The Holloway Heist

Micky (The Fingers) Teague stood in the empty room looking in all directions, but all he got was a hallow echo. He should have known. The room was an empty storage area secured by a cypher lock on the heavy metal door. Stepping out of the empty room, he heard sirens wailing in the distance. He could try to run, but he figured he wouldn’t get very far. It would be better if he stayed put and wait for them. He knew as the sirens got closer that Irving Holloway had betrayed him.

Known as The Fingers by those in the business, Micky was known as a smooth operator by those associates who had worked with him in the past. Nothing seemed to rattle him, not even his impending arrest. Even law enforcement was in awe of his coolness when the heat was turned on like it was about to.

“If it isn’t The Fingers.” The first policeman with gun drawn chuckled when he saw Micky standing there picking at his fingernails with a emery board.

“Took you guys long enough to get here.” He nodded not even taking the time to look up at the officer.

“Hey, we got here as fast as we could.” The officer grabbed one of Micky’s arms to handcuff him.

“I coudda been beatin’ on your grandma.” He smile as the officer got the other arm handcuffed.

“She’s been asleep for last three hours.” The officer shook his head with a wicked grin planted on his mug.

“I kept wonderin’ where the heck is a cop when you need one?” Micky cracked as the officer led Micky out of Halloway’s plush office past some fake potted plants.

“Holy crap, is that you Teague? What the hell are you doin’ here? Isn’t it past your bedtime?” The sergeant shook his double chins when he saw Micky being led out of the office.

“You guys are so slow, I read War and Peace while I was waiting.” Micky chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, you read the title and that was about it.” Sergeant Fitzgerald returned the chuckle.

“Halloway was supposed to pay me, ya know.” Micky stood with the two officers waiting for the elevator.

“For what?” Fitzgerald rolled his eyes.

“For the work I done.” Micky said as the elevator door opened.

“When are you gonna learn Fingers, Holloway is crook, just like you.” Fitzgerald shook his head. How many times had he paid a midnight visit to Holloway’s office to run one of his henchmen down to the station? Nobody ever learned. He was surprised to see Fingers in handcuffs. He figured Fingers was too smart for this, but he had been proved wrong once again.

“You get one phone call, Fingers…I mean Mr. Teague.” Doris told him when he was assigned a cell. Micky like Doris. Even in her uniform she looked like a dirty pile of clothes tossed on the floor. Her face even sagged though she applied makeup, the bags under her eyes were dark and deep. When she spoke she had a pronounced nasal quality to her voice.

“Doris, it is so good to see you.” He flashed a smile which always made her smile back at him.

“You are a bad boy.” She shook her finger at him.

“It’s what I do.” He shrugged unrepentant, “Got a quarter for the phone?”

“Pssshhh.” She blew air between her discolored lips. “Here.”

“Gracias.” He bowed. Dropping the coin into the phone, he dialed the number. It rang three times before he heard his voice on the other end of the line, “Irving, buddy.”

“What the hell do you want? It’s past midnight.” Halloway growled.

“Guess where the hell I am? Three guesses, but the first two don’t count.” Micky leaned against the wall with his elbow resting on the pay phone.

“I dunno…the art museum?” His voice was thick with sleep.

“Yeah, that was four hours ago.” Micky blew some air through his clenched teeth. “Try again.”

“Jesus, is this Jeopardy?” He was agitated.

“No and my name is Micky, not Jesus.” Micky glanced over at Fitzgerald who scowled as he passed Micky. “You hung me out to dry.”

“You were supposed to leave once you got done.” Holloway hissed.

“Hard to leave when the car keys are gone.” Micky twisted himself in the phone cord.

“It’s not my problem.” Halloway hissed again like an angry rattlesnake.

“You don’t get it. There will come a day when you will look up and see me pointing a gun at you.”

“Fingers, doncha threaten me.” He warned, “I’ve got a lot of soldiers who would be more than happy to put a cap in your ass. Shit I might not even have to pay them.” Halloway was having his buttons pushed by a pro.

“You keep thinkin’ that Halloway.” Micky grimaced as he slammed the phone back into the cradle.

“Watch it, Fingers.” Fitzgerald warned still holding a clipboard.

“Sorry Sarge, wife was being a bit harsh about my arrest” Micky shrugged nonchalantly as a wicked smile filled his face.

“What the hell, you ain’t even married.” Fitzgerald waved Micky off.

“Harsh news if she found that out.” Micky wandered back to the open door on his cell. One of the officers closed and locked the door as Micky lay on the straw mattress.

“Misdemeanor trespass.” Jaden Walters said at the hearing the following day.

“How so?” Prosecuting attorney Howard Young folded his arms across his chest.

“Nothing was stolen.” Jaden shrugged and glance down at Micky.

“That we know of.” Howard stood up.

“Hearsay.” Jaden shrugged.

“Does the prosecutor have any evidence of theft?” The judge asked.

