# 1 Trey
Trey studied the store. The iron grate was down over the dirty plate glass window, and the light inside was so dim anyone who didn’t know would think the store was closed. But Trey knew better. Much better.
He’d been casing the place ever since the liquor store changed ownership about a month ago and began serving a special clientele who were in need when other stores were closed. There were plenty of after-hours shops in Harlem but this one attracted more customers than a whorehouse giving away free samples. Nothing worse than a party going dry just when it was jumping. People didn’t mind paying a premium when they were thirsty and the bars and legit places were locked up tight.
This guy had to be taking in a couple grand easy every Friday night. And right now, Trey could use that kind of dough. His share, anyhow. There were three of them, but because he figured the job, because he was the Man, he got half, Chico and Easy split the other half. Whatever’s fair.
Something moved inside the shadowy store, and Trey made out a man approaching on the street. A customer who’d called ahead? Sure enough, the guy stopped in the doorway, peered inside, then tapped on the window. The sound was barely loud enough to make out—two slow, four fast. Within seconds, the door opened and he disappeared inside.
Trey grinned. The jerk owner hadn’t changed the stupid code signal. It wouldn’t matter if he had. The guy wasn’t heavy on smarts. Trey had been watching the place long enough to figure out the guy used three codes over and over, once in a while scrambling them to a different order but never changing them. Real Einstein.
Behind him Chico stirred. Trey glanced over his shoulder and winked. He could depend on Chico. They’d been tight for years, ever since they both quit school and began making money on the streets. Chico wasn’t any genius, but he knew how to follow orders and he was loyal. Never ratted on anyone in his life.
The other guy, Easy, stood beside him like a slim, dark shadow against the wall. Trey didn’t know him all that well. He’d been around the neighborhood awhile, a quiet kid, a little too quick on temper, but Chico said he’d do what he was told. This was the first time Trey agreed to take him on a job, more because Chico suggested him than because he liked or trusted him. Still, he needed a third man to watch the door.
The customer staggered out carrying two plastic bags big enough to hold a couple of gallons of jugs and headed back the way he’d come. Trey glanced at the glowing hands of his wrist watch, then checked the street in both directions. It was empty. This guy’s trade slowed down after three. Party animals were well stocked or totally bombed by now. The guy who just left was the only customer in the last forty-five minutes. Trey guessed the owner was already sacked out in back where he could hear anyone knock. He hoped you didn’t have to call if you wanted service this late.
He signaled Chico and started across the street. In the doorway of the liquor store, he looked to make sure Chico and Easy were out of sight before he knocked. Close-up he could see the interior of the place. The owner appeared in the curtained doorway before Trey completed the code. He shuffled toward the door and opened it enough to peer out, but not enough to show the billy club Trey knew he’d stuck in the back of his belt.
"Need a couple of jugs of vodka. Antonio up at the Happy Time says you his good buddy." Trey flashed the folded bills from his pocket and grinned as the prospect of a big sale won out over the man’s reluctance to admit a stranger. He grunted and stepped back, opening the door.
Trey sauntered inside, and before the man could shut the door, Chico and Easy squeezed in. Fear sprang to the man’s eyes as he realized his mistake. He was caught away from the cash register and the gun he kept below it.
"They just gonna help me carry all that booze," Trey said with a laugh. Chico grabbed the guy, pinning his arms as he reached behind him for the billy club, then shoved him against the wall hard enough to make bottles on the shelves rattle. Easy stood with his back to the door, one hand behind him on the knob. Trey circled behind the counter and hit the No Sale button on the cash register. When the drawer sprang open, he whistled softly. The bins for tens and twenties bulged under the spring clips. He scooped out the bills, shoving them into the wide pockets of the cargo jacket he’d worn for that purpose. When he lifted the cash tray, his eyes widened at the sight of the fifties and hundreds in neat bundles.
Jackpot! There had to be a lot more than two grand! He had to use two pockets to hold it all. Slamming the drawer shut , he started for the door. A nice clean job. If this jerk called the cops, he’d have the city down on him for after-hours sales. He wouldn’t get much sympathy from the boys in blue, or much help either.
"Let’s go," he said, coming around the counter.
"Miguel--!"
Trey whirled. A woman, young and pretty, her belly swollen with pregnancy under a silky nightgown, stood in the curtained doorway. The sleep vanished from her eyes as she took in the scene. She turned to go back inside, but stopped when the man shouted.
"Don’t hurt her!"
Trey spun back to look at the door. Easy had a pistol aimed at the woman.
"Put it away, you fool!" he ordered.
Without taking his eyes from the woman, Easy said. "Who you callin’ a fool, Big Man?"
"You! We got what we came for. We’re outta here." He started for the door, glancing at Chico who still had the shop owner pinned to the wall of shelves. "Let’s go."
Chico backed away from the cowering man slowly, swinging the billy club as a warning for him to stay put. Easy didn’t move. Trey reached behind him and yanked the door open. Chico ran out but Easy stood his ground, still watching the terrified woman.
"After you, Big Man," he said.
