At that instant, before Deuce can say anything or exercise his preference, which would be to slap the pretty blonde across the face, he catches movement on the periphery of his vision. Through the office window he sees Chucky walking quickly toward the building, mask in hand.
Deuce growls at Oliva and, using his gun as a pointer, herds her into the cluster of hostages. Chucky comes through the door struggling with his nylon stocking mask. Oliva notices him and stares straight at him. Chucky moves down the corridor out of sight for an instant then returns, his mask in place and gun in hand.
The two crooks seat their five captives in a semicircle of chairs. Deuce hands out flimsy pillowcases and tells everyone but Sam Levine to put them over their heads. Chucky is looking in every direction at once, taking in the entire office in short darting glances.
The first two-man team should have arrived from the van by now. Two minutes pass. Then another. And another. Deuce and Chucky look at each other. It is the first punch of panic. They wait.
Inside the van, there’s mayhem. In fact, there is mutiny. Mitch Lanoue is inching the vehicle along the curb of Cranston Street. The nose of the van is in plain sight from the office window. Deuce and Chucky see it creeping along and realize what’s happening. The job is going bad fast. There will be blood. Deuce can see it in Chucky’s eyes.
Flynn catches Oliva staring at him. He says to Deuce, “You tell her not to look at me or I’m going to blow her fucking head off.”
Oliva needs no prompting. She turns her gaze straight down at the floor. Deuce lowers the gun and adjusts the pillowcase over her head. She is slightly claustrophobic. She gasps and starts to shake. “Please don’t make me wear this,” she says.
“You have to,” Deuce replies.
Outside, Lanoue is a split second from hitting the gas pedal when Joe Danese’s anger at the situation rolls through him and blows out like a clap of thunder.
“Crazy Joe” pulls out a hidden snub-nosed .38 and shouts, “Stop. Stop the van. You motherfuckers are going in right now. I’ll kill every one of you if you don’t fucking move. Get out. Do it. Now!”
The men throw open the doors of the van and tumble onto the pavement, even as the vehicle is stopping. They leave the doors wide open and Lanoue nearly hysterical. He jumps from the van, runs around slamming the doors shut, calling out, “You goddamned sons of bitches, you! Fucking know-nothing assholes. Sacré bleu!”
The five men are bogged down with their duffels, a suitcase, an oversize bag, toolboxes, and crowbars. They’re stumbling and banging into one another. They all hit the front door at once. They look like the Three Stooges all trying to get through a narrow doorway at the same time. After more swearing and pushing, they manage to get through. They pass the door in single file, each man peering into the office.
Deuce glowers at them; Chucky stares, his eyes like bullets. He’s rigid with anger. His arm is extended as straight as a railroad directional aimed at the vault. The masked men look quickly away as they pass.
Deuce turns back to his captives.
“Sam, keep your eyes on the floor,” he tells Levine.
Barbara Oliva is weeping softly.
Flynn lifts the hood above her eyes again.
He asks if she’s okay.
“I . . . I’m all right,” Oliva says.
She looks out into the room again before Deuce lowers the flimsy pillowcase.
Chucky heads for the inner sanctum where the safe deposit boxes are. Minutes later, banging and the sound of electric drills drift out of Bonded Vault.
The biggest heist as of this date in US history finally is under way.