“Something was taken.” Howard shook his head.

“What?” Jaden asked.

“We don’t know, but the museum reports several works of art are missing.” Howard insisted.

“Has the defendant been charged with the theft?” The judge inquired.

“No your honor.” Howard shook his head.

“Then let us not charge him unless we have evidence of a theft.” The judge rested his head on his hands folded in front of him. “I have misdemeanor trespass and nothing else. If we find evidence of theft perpetrated by Mr. Teague, he will be rightfully charge at that point, but this hearing will only address the crime of trespass.”

“Very well, you honor.” Howard said as he face turned a bright shade of red.

Outside the courtroom, Jaden asked his client, “So, was there theft of art work?”

“Self-incrimination? You should know me better than that?” Micky put his thumbs under his armpits and shook his head vehemently.

“Just don’t go shooting your mouth off like you did last year.” Jaden shook his head as he put the papers from the hearing into his briefcase without breaking step. It was a professional skill he had learned over years of practice.

“I will be good.” Micky promised.

“What were you doing there?” Jaden tilted his head.

“Holloway owed me money for something I did for him. Quid quo pro.” Micky pointed his finger at his attorney like a gun and pulled the trigger.

“Latin yet?” Jaden laughed.

“Carpe diem.” Micky said as he walked out the federal building.

After a couple of beers and a poor night’s sleep in lock-up, Micky was asleep before the nightly news was over. He was awakened around nine o’clock by a heavy knock at the door. He sat up, but his immediately began to spin.

“Coming.” He croaked as he stood up. The walk to the door seemed to be more difficult than scaling Mount Everest. When he opened the door, Irving Holloway and two of his thugs filled his doorway.

“Mind if we come on in?” Holloway shrugged. Neither of his heavy thug bookends moved a muscle, but Micky knew all three were packing. Micky opened the door wider so all three could enter his small apartment.

Irving sat on the couch where Micky had been sleeping. The two thugs stood on either end of the couch.

“What brings you to the shady side of town?” Micky sat in the chair facing the couch.

“Just trying to settle things between us, Fingers.” Holloway glanced at both of his henchmen.

“What about?” Micky pinched his chin with his hand.

“You think I left you in the lurch.” Holloway nodded.

“You did.”

“If I done ya wrong, you’d still be in lockup.” He squinted at Micky.

“My question to you is, where are the paintings and art work?” Micky pointed a finger at Holloway.

“You don’t need to know.” He crossed his leges.

“What about the money you promised for doing the job?” Micky shrugged one shoulder.

“You ain’t in jail, are you?”

“I was for one lousy night. The accommodations suck, by the way.” Micky took a quick glance at the two statues on either side of Holloway.

“If I wanted I would have turned over the surveillance tape I took from the camera.” He grinned with complete satisfaction as he learned back in the couch.

“Are you talking about those Tik Tok tapes you have.” Micky laughed.

“Ain’t no Tik Tok tape, Fingers.” He reached into his suit jacket pocket and drew out the recordings.” Twenty to thirty years hard time.”

He held the video tape out so Micky could see it.

“Sucks being you, don’t it?” Holloway laughed. Both thugs joined in the laughter, but Micky was not laughing. He just kept stroking his chin.

“What about the others?” Micky asked.

“Dryer was in a car accident this morning. He did not make it.” Holloway pointed his finger at Micky and pulled the trigger, “Walls went for a swim yesterday and sadly drowned. Mr. Kim met with an unfortunate accident in his twenty-story apartment. Which if I’m figuring correctly, leaves only you.”

“Is that why you brought your goons with you?” Micky put his chin in his hand.

“Fingers, Fingers, must I advise you to be careful about how you talk to my loyal men.” He glanced at both of them again, but neither one of them showed any hint of a facial expression. “I have dealers ready to pay top dollar for what you guys managed to sneak out of the museum. I was very pleased at what you were able to do.”

“Pleased, but not willing to pay us what you promised.” Micky shook his head and sighed.

“A man in my position would be ill-advised paying off criminals for the Holloway Heist, now would I?” His laugh was evil, “I think we need to show you where I have stored the art treasures. I feel you should know. It won’t do you any good, because you will be the Late Great Fingers by then. How did you get your name anyway?”

“You don’t care.” Micky smirked.

“Oh but I do.” Holloway put his elbows on his knees and cradled his chin. He was about to turn fifty years old soon and wanted to enter his fifth decade as the richest man in the city. Micky on the other hand never could manage to get a big score that would set him straight.

“They call me Fingers because I used to be the best safe-cracker in the business, but in my spare time I played piano for a swing bang uptown. I loved swing. It made sense when the rest of the world was warped. My old man got caught up in the syndicate.” Micky rubbed his hands together, “He got himself in deep and one night they shot him over at Victor’s. Two hitmen. I saw everything, but all I could do was hold him as the blood leaked all over the carpet. His last words were not to get mixed up in the rackets.”

