Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [66]
As we sat in the theater enjoying the play, his eyes fixated on the stage, I was overwhelmed with a love that neither time nor man could ever take away. I reached over and hugged and kissed him as he dismissed my intrusion on his entertainment. I sat back in my chair and watched as the actors and actresses put on a repeat performance of what was now routine for them. My life, especially the next few days, would in no part be routine.
Chapter 18
3RD DAY
I removed the gun from my waistband and dropped it down on Brian’s coffee table. “Here’s the gun.”
Brian picked up the gun expertly and pulled it apart by first dropping the sixteen-chamber magazine in his hand. He cocked the gun, then released the single bullet from the chamber. “I haven’t handled one of these in years.”
“How does it feel?” I asked, putting the clear, skintight gloves into my pocket.
“Uncle Sam taught me how to kill with weapons so thoughts of death accompany them whenever one is in my hands.”
“Well, Brian, I hope there won’t be any deaths on this mission because that would mean something went very wrong. If you have to come in gun-blazing, we’re all in trouble.”
“Do you have the torch?” he asked.
“Yeah, I bought one from Home Depot. I got one with a trigger; there’s no time to use a lighter.” I watched as Brian put the gun back together. I pulled the gloves that I had worn earlier out of my pocket. “I also got a pair of these gloves.”
“You need them with all this CSI shit they have these days. So, you want me to put the gun away now?”
“Naw, let me hold it. I have to meet with my father-in-law and I don’t know what will happen,” I lied.
Brian gave the gun back to me and I returned it to my waistband.
“When are you meeting with him?”
“Tomorrow, but he doesn’t know that yet,” I said. “I plan to surprise him.”
“Donald, I can’t wait for this to be over. Julie doesn’t want to have anything to do with me until we finish this. Did she tell you anything?” Brian asked.
“Julie and I only talk about the robbery. I think she wants to make sure everything goes as planned. I’ve never seen her so focused. Once this is over, I’m sure she’ll be back to normal.”
I started walking toward the door. I had gotten what I had come for. It was a little bit of insurance. In dealing with thieves, the only thing that could hurt you was trust. Trusting a thief was like believing a politician when it came down to the nuts and bolts. They would put your nuts in their bolts and tighten them. My cell phone rang and I signaled Brian to be quiet as I picked up.
“What’s up, Donna?” I adjusted the phone to my ear. I was expecting Donna’s call because she had to give me the keys to the handcuffs. I made arrangements to meet with her at Footprints, a small restaurant in Brooklyn and then I hung up the phone.
“Everything good?” Brian asked.
“Yeah, everything is on schedule,” I said as I walked out the door.
“Where do you find all these little West Indian restaurants?” Donna asked as she took a seat opposite me. It was 2:30 in the afternoon. The restaurant was empty because it was in between crowds.
“I’m always hunting for food in the evening so I keep asking around for new restaurants to try. I have a lawyer friend who lives in these restaurants. He got married a few years ago so maybe it’s not such a hot spot for him anymore. He said that Brooklyn is the only borough that has more West Indian restaurants than Chinese,” I said as the waitress brought us glasses of water.
The waitress was a young, white woman. I looked at her and wondered if she was bound by the sins of her father, and maybe her grandfather, for the infliction of slavery. Maybe in a quest to rid herself of that burden, she had come to ask for forgiveness from Blacks by resorting to servitude. We all had our burdens to carry.
“Would you like to see the menu?” she asked.
“No, give us a few minutes,” Donna replied. She watched the waitress disappear