keep Giddy and Rook corralled, and in the hopes that his calm attitude will keep any customers calm, too. That’ll reduce the chance of things going sideways.
I hope.
Honeybee points to a small shaft on the map. “That’s my way in,” she says. “I get in there and I cut the wires to give us some extra time.” Honeybee is small and agile, perfect for this kind of job. There are other alarms we assume will go off, but cutting that main one that goes straight to PacSyn will buy us a few extra minutes. Police response time in the area—we’ve been timing it—seems to run about six minutes.
That’s more than enough time for us, as long as PacSyn don’t show up first.
Nico, pointing to the van outside with a belligerent look on his face, repeats in a monotone that he’ll be in there with Pony, monitoring the police scanner. Hewantsto be inside the bank, keeps hassling me about it.
