Me: Nothing in this world is free. If you’re successful, then we’ll talk. If not, then not.
215–555–1115: I got this.
I READ THE response and put my phone down on the glass table in front of me just as the door to the Box is opened by Lenny, and Nix comes sauntering in, followed by four men I’ve seen a few times in the past, but not any time recently. The five of them stride in without saying a word, swimming in the music from the club and the aroma of countless variations of cologne and perfume from the many patrons of Club Asylum. I adjust myself in my seat to see them all better, letting the legs of my black pants rise a bit as I cross my feet under the table. I’m sleeveless tonight, sitting at the table wearing a black wife beater and flawless tattoos. The blue and orange flames of the fire-covered crown on my left forearm are bright, and blend in well with the rest of my colorful ink and intensely focused demeanor. I let my body relax as the entire group sits down in the open seats around the table, the red leather chairs squeaking from the weight of their bodies as they make themselves comfortable in my secure little haven.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I greet them with a smile as Nix is the last to take a seat in the chair to my right. It’s fitting, because Nix is literally my right-hand-man.
I survey the four men in front of me in silence. We all know each other but it’s been a while since we last spoke. The closest to Nix and me is Terry “Rock” Brenham. Terry is a six-foot black guy with a perfectly shaped beard and thick masculine jaw. His shoulders are nearly as wide as Nix’s and he has a long, jagged scar running down his left cheek from a brutal gang initiation when he was a kid. From what he says, a few of his so-called friends decided to hold razor blades while they jumped him into the gang, and he has a body covered in scars that will never go away to go along with his fractured mind. Rock is the loosest cannon of every man sitting in front of me, but I’m sure he’d say the same of me.
It’s his craziness that drew me to him two years ago when I commissioned him to work with some local gun runners in St. Louis on my behalf. When the negotiation began to go south, Rock killed the three middle-men he was dealing with using a fully-automatic AR-15 from the stockpile he was negotiating for, and negotiated the deal with the supplier in Mexico himself. When a guy has balls that big, you keep him around. So I’m glad to see him stretching out the fabric of a black suit as he crosses his arms in front of me now.
In the seat next to Rock is the very young and spry Marcell Pemberton out of Buffalo, New York. Marcell is an evil genius-type who specializes in hacking and information collection. Standing at five-foot-ten and weighing all of a hundred-fifty pounds at twenty-two years old, Marcell is the guy Nix turns to when we need more detailed knowledge of a job. The last time we used Marcell, he was the one who got us the account and pin numbers for the thousand accounts we hacked at First Trust Bank, and withdrew four hundred-fifty dollars from each account, for a grand total of four hundred-fifty-thousand dollars split three ways. All of the accounts were loaded with cash, and the withdrawal was just small enough for none of the account holders to really care enough to look into it. I doubt they even noticed the miniscule amount of cash being withdrawn. Nix and Marcell are like two peas in a pod with their knack for focusing on details I don’t like being bothered with, and that’s why I love them both.
Marcell sits in front of me with his short cropped hair and thin black glasses on his slender, dark-skinned face, resting his bony hands on the table as a waitress, Shelly, is let into the Box to take drink orders before we begin our meeting. He orders a Hennessy on the rocks, adjusts the collar on his over-sized gray leather jacket, then gives me his full attention.
Shelly makes her way around the table taking orders in a skimpy red bikini, the last of which come from the brothers at the end, both of them wearing white, long-sleeved shirts and faded black and gray denim jeans. Ricky and Donny Fontane are two years apart and consummate stickup men. Ricky is usually the driver of the duo, while Donny is the gunman who loves to wield weapons so large they have to be held with two hands—think shotguns and rifles, even for the smallest of jobs. They’re not twins, but they definitely look alike, with dark brown, slicked-back hair and thin beards on their pale white faces. Donny is the oldest and tallest, but Ricky is the brains of their operation.
Once Shelly finishes taking orders and brings all of the drinks back, I step on the silver button at the base of the couch and morph the Privacy Smart Glass from clear to dark opaque, obscuring the vision of everyone in the club so we can get down to business without having to worry about who’s watching. I doubt anyone in Club Asylum is a lip reader, but safe is always better than sorry.
“I’m glad you all could make it tonight,” I say to the group before taking a sip from my bottle of Cristal and setting it back down on the red coaster in front of me. “As you all should know by now, I don’t call upon many people for business more than once. I prefer bringing on help that’s desperate, scratching and clawing to get out of whatever gutter their stuck in. However, what we have in mind requires a certain amount of professionalism and skill, and experience has taught me that you four have both of those things in abundance.”
