The Heist

Andre never meant to do anyone dirty, that was just how things went sometimes. When they broke into that liquor store on 53rd, Andre ran as hard as he could with everyone else when the cops came; it wasn’t his fault Danny got caught. And when they’d done that job over on Kensington Andre was posted at the back as lookout; he didn’t have anything to do with the mess those other guys made.

Andre was just trying to get by and the streets were heartless, but one too many times he had fallen into some of the worst crowds around. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was picked up to do his stint behind bars; almost all the guys from his neighborhood got locked up at least once. Andre didn’t relish the idea of going to prison… but at the same time, not worrying about the roof over his head or the next meal in his belly might not be so bad.

He didn’t think too much of it when Moose let him know there was a piece of work coming up and Andre was being sniffed for the gig; Moose was the thickest kid in the neighborhood with huge, protruding ears, but he had gone crazy a few years ago on the person stupid enough to call him Dumbo. No one messed with Moose, he came and went as he pleased, usually spreading news of the latest heists.

“What’s the score?” Andre asked and listened carefully while Moose relayed, mostly in code, the details: some of the crew was planning a house robbery for later that night but they didn’t want Andre at the door keeping lookout; they wanted Andre to help search inside the house. Andre agreed willingly enough- his split of the profits was a lot higher when he was taking more risk and if he found anything small enough to slip on the side, Andre might come out better than ever.

Nine hours later Andre was running faster than he’d ever ran in his life, his legs pumping furiously while his breath tore in and out of his lungs, lighting his chest on fire. The black night was split apart with sirens screeching through the empty streets and red and blue lights slicing through the dark; but Andre dodged and dove through alleys and yards until the flood of lights and noise from the swarm of police was far behind him.

The job had been a nightmare. Either they’d been given the wrong information and the house actually had a security system, or a neighbor or someone had reported them right after they arrived. Andre hadn’t been in the house ten minutes before the boys out front were screaming to get out of there; Andre had made one, lucky swipe on his way out and then ran for his life.

Someone had left a twenty-dollar bill folded on the bedroom dresser. It wasn’t much, like jewelry or a safe, but it would get Andre something to eat for the next two or three days if he was careful. Andre kept to the shadows for several more blocks, angling his way past the downtown core before he started trekking east towards the ramshackle apartment he currently lived in. It was tiny and rundown, and Andre was two months behind on rent, but it was better than the homeless shelter or the last place he’d had, where both his roommates had been junkies who didn’t pay the bills.

He was startled out of his musings by the sudden shifting of the shadows ahead of him in the alley. A homeless man had stirred himself awake and was pulling himself to a stand against the brick building beside them. Andre watched the shadowy figure with a growing wariness- it would be just his luck to run into a bruiser in the backstreets and end up with no cash at all.

The dark shape stretched its arms towards Andre, and as he got closer he was able to see that it was a black man in shambles who appeared to be badly beaten. His clothes were ripped and torn, his forehead was split and he had a swelling bruise beneath his left eye. Andre winced and took a step back. This guy looked like more trouble than even Andre needed.

“Please… help me,” the homeless man croaked. Andre lifted his empty hands in return and offered a small smile.

“Sorry friend, I don’t have a dime. Down on my luck myself.”

“Please,” the stranger pleaded. “I was robbed. I don’t have any money to get home or call my family… I have nowhere to go.”

Andre slowed and took a closer look at the man in the gloomy alley. The tattered clothes may have been a suit and dress shirt not long ago, and what could have been a scrap of tie still hung around the man’s neck. Maybe he wasn’t homeless after all- and if he wasn’t from the streets, this guy didn’t stand much of a chance out here. It looked like he’d already gotten a pretty ugly taste of what things were like in the rougher neighborhoods.

Andre sighed and dug his hands into his pockets. Good intentions led the way to hell, or something like that, but he handed over the only money he had to his name: the folded twenty Andre nabbed from his otherwise failed robbery.

“Thank you,” the beggar exclaimed, so enthusiastically that he sounded like he had received a million dollars rather than twenty, “thank you so much. Here, please, give me your name-”

The man drew from within the shredded rags of his coat a sleek, black notebook. It looked surprisingly eloquent and out of place in this dirty alley, and confirmed Andre’s suspicions- this fellow wasn’t from around here. The man opened to an empty page and passed Andre a shiny silver pen.

“Give me your name and number, please. I’ll repay your kindness tenfold, I swear.”

