Prologue
The house was a massive, sprawling home that was secluded from the main road in a forested area of Palos Park, Illinois. It had five bedrooms, four and a half bathrooms, and cost an even $1,000,000. It was beautiful, modern, and it oozed an elite sense of social status. A TV star had lived there for a while, but had deemed it not fancy enough for her taste. He’d seen the listing online earlier that day and something had clicked inside him.
He wanted it.
Badly.
Not for the status or the notoriety, not for the glitz or the glamor. He didn't care about superficial things like that. No, he wanted it for the peace and quiet. For the seclusion. For him and the woman he loved. The home was away from the hustle and bustle of Chicago, but close enough for a night on the town.
She would love it, he knew she would. She'd think it was too fancy, too upscale, but he didn't care. It was the right one for them. They had looked at more modest houses and none of them had compared to that on.
That house in Palos Park was all that Boyd McTiernan was focusing on as he prepared himself, standing atop a building whose name he didn’t care to remember. Funny, he’d lived in Chicago his whole life. Chicago was his hometown, technically, but Boyd had never felt like he had a true home. He was an outlaw, after all, and outlaws didn’t have homes. Not really, anyway. There was some pride to be had in that.
“It’ll be a convoy,” his uncle was saying, speaking in his usual dry voice, already lubricated with a generous dose of gin. “Two escorts and one truck. The escorts aren’t our concern, we only want what’s in the truck. The guards will be carrying guns, probably pistols, maybe a rifle,”
Boyd and the others knew this already, his uncle was just passing the time, trying to make himself feel more important than he really was - as usual. Atop the building, the bustling city seemed close, yet so far away. The sirens, the honking of angry drivers, it all seemed like a different plane of reality.
Boyd’s uncle, Craig, was 20 years older than Boyd, exactly one inch shorter than him, and probably a hundred pounds heavier. He wasn’t out of shape, per say, but he wasn’t exactly in shape either. Years of smoking and heavy drinking had sunken his once handsome face, grayed his hair, and yellowed his teeth. Craig was Boyd’s uncle by marriage; Craig had married Boyd’s mom’s sister, Boyd's aunt.
The gear and weapons always felt heavy, but tonight they felt especially burdening. Boyd, Craig, and the two others - Patrick and Juan - had variations of the same general kit; black jeans, black boots, black jacket, black full-face skydiving helmets, black harnesses, and black backpacks. Around their waists, they had cables, clips, and anchoring necessary to rappel off of any tall structure. Pistols were holstered on their hips, along with sheaths for two extra ammo magazines. Additionally, they carried AR-15 assault rifles in their hands or had them slung across across their chests.
To an untrained eye, they could’ve passed as soldiers or maybe those special cops that movies and TV shows always followed nowadays. They could have passed as Army Special Forces or Navy SEALs… heroes. Nothing could’ve been farther from the truth. In another life, Boyd was one of those guys. He had been Army Special Ops. He had served the country, protected innocent people, and taken bad guys off the board. A long time ago, he had been good at that job; protecting people, serving the country, and eliminating threats to the country.
But, that Boyd McTiernan, the Boyd with real dreams and aspirations, had died years ago.
Brittany had been a bartender at night and a business economist during the day. Boyd had been shocked when she told him. Not because she looked like she permanently belonged on a beach, enjoying the sun and leisure, but because he couldn’t picture her in the cutthroat business world. She possessed a kindness that Boyd had only known from one other woman in his entire life.
The name had been given to them after their third job - The Marauders of the Midwest. After taking down massive scores in Indianapolis, Kansas City, and Milwaukee, that was apparently the best the media could come up with. At first, Boyd scoffed at it. But the name grew on him. Now, he embraced it as a part of him. Although Craig acted like the man in charge and loved to boss the crew around, there was no question as to who was truly in charge of the crew. It had been Boyd’s idea, his plan.
“Escape route is programmed into the phones,” Craig continued talking.
Boyd looked over at his uncle, narrowing his eyes. If Boyd had half a brain, he’d have raised his rifle, and put a bullet right in between Craig’s eyes. The thought crossed his mind at least once a day.
There were no delusions of grandeur, no posturing. Boyd knew he wasn’t a good man, but was he a bad man? Good and bad, right and wrong, the lines were so blurred nowadays that it was impossible to tell. He wanted to be a good man, he wanted to be the man his mom had raised him to be. But she’d died when he needed her most. And that kindness, that unconditional love, disappeared with her; only to be replaced by the violence and alcoholism of his father.
He hadn’t started this with the intention to ever hurt anyone, only to save what was rightfully his. The company had been started by his grandfather. Boyd’s father had nearly run the company into the ground. When his father died, Boyd didn’t shed a single tear. The next day, he took over, determined to right the wrongs of his predecessor. The only problem - no money.
Easy fix. Get more money, whatever it takes.
“You seem off,” Brittany had said that morning, laying in bed in a ridiculously expensive hotel suite in Chicago’s Gold Coast. Money wasn’t an issue. For either of them. They were both naked, laying as close to each other as possible. Boyd’s arms were wrapped around Brittany, locked at the wrists just under her breasts. “Are you ok?”
“Of course,” Boyd lied with a genuine smile. He ran his hand through the locks of her light brown hair. He stared into her eyes, knowing she never looked more beautiful than she did first thing in the morning. He committed every part of her face, every lock of hair to memory.
“I’m excited, Boyd,” Brittany whispered in his ear, biting the lobe sensually. “I mean it, I can’t wait until it’s just you and me,”
“Me too,” Boyd grinned, taking her hands in his. He instantly hated himself for the next words that left his mouth. “I’ll meet you at the airport tonight. Just have one last thing to take care of,”
The sudden gust of wind snapped him back to reality. Patrick had a pair of binoculars glued to his eyes, watching the convoy like a hawk. Boyd didn’t need the binoculars, he already knew the route the convoy would take by heart. He’d chosen this exact spot because it provided the most cover for them to escape and the congestion would delay the police a few extra minutes. For a job like this, even seconds were the difference between life and death.
“What do you think?” Craig asked, breathing heavily. Boyd turned his head and looked at his uncle as calmly as he could.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“I’m just wondering,”
“No, you’re not,”
“Boyd…”
“I told you what I thought. You disagreed. So here we are,” Boyd spat.
“It’s now or never, guys,” Patrick warned, stuffing his binoculars into his pack.
There was no decision to be made. They all had their reasons for wanting to do what they were about to do. It had been decided tonight would be their last job, their final run together. They had done what they had set out to do; they’d saved the company. What they were about to do now was for their own benefit, to finally turn a profit in this game of life that they all had been dealt. Boyd didn't care of Chicago Police Department, SWAT, or Illinois State Police got in his way tonight.
No one, not a soul, was going to prevent him from getting to the airport. He’d put his life on hold long enough. His future wasn’t here, robbing trucks. It was with Brittany. That was where he wanted to be, more than anything.
“Hook up,” was all that Boyd had to say.
And as they prepared to rappel down onto their plunder, Boyd disengaged the safety on his rifle.
