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“Pony’s got enough to worry about,” Bricker goes on. “I don’t want our wheelman distracted. So Pedretti will stay with Pony and review the police scanners, feeding us information.”
Rook, Giddy and Nico look taken aback. “But—” Rook begins.
“Van can run the floor with you three,” Bricker says, not looking at anyone. He’s staring at the blueprints. “We don’t need him down at the vault.”
Even Van looks like he wants to argue. I know there’s no point in me saying anything, so I wait to see if anyone else will.
Nope.
Bricker finally looks up, straight at me, daring me to disagree. I just nod, trying to keep my expression neutral as I process his decision. On one hand, it keeps me out of harm’s way, which will undoubtedly placate Julian Castellani. Maybe that’s one reason Bricker’s doing this.
But I think I know the real reason. Keeping me in the getaway van means that Bricker won’t have to trust me in the thick of things.
“Sounds like a plan,” I reply evenly. I brought it on myself with that stupid radio.
Pony gives a hollow laugh. “Guess I’ll have some company after all, huh? You and me, Peds.”
“Better behave yourself, Pony,” I shoot back, forcing a smile even though the last thing I want is to banter with him. “I’ll have enough on my plate without dealing with your shenanigans.”
“Hey, I’m always on my best behavior,” he protests, feigning innocence as he raises his hands in mock surrender. The rest of the crew chuckles, but it does little to ease the tension.
“Last week for prep,” Bricker reminds us, knocking on the wooden table twice for luck. “Get your shit together. Next week, we get it done. For Maestra.”
“For Maestra,” the rest of them chorus.
CHAPTER20
MAX
One week later,the engine hums under us as Pony drives the converted van toward First National, a steady rhythm that nevertheless does little to calm my nerves. Pony’s grip on the wheel is hard, his jaw set, perspiration beading on his temple. When I glance back at the crew, they’re each lost in their own thoughts, preparing for the job ahead.
Except Rook. He looks bright-eyed and excited.
“Hey Max,” Rook says, leaning forward and laying a hand on the back of the front seat to talk to me. He tries to hide his nerves with a cheeky grin. “Why did the bank robber take a bath before his heist? Because he wanted to make a clean getaway.”
I chuckle, though the joke is bad—and old, God knows. But it helps ease the tension a little, and that’s a good thing. “You know, when this is over, I’ll buy you a beer. Teach you some better jokes.”
“You’re on,” he answers, grinning as he settles back into his seat. My eyes linger on him for a moment longer; the kid’s got guts, I’ll give him that. I was a fucking wreck my first time on a big job like this.
“Coming up,” Pony grunts.
“Alright,” Bricker says, looking around the cramped interior and meeting the gaze of each crew member. “Stay focused. Stick to the plan. Don’t panic.”
“And good luck,” I add. Rook leans forward to fist-bump me.
As Pony pulls up outside the bank, the crew members pull down their masks and then spill out of the back doors. I watch them go, breathing slow and mindfully, and I turn my attention to the police scanner.
“Relax, Peds,” Pony says, although he’s the one white-knuckling the wheel. “They’ve got this.”
I don’t reply, my eyes scanning the area outside the bank. That’s when I spot it—a figure lurking in the shadows across the street, his gaze fixed on the entrance of the First National Bank.
“Hey,” I say sharply. “You see that guy over there?”
Pony gives him a glance and then scoffs. “Man, you’re paranoid. There are always people around here. Stop worrying.”
Paranoid? Pony must be living in a different reality. I keep an eye on the suspicious figure between glances at the bank. Every crackle on the police radio makes my blood pressure ratchet up, but nothing yet about First National.
The seconds tick away like hours.