Andre shrugged and took the pen. He doubted he’d see the twenty back, let alone two hundred dollars, but what was the harm? He scrawled his name and number – when it wasn’t disconnected – and passed the beaten man back his notebook and pen. Andre’s nerves were starting to get jumpy, hanging around outside for so long not far from where he’d recently committed a crime, so he gave the stranger a jerky nod and lumbered along his way.

The next day news spread quickly that police had caught two of the runners from the heist and were on the lookout for the rest. Andre decided to lay low in his apartment until the heat died down; no sense in going out and drawing attention to himself. He was surprised when someone rang the buzzer entrance to his apartment late in the day – he had made a point of not sharing his address with any of his acquaintances since his last place and Andre’s mother lived on the other side of the country – which didn’t leave many good options for any company that might drop by.

Andre debated on not answering; it could be the cops coming to talk to him and arrest him over the robbery, even though he’d only taken a lousy twenty and hadn’t even kept it. But if it was the cops, trying to keep them out or running away would only make it worse. Andre heaved a sigh and punched the button that would let the visitor in, thinking about his poor mama; she wouldn’t be surprised, of course, since Andre’s father had spent most of his life in jail, but he still wasn’t looking forward to telling her the news.

A ringing knock on the door sent Andre’s heart into the pit of his stomach. That was a knock with confidence and authority, like a lawyer or a cop. Andre pulled the door open in his tiny entryway and blinked at the man standing in the shabby hall; he was a tall, well-dressed black man, wearing a crisp grey suit and carrying a black briefcase. It wasn’t police then, and while the stranger looked like he could pass for a lawyer the cut on his forehead and the purple bruise beneath his eye were a jarring sight.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” Andre grunted finally, when he realized he recognized the visitor. Even with the scrapes and bruises his caller looked significantly different washed and dressed up than he had from the previous night- Andre didn’t know if he would’ve recognized the man if Andre had passed him on the street.

“I always repay my debts,” his visitor answered, wincing a little as he smiled. “I tried calling, but I couldn’t get through on the number you left. I took the liberty of hunting down your address, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble for twenty bucks,” Andre shrugged.

“To me debt isn’t just a figure or an amount… for me, the depth to which a person has been helped, is how much they should owe. The amount of help you gave me in my time of need is the debt I aim to repay. I learned a few things about you, Andre,” the man said, tapping the side of his briefcase thoughtfully. “Tell me, if you could get out of this slum and do anything, what is it you would do?”

Andre furrowed his eyebrows. That wasn’t a question he had asked himself in a long time. Spending time daydreaming about pointless hopes and ambitions was considered a complete waste where he came from. But he supposed when he had been younger, Andre had been fascinated with cooking; he loved watching the cooking channel with his mom and puttering behind her in the kitchen. He got swatted more often than not for being under her feet, but Andre had still loved it. He glanced at his apartment’s scruffy kitchen and tried to remember the last time he’d had something besides hot dogs and noodles to cook for himself.

“I guess… I’d go to cooking school. Learn to be a chef. Open my own restaurant someday.” The words sounded stupid even to Andre’s ears. If he didn’t come up with back pay for his rent, and fast, Andre wouldn’t have somewhere to live let alone dreaming about going to college.

The man smiled more broadly yet, though Andre could see the strain on his face as his bruised skin stretched and pulled. He slipped his hand inside his coat and withdrew a glossy checkbook. Andre watched in bemusement as the stranger gracefully scrawled a pen across a check, tore it from its pad, and slipped it inside the same black notebook he had handed Andre the night they met.

“Here,” the man passed Andre the trim notebook with the check tucked inside. “Remember what I said- always repay your debts, and pay back how much you were helped not just how much you owed.”

Andre nodded silently, momentarily lost for words, but before his brain could piece together an intelligible response his visitor had nodded in return, spun on his heel and strode away. Andre closed the door to the hall and slowly stepped back into his threadbare living room. He sank onto the stained, springy couch that had come with the apartment and tipped the notebook open. Inside sat a glistening check made out to his full name with $20,000 etched in the total.

Most of Andre’s usual crew was sitting at K Red’s Corner Stop, lounging on the sidewalk outside while a few did deals in the alley around back. Moose spotted Andre as he walked by and quickly hailed his friend.

“Hey, I heard about the bust the other night. Bad luck man, but I’m glad you weren’t caught. I have a line for you on the perfect heist for tonight!”

“Can’t, Moose,” Andre grinned. “I have some cooking to do.”