“We appreciate you reaching out, Solomon,” Donny speaks up. It goes without saying that when Donny Fontane is talking, he’s speaking for himself and his brother at the same time, because Ricky is usually the quiet one of the two. So as Ricky sips the Corona he ordered, Donny leans forward and rests his arms on the table, the sleeves of his white shirt lifting a bit and exposing the heavily tattooed flesh completely covering both of his arms. “I figured this is going to be a big deal if you’re calling us in on it. You know we don’t come cheap.”
“Have you ever known me to be cheap, Donny?” I reply with a smile, to which Donny grins and gives his head a single shake back and forth. “Right. Then give us your undivided attention while my good friend Nix lays out the details.”
“We’ve got a job we’d like all of you to be a part of,” Nix jumps in, his voice low and rumbling as always. “There’s a cash delivery being made to Hyperion Bank in three days.”
“Hyperion Bank?” Rock cuts in. “Unless there’s another Hyperion Bank in another freakin’ country, I think I see why you want us. You guys sure know how to go big.”
“Wait, wait,” Marcell says now, leaning forward. “Hyperion Bank is in the middle of Philly and only a few blocks from police headquarters. If you’re suggesting what it sounds like you’re suggesting, then you guys must’ve started drinking way before we showed up tonight. That drop is going to be extremely high in value, which means it’ll be heavily guarded like it always is, and any escape route you use will be crawling with cops. You’re not actually considering hitting that drop, are you? Because you may as well walk into police headquarters and demand to be let into a cell.”
“I didn’t take any of you for the scared type,” Nix replies, smartly.
We’ve been doing this a long time, and over the years, we’ve learned how to say exactly what is necessary to get what we want out of people. If you want to get a criminal to do your bidding, there are only two things you need to say to convince them: the job will make them rich, and turning the job down out of fear makes them a coward. In our lifestyle, you never let anyone believe you’re a coward, and if word gets out that you actually are a coward, it’s as good as a death sentence. Not only can cowards not be trusted to act when needed, but cowards crack under the pressure of even the lightest police interrogation, and that’s not the kind of thing people like us can tolerate. Cowards don’t live long in this lifestyle.
“Whoah,” Rock snips, lifting his extra-large hand off the table towards Nix. “No one said anything about being scared. It’s just that this ain’t some tiny little credit union at the edge of the city, with all kinds of winding highway escape routes waiting for us to make a quick getaway. This is Hyperion Bank, in the middle of Center City, a few minutes down the street from the slaughterhouse. The pigs will be all over you. They know how big that payload is at Hyperion. They’ll know when the drop is being made, and they’ll already have guys on it. They always do, because the damn commissioner probably has an account with Hyperion. It’s not about being scared, it’s about being smart.”
“I have to say that I agree with Rock’s big muscle-bound ass on this one,” Marcell says, leaning back in his chair and lifting the short glass of Hennessy to his lips. He sips it and sets it back on the table, eyeing me to see how I’ll react.
“It’s an interesting idea, Nix,” Donny says as his brother Ricky nods his head in agreement. “But turning that idea into reality probably isn’t gonna happen. That one’s just a little too big, even for you guys.”
“Too big,” I repeat, finally speaking up and drawing every eye in the room to me. I take a deep breath and rise out of my seat, lifting up the entire bottle of Cristal with me as I start to walk around the room, making sure to have eye contact with each individual as I go. “Let’s be clear about one thing, gentlemen—there is no such thing as too big. Not when it comes to me. I’ve been living this life for a while now, and I have conquered everything that so many others before me couldn’t. Were any of you big-dicked enough to hit Philly First National? That bank is taking a shit just ten minutes away from Philadelphia’s finest, and Nix and I went in there and wiped its ass to the tune of four hundred-seventy-five grand! We split that take five ways after only being in the bank for ninety seconds! And you tell me something is too big? Well how’s this for too big? Nix, please tell our guests what two-point-five million is when you split it five ways.”
At the sound of the numerical value, all four of their mouths drop so low I think they’ll shatter my glass table.
“Five hundred grand,” Nix barks confidently. “Each.”
“What the fu . . .” Donny starts to say, but I cut him off.
“No, no. Shhh. You had your chance to speak, and you chose to say that the job was too big. It’s obvious the only thing that’s too big in this room is the amount of limitations you’re willing to put on yourself. Oh, and my cock and balls, of course.”
