Читать книгу H.N.I.C. - Albert Johnson - Страница 8

FOUR

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The crew sat in the car.

It was about as intimate as a rectal probe.

They watched the back roller doors of the jewelry depot as the armored security van pulled up. The doors were covered in layers of inventive graffiti.

They were away from the busy streetfront where those lovers pressed their faces up against the glass and pointed out the rings they wanted to tie the rest of their lives together with.

One of the guards—in a blue helmet that made him look like a crash-test dummy—climbed down out of the front and walked around to the back. He glanced around, then banged on the doors.

“He’s looking, but the dumb fuck’s not seeing anything,” Black said. He was grinning fiercely.

“We should just do the van when they come for their next delivery,” Pappy said.

Black shook his head. “Nah, man, watch and learn.”

The back of the van opened and a second guard stepped out. He was overweight and had a case chained to his wrist.

It was starting to look a fuck of a lot easier than Black had made it out to be: take down the guard, cut the chain with a pair of bolt cutters, disappear into the city with a case of precious stones. They didn’t need Pap for it. He was starting to feel like he’d been played.

“So how much is in the case?” Gee asked from the other side.