“You shoudda listened to him.” Holloway shook his head. “I’m gonna have one of these handsome gents drive to the warehouse. I will take you on tour of the place, but you won’t be leaving.”

He stood up and tapped Micky on the cheek with his open hand four times. He tried for a fifth time, but Micky pulled his face back.

“You shoudda played piano.” Holloway signaled to his two thugs who nodded and each of them grabbed an elbow. Once in the car, Micky sat between the thugs as Holloway drove his Cadillac Seville like the big shot he wanted to be. While Micky felt this would be his last ride, at least he’d be driven in a car with class and luxury.

“Hey Sarge, isn’t that Fingers in that car?” Officer Hastings pointed.

“Yeah, it is.” Fitzgerald squinted, “What’s he doing in a car like that?”

“Beats me.” Hastings shrugged, “Should we follow him?”

“Naw, we’re on a stakeout.” Fitzgerald shook his head.

“Ain’t them the guys we arrested last week?”

Again Fitzgerald squinted. He had glasses in the glove box, but he was just too proud to put them on. “Yeah it is.”

“Should we tail ‘em?” Hastings started the patrol car.

“I guess we oughta.” He nodded. “Not too close, rookie.”

Hastings had been on the force for over ten years, but to Fitzgerald, Hastings was still a rookie.

“Looks like they’re head up to the Warehouse Row.” Hastings observed.

“Wonder why they’re taking Fingers there.” Fitzgerald mumbled to himself.

“Should we call for back up?” Hastings followed at a safe distance where they wouldn’t be spotted in traffic.

“We have arrived.” Holloway parked his car in front of an abandoned dilapidated warehouse. “Your last stop in this life.”

Both backseat doors opened as the two thugs exited the car.

“Fingers, you have been one of my better associates, but alas the time has come for sweet sorrow, I’m afraid.” Holloway grinned as he removed a Glock from his shoulder holster. Meanwhile the patrol car parked at a parking lot in front of an abandoned nondescript warehouse across the street out of sight.

Holloway led the three into the warehouse. There wasn’t much inside. The place was empty or so it seemed. Pressing a button on a remote control, Holloway smiled as to large metal doors separated revealing an art gallery of stolen art work.

“You did this. I am grateful for your dedication and craftsmanship.” His smile seemed mechanical, but Micky knew that there was very little inside Holloway that resembled anything human.

“You killed four of my team after the heist.” Micky shifted from one leg to the other, his hands bound in thick coarse rope.

“Collateral damage, I’m afraid.” He sniffed. “This room was built to store items that could be damaged when exposed to the environment. Most of these things were used to make explosives of various sorts or paintings that are several centuries old. When I depress this button here, all the air will be sucked out of the room using the ventilators. In five minutes time, this room will be vacuumed sealed. And you will be suffocated.”

Micky watched the three of them leave as the big metal doors shut with a whoosh and thump. He would die surrounded by some of the most famous masterpieces known to mankind. As the ventilators began to remove the air fromthe room, Micky smiled as he rubbed his stubbly chin.

“Not such a bad way to go.” He chuckled at the irony, “Can’t see them before I go, but when I close my eyes, I can remember them what they looked like as we removed them from the walls.”

He took a deep breath he figured would be his last. As he exhaled, he couldn’t hear the ventilators whirling as it removed all the air in the room. Suddenly the room filled with light and standing in front of him were Seargent Fitzgerald and Officer Hastings.

“Well, well, well, look at what we found.” Fitzgerald walked into the room that was now filled with air, “Not what I call a work of art by any means.”

“We got Holloway sitting cuffed in our patrol car. His two goons are in the other patrol car.” Hastings reported robotically.

“Am I gonna take a ride with them?” Micky asked.

“On what charge?” Fitzgerald shot a quick glance.

“I stole these.” Micky yanked his thumb over his shoulder at the paintings hanging on the wall. “Holloway liked good art. He hired us to take them once I disabled the security.

“People have been stealing art for centuries. Does anybody remember their names? Just that one guy who took the Mona Lisa out of the Louvre.” Fitzgerald put.” his hand to his double chin, “What the heck was his name. I forget.”

“Vincenzo Peruggia.” Hastings said as if everybody was supposed to know.

“Yeah, that guy.” Fitzgerald snapped his fingers as they walked out. “You take care Fingers, I know we’ll be seeing more of you in the future.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Micky smiled just grateful to breathe in the dirty city air again.

“We got enough on Holloway to put him away for quite a while.” Fitzgerald nodded. “I guess you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Micky was glad to hear him say that because he could see Halloway in the back of the patrol car glaring at him. If looks could kill, Michy was a goner.

Later that week, Micky went to the museum. The empty spaces his team had left behind was now filled in with the missing paintings that were stolen in the Hollway Heist as the news networks coined it. Shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, Micky walked out into the bitterly cold air wearing a grin on his face.