“Told ya!” Caprice shouted triumphantly. “There it is
right there.” He pointed. G-Rilla sat up in the driver’s seat of
his black Chevy Suburban, to get a better view.
“Just like clockwork. I knew cuz was down!” Caprice
continued. The Loomis armored truck crept to a halt at
the entrance of the Horseshoe Casino and Hotel. Caprice,
G-Rilla, and Youngsta watched the armed guard exit the truck
and survey the area. For an early Monday morning, the casino was
unusually busy. Just as many people were going in, as were
coming out. Most of the latter wore long solemn faces as they
walked slowly back to their vehicles. The guard paid them
no mind. His job was only to be aware of them. He quickly
removed the dolly from the rear of the truck, and disappeared
into the casino. “I’m tellin’ y’all, I got their whole schedule. All we gotta
do is set a date, run it by cuz, and it’s on,” Caprice assured his
companions. “I don’t know,” G-Rilla admitted, still focused on the
armored truck. “Fuck, do you mean you don’t know?” Caprice
questioned. “You’ll see. As soon as they leave here they’re goin’
to The Isle of Capri, then to Harrah’s Casino.”
“I said, I don’t know. We been in this game too long.
Shit ain’t neva that simple,” G-Rilla stated. “Besides, I don’t
know shit ‘bout your cousin. You know I don’t fuck around
with niggas I ain’t neva seen or heard of. How long you say he
been working at Loomis?” “Since he got back from Iraq last year,” Caprice replied.
“You need to quit being so paranoid G. You think I’m tryin’ to
go back to the pen’? I know who I’m fuckin’ with. Cuz is far
from the police!” Caprice said. “Is that nigga still in the Army?” G-Rilla asked.
“He’s in the Reserves, now,” Caprice answered.
“Sounds like the cops to me,” Youngsta chimed in from the back seat behind Caprice.
“Shit, that nigga more than just the police,” G-Rilla added. “He’s the world po-lice!” he laughed, igniting Youngsta’s own burst or laughter. Caprice, however, was not amused. He hated to be
mocked, and G-Rilla questioning his judgment wounded his
sometimes-fragile ego. “I don’t know what y’all find so funny. Shit is real,
man. We gotta step our game up. I’m tired of hittin’ licks
putting my freedom on the line for ten, twenty grand. I can’t
live off that,” Caprice complained. “Shit, I can’t tell,” G-Rilla snapped. “You ridin’ through
the city, in a 550 Benz, lookin’ like you movin’ bricks.”
“That ain’t the point,” Caprice responded. “It’s six of us now. We hit a lick for a hundred
racks; we each leave with a little over fifteen. That shit is wack! We gotta do it big man,
hit for a mil’ or somethin’.” “That’s what’s up,” Youngsta said.
“Like I said,” G-Rilla interjected, “let me think about
it some more. Look!” He pointed. They all watched as the guard returned to the armored
truck, and began loading bags of money into the back. “Man look at dude,” Youngsta said. “He look goofy as fuck. I ain’t bettin’ my freedom on that lame ass nigga!”
“Fall yo’ young ass back,” Caprice said. “He look just like he ‘spose to look fool. You thank they gon’ hire niggas that look like us to handle that kind of money? Quit hatin’. You
couldn’t get a job working the cash register at McDonald’s. My cousin is movin’ millions.”
“Who’s the broad driving?” G-Rilla asked Caprice. “I don’t know. Cuz just started workin’ with her.” “Get me her name. And tell your cousin to get as much info about her as possible,” G-Rilla said. “I got an idea, but he’s gotta play it cool. Even if he thinks she’s down, he can’t let
her know what’s on his mind, a’ight?” “Fa’sho. I’ll holla at him tonight,” Caprice answered.
“What’cha got on your mind?” “When it’s time, I’ll let everybody know what’s up.”
G-Rilla said, starting the truck. “If everything adds up, this could be the lick we been waiting for,” he smiled.