The four men in front of us look to Nix to see if I’m being serious, as if they’re unsure if it’s okay to laugh, and the awkwardness of it is like a joke in itself. However, I’m seriously offended that they’d act as though I can be held back by the proximity of a police station. The cops have never stopped me before, and they won’t do it now. Why? Because I’m Solomon King. I’m a god in this city, and no cops or enemies formed against me shall prosper. I’m not satisfied with how I’ve managed to change my life over these past seven years. I’m not finished! I’m just getting warmed up, and I won’t be held back by other people’s fear or lack of ambition. Giants do not shrink themselves to appease the weak.
“Is something I said amusing?” I ask the group in all seriousness. Every smirk disappears. “I called you all here because I trusted that you could do what other people would say is impossible. Instead, you’re the one’s saying this is impossible, and I don’t think that shit is funny at all! I want results, and if you can’t help us get them, this is your opportunity to get up and walk out of my club right now.” I turn my back on the entire table and wait in silence.
No one moves. No one smiles. No one breathes. After fifteen silent seconds, I turn around, approach the table and set the bottle of Cristal down, slowly taking my seat with a blank stare on my face.
“You’re all still here,” I continue. “And if you’re still here, I assume that means you remember who you’re dealing with, and you’ve gotten your heads out of your asses. If you want small, go deal with someone else who will even do the small things half-assed and probably still get you killed in the process. If you want to change your life in ninety seconds, start thinking of how we can make the impossible possible. Now, who’s in, and who’s out?”
Slowly but surely, every one of these lowlife criminals starts to nod their heads. I’ve got them.
Rock is the first to answer. “I’m in.”
“Alright, Solomon. Let’s do it,” Marcell agrees after chugging the rest of his drink.
“I guess it’s go big or go home. Get rich or die trying,” Donny says with a smile.
“You had me at two-point-five million,” Ricky finally speaks up with a wide grin on his pale face.
I look at every one of them, then I glance at Nix, who simply nods his head once with a feint grin teasing the edge of his mouth.
“Good,” I reply, just as the intercom to the Box comes on and Lenny’s booming voice fills the room.
“Solomon, someone’s here to see you,” he says nervously. “Says he has something you asked for.”
Nix looks at me in confusion as I smile to myself and answer. “Let him in, Lenny.”
The thick glass door swings open and with the sound of booming bass following him, Tim Sandusky walks into the room wearing an all-black hoodie and black sweatpants. His thin, smooth face is dripping with sweat, and he has a black backpack slung over his right shoulder as he looks to me for approval. I wave him over and take the backpack from him.
“Don’t be nervous Timmy. Everyone in here is a friend of mine. Did everything go according to plan?” I ask him, looking the young, ambitious kid square in the eye.
“It did,” Tim answers.
“And our friend?”
“He’ll live. The shot to his leg wasn’t serious, and I heard an ambulance once I was a block or two away. I’m sure it was for him.”
“His family?”
“They saw it all, but none of them were hurt.”
I nod my head in approval.
“Well done, Tim,” I praise the kid, placing a hand on his shoulder as I turn to address the rest of the men in the room, who all look confused as hell. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce someone to you. This young man right here is Tim Sandusky. He’s one of the ballsiest little bastards I’ve ever met. You can think of him as kind of an intern of mine. Just a young man trying to earn his stripes, and tonight he earned his first one.”
I grab the backpack, unzip the bronze zipper and turn it over, letting all ten thousand dollars fall onto the table in front of everyone. Detective Mason’s ten thousand dollars.
“Like I said earlier, Timmy, nothing is free in this world,” I tell him as I pick the bottle of Cristal back up and take a long swig. “Now that you’ve passed your first test by taking this money back from that arrogant little prick, Mason, I hope you’re ready to step your game up, because we’re about to go big!”
“What?” Nix replies with deep grooves in his forehead. “Hold on. Did you say this money came from Mason? You mean Detective Mason?”
I don’t answer with words. I just let a smile slowly take over my mouth.
“Hold up,” Marcell interrupts next with a raised, skinny finger. “You had this intern of yours steal all of this money from a detective?”
“Let me get this straight,” Rock is next, now standing up and gesturing with his massive hands for emphasis. “This kid right here went into a detective’s home, shot him in the leg in front of his family, and walked out of the house with a backpack full of the detective’s cash? Is all of that right?”
I nod, still smiling as I take another swig from the bottle and the familiar sensation of a feint buzz starts to flow through my body, warming me up from feet to head. I let it fill me as the expression of shock and amazement takes over the faces of every man in the room except Timmy and me.
“Shit,” Nix grunts.
“Damn, Solomon,” Donny says.
“That’s crazy,” Ricky manages to say, grinning in admiration.
“That’s right,” I say to all of them. “Now go ahead—tell me the impossible can’t be done.”