"Go! Now!" Trey ordered.
Easy’s eyes flared like an animal about to spring. Trey yanked his shoulder and tried to shove him out, but Easy pulled his arm away. In the same motion he spun and fired at the shop owner who made a dash for safety, or maybe for his gun below the cash register. He threw himself around the end of the counter, and the bullet missed him. The woman let out a soft scream and fell to the floor. The man crawled on his hands and knees to her as blood stained the front of her pink nightgown and began to run across the grimy floor. Easy aimed again.
Trey swung upward and hit the hand holding the gun. It went off, shattering a row of bottles on an upper shelf and pouring down a shower of booze and glass. Trey grabbed Easy’s wrist and twisted the gun from his grip, then shoved him out the door. Easy whirled in a fighting stance, but Trey stiff-armed past him.
"Jeez—let’s make tracks!" Chico hissed.
Trey was already running. Five blocks from there he and Easy had discovered an old building that had an entrance to the maze of tunnels under Central Park. The tunnels were frequent routes for people needing them. The cops knew about them and used them too, but they rarely managed to catch anyone down there with all the cut offs and spurs that angled in every direction. If a guy used his head for something more than holding up his hat, he could memorize a series of turns that would bring him out on the East Side where he could be long gone before the cops on the West Side had time to alert other precincts.
There were still tenants upstairs in the building, but the Health Department had closed down the restaurant on the street level more than a year ago. Nobody cared enough about the dark, narrow location to pay the rent the greedy landlord wanted these days or the high cost of cleaning up the dump. He and Chico weren’t the first to find the busted back door that pushed open with a little pressure. Plenty of people had used the empty store for a variety of purposes that left distinctive litter behind. Chico refused to go down into the unbelievably filthy, stinking basement, so Trey had been alone when he found the other door. Rusted shut and rusted through, it hadn’t been opened for years. The next time he came, he brought a flashlight and crowbar and pried the door open. And found the entry to the Central Park tunnels.
In the distance, sirens grew from a whine to a scream, and Trey sprinted so they’d make it before the cops got close enough to spot three guys running. In this neighborhood, that was enough to get you taken in for questioning. He could hardly breathe when he finally put his shoulder to the back door of the empty shop and forced it open. Chico hurried in behind him. Easy stopped in the doorway like he wanted an invitation.
"Jeez— It stinks in here!" he said.
"You wanna go back on the street and say hello to the cops," Chico said angrily.
"All I said—"
"We know what you said, and we saw what you did, asshole," Trey snarled.
"Don’t call me—"
"In or out? I’m shuttin’ the door!" Trey heaved against it. Easy jumped out of the way. Inside. The door slammed, and Trey dropped the heavy metal bar into the slots he’d put up for it. The sound rolled around in the pitch darkness.
"Jeez—" Easy said again, but a lot quieter now.
Chico struck a match to the candle they kept on a ledge. The flame cast an eerie glow that could barely be called light, but it was enough for Trey to make his way to the box in the corner to get out the flashlight and shine it down the cellar stairs.
"I ain’t going down there," Easy protested.
Trey turned the beam on him, forcing him to squint in the glare. "Suit yourself. After the stupid stunt you pulled back there, we’re better off without you. Go on, scram."
Easy shielded his eyes with his hand. "Not without my cut."
"I oughta—"
"Hey, c'mon, we’re wastin’ time, Man." Chico danced nervously and the candle flame fluttered.
Trey swung the light onto the steps and led the way down. He’d just as soon dump Easy right now. Give Chico their shares and let him settle up. This was a nice clean job until he little jerk pulled that trigger. No way Trey was going to forget that. Or the girl lying there in all that blood.
Trying to control his rage, he crossed the dank cellar in long strides and unbolted the metal door to the tunnel. He didn’t wait to see if Chico and the stupid kid followed but headed for the turn that would lead under the Park. When he reached it, he snapped off the flashlight and turned to Chico.
"We split up here." Light bulbs in wire cages on the walls at long intervals shred enough light to make their way.
Chico nodded, but Easy’s chin jutted, ready to argue again. Trey reached into the cargo pocket stuffed with tens and twenties, shuffled off a dozen of each like he would a deck of cards for a game, handed them to Chico, then did the same with Easy.
"We check the papers and keep our ears open. Any hint the cops are sniffing our way, we go under until things cool down. That girl dies," he glared at Easy, "we got big trouble. We may have to split for awhile. We get in touch the usual way tomorrow, Chico. If we’re clear, we meet and divvy the money."
"Yeah, what about me?" Easy demanded, louder than safe when they didn’t know who might be around the next corner.
"I give you your cut, like I tol’ ya," Chico whispered before Trey could answer. He stuffed the bills in his pocket and started down one of the passages that forked off.
"Hey-- My gun," Easy said, real cold and nasty.
Trey pulled it from his pocket, emptied the clip, then handed it over, barrel first. Easy’s curses followed him as he spun on his Air Jordans and sprinted down a different tunnel. He hoped to hell the kid had never been down here before and got himself lost, the little bastard.

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