Hello Miami, Hello!Started by Emanual Goldenburg at May 21, 2021 3:57 PM
A quiet Wednesday at just past nine in the morning, a day that dawned warm, with a breeze coming in off Biscayne Bay, another mild South Florida day at fifty-nine point six degrees.
A pair of Chevrolet sedans pulled up in front of the Beach City Jewelers next door to the Metropolitan bank, not all that unusual, though the sight of ten men disembarking with Thompson’s and shotguns was very unusual. Eight men went toward the bank, while two entered the jewelry store.
There was a muffled shotgun blast from inside the jewelry store as the pair dispatched the owner and then cleared the cases into satchels and took them to the car, posting up to cover their comrades, who were just inside the bank.
The men fanned out, one fired his machine gun into the ceiling, “Shut up an’ siddown! NOW!” He motioned to the others and added, Youse behind the counter, down, NOW!”
With precision, they looted the tellers' cage of the cash on hand. Another had the manager by the throat pushing him to the vault, “Open it.” He hissed, “The time lock is off, so finish it!”
The man, quaking in his shoes, simply nodded as they reached the door and he used his key to open it and then pulled the cage door open and four men rushed past scraping the stacks of money in bags as fast as they could. Then they brushed past on their way to the front door, the gangster shoved the manager in the vault and shot him three times before backing out, “Beat it!” He shouted and started after those with the bags.
One of the guards raised up reaching for his gun, the last of the gang members, covering the other's retreat, simply and indiscriminately opened fire with his Thompson in the air, not taking into account the ceiling, hitting several customers with the falling debris, as well as a couple of bank employees as he backed toward the door.
Once there, he ran toward the first car as it pulled away from the curb, jumping on the running board, the second car right behind the first. Another one of the guards, although wounded, made his way outside and emptied his service revolver at the fleeing automobiles before collapsing on the sidewalk.
"Listen you mugs! The next heist we pull will set 'em on their ear, you hear?" Emanual said in his usual gruff New York style. So it's a simple operation an' it's worth more than youse guys got outta the bank. But, I did like the ice, a' we should be able to fence that stuff for a pretty penny."
There was no hint of what he meant by the next heist would set them on their ear. Who was "Them" and what exactly was the job? Questions only Emanual Goldenberg had the answers to. He was a man that planned, he was critical about every detail. Some said he was a perfectionist, others had intimated there might be an issue with his sanity, but never to his face.
"We gots a list of banks to visit. I know we said we'd try not to kill nobody, hey, sometimes, ya know? Gots ta break a couple eggs to make the omelet. I ain't losin' no sleep over it. You do what ya gotta do in this racket, right?. So we need to wake 'em up. Maybe we hit two banks at the same time? Eh?" He laughed, not a pleasant sound because there was no pleasure in it.
"So the banks can wait. What we're after is far more better'n any bank heist. Though we'll get to 'em, I promise." He looked at them as they returned his stare with wide eyes. The smile that followed was sinister. The look of evil. "Ever hear of Loomis?"
"I never heard of 'em, what's the rub?" Chattergun Chatham asked
"Money. So here's the plan, rough right now, but basically what we're gonna do. Timing is everything, one mistake an' we lose." Emanual stated flatly. "So what we're gonna do is shadow the Loomis truck for a week or so, memorizing their stops, which banks on which days, what times, how long they're in the bank, what they take in, and what they take out, how many men on a truck. See, no one ever done this before, so we just take our sweet time tackin' 'em. Every day."
"Sounds like a lotta plannin', boss. A whole lotta plannin' like in the war." Piped up Prettyboy Duggan, "But I'm in. You can count on me."
"Yeah, me too," Chatham added, followed by a chorus of agreements to Emanual Goldenberg's plan.