The Job

Fuck the dark and stormy night shit. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in May when Michelle walked out on Shaeffer.

He was grilling steaks in the backyard, waiting for Grogan to show up. Drink some brewskis, slobber down some bloody steaks, and tell each other bullshit stories.

Shaeffer looked up when he heard a car horn honk. Nothing there. The car must have been in the street. Shaeffer shook his head and went back to tending the steaks.

Next thing he knew Michelle was walking across the lawn towards him.

"We need to talk."

Shit. In the history of mankind, Shaeffer had never heard of a good conversation with a man's girlfriend that had that opening phrase. He was willing to bet that it didn't exist.

"What's up?", Shaeffer replied, already knowing the answer.

"I'm leaving you. My sister's in front, waiting to pick me up. I got some bags packed - I'll be back for the furniture with my brother-in-law. I'll let you know."

Shaeffer just nodded. Michelle walked away.

He poked at the steaks in a daze. "Shit." Shaeffer always heard that nine times out of ten, the last words on the black box in a plane crash were "oh shit."  He knew just how those pilots felt.

He didn't need this shit. Shaeffer was 55 years old, looking at his career going down the tubes. Who the hell got paid in cash these days? Hell, who  even used cash these days? The cash jobs like Parker and Nolan used to do were long gone. What was Shaeffer going to do - knock over a 7-11 for $23 and a six-pack? Screw that - they didn't even stock the good stuff. Michelob was 7-11's idea of an craft IPA beer.

Shaeffer snorted in disgust. He needed to pull a job - now. Like any pro, he had a short list of jobs he had noticed over the years, giving them an easy once-over, filing it away for future reference. For whatever reason, the jobs never got pulled. It was time to revisit some of those jobs. Shaeffer nodded to himself.

He was so deep in thought about the potential jobs he had noticed over the years that he didn't even notice Grogan walking up.

"What the hell's gotten into you? You're ruining those steaks."

Shaeffer scowled. "Fuck off."

"Hey pal, you're the one that invited me over for a good Saturday afternoon grilling. Stupid me, I thought you meant steaks, not a police interrogation."

"Michelle just walked out on me."

"Jesus, I'm sorry."

"Screw it. Bitch showed her true colors."

Grogan shook his head in sympathy. He headed up to the kitchen. "Need a beer, Shaeffer?"

"I need some whiskey or tequila is what I need."

Grogan came out with some IPA's. He tossed Shaeffer one. Shaeffer leaned over and caught it.

Shaeffer popped it open and took a swig. "I need to pull a job, Grogan."

"Are you nuts?"

"I gotta get my mind off Michelle. I need to pull a job."

Grogan took a hit off of his Sierra Nevada. "Jesus, Shaeffer, didn't you learn anything running around those years with Nolan and Parker? You never pull a job quick. And you damn sure never pull a job when you're woman-crazy. How the hell do you think they stayed out of the joint?"

Shaeffer snorted. "I'll go crazy without pulling a job, so what's the difference? At least this way I'll have some cash to blow before I waste it on lawyers."

Grogan drained his beer. "Jesus. You need another beer? Because I sure do before I hear about your fucking job."

Grogan came back with two more beers and handed one to Shaeffer.

"Remember that private ATM job in Florida?" Grogan nodded. He remembered it well. It was a sweet set-up. This guy got a job with an ATM company driving a route servicing all the private ATMs - the ones in bars, gas stations, and the like. One day, about three months into the job, he took off with the armored truck and the money, never to be seen again. Until, of course, he started bragging about it in the wrong bar after one too many shots.

Shaeffer went on, "That's the one I was thinking of. Everyone's loading up their  private ATMS for July 4."

"Jesus, Shaeffer! July 4 - that's less than two months from now."

"Hell, we won't need a big crew. Maybe one more guy."

"How do you see it? We don't have time to get a job with the ATM company and do it the way he did it."

"Look, we find a place that stocks the ATMs. We track the trucks from the warehouse, make a list of likely hit places. Scope 'em out, hit 'em July 3."

Grogan took another sip and sat back. "I think your plan needs some details ironed out, Shaeffer."

"Hell, I know that, Grogan. That's why we're talking now."

It was getting tougher and tougher finding cash jobs these days. Everyone was paying with debit cards, or Paypal. What was a guy like Shaeffer supposed to do? Mug some cash electrons making their way over to Amazon or eBay from someone's bank account? And how the hell do you tell a cash electron from an e-book electron?

Shaeffer shook his head and took another gulp. Damned if he knew the answer.

"Look, I gotta do something. This thing with Michelle is gonna drive me nuts. I can't see us knocking over some 7-11 for chump change and a bunch of credit card receipts. We need a real job, like Parker and Nolan used to pull."

Those guys were heavyweight heistmen. Bank heists, cash payrolls, armored cars - these guys thrived on those big cash jobs. The problem was there was less and less cash jobs anymore.

"And now you're doing the exact same things those guys always warned you about. Great thinking there, Einstein."

"I know, I know. But I gotta get something started."

Grogan stood up and drained the last of his beer. He clinked bottles with Shaeffer.

"Stay in touch, bud. I could use a good score too."

Schaeffer just sat there, thinking about the job.