Faster Than an Honest Man
by O. H. Leslie
The problem of our story is precisely one hundred and fifty yards in length, but our hero is a mere five-foot-nine — or thereabouts. This disparity makes for an underdog, which in turn stimulates interest and creates drama.
“It’s a question of legs,” Hart said. He leaned forward in the narrow booth and the table edge cut into his paunch. Skinner, sitting opposite with a knuckle in his mouth, looked at Hart’s fleshy middle and didn’t feel so inferior anymore. Okay, so he was driving a cab and Hart’s suit had cloth that was soft as silk, but Skinner still had a lean, hard body inside his workclothes. He was in shape, including legs.
“My legs are fine,” he said casually. “Only what’s that got to do with anything? What’s the pitch?”
“Stanley will tell you,” Hart said. He looked at the costly watch on his plump wrist. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“Look, I got to put some time on the hack—”
“A minute, a little minute,” Hart grinned. Skinner hadn’t seen him in almost seven years, not since they stood in the same line at the graduation exercises of Montgomery High. In seven years, Hart had gained weight and affluence. Skinner didn’t know how, but if Stanley Peace was his partner, he could make a good guess. Peace hadn’t stood in the graduating line; a year before, he had made a scholastic switch, to the county reform school.
“There he comes!” Hart said.
Skinner looked up as Peace came through the restaurant’s revolving doors. Peace was a thin, round-shouldered man with his small head perpetually cocked to one side, as if he was listening for something. Usually, he was. He could hear the squeak of a cop’s shoe at fifty yards.
“Well, if it ain’t Speedy Skinner,” Peace said, with an attempt at camaraderie. “Sure nice to see you again. Hey, they still call you that, Speedy, I mean?”
Skinner flushed. The red tint, under his blond crewcut, made him look High School age again. “Naw,” he said.
Peace slid into the booth beside Hart. “You earned the name, pal, you really did. I ain’t never seen anybody run like you could. What was that mile record of yours?”
“It was 4:10, but that was only the school record. It was the 220-yard dash I made my big record.”
“Sure, sure,” Peace said vaguely, snapping his fingers at a waiter. “Hey, how about some coffee here?”
“I did the two-twenty in under twenty-four seconds. That was the year Bragg made the A.A.U. mark, twenty-one point one. I almost made the State scholastic championship, but Lester Arnow beat me out by two seconds. Can you imagine that? Two lousy seconds!”
“Yeah,” Hart chuckled. “I thought sure you had him, Speedy. I never liked that stuffed shirt Lester Arnow.”
“Whatever happened to him, anyway?” Peace said.
“I dunno,” Skinner said gruffly. “He’s probably some big-shot executive by now. He was the type.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. And what are you doing these days?” Peace said slyly.
“Me? I’m driving a cab.”
Peace closed his eyes and smiled. “Lester Arnow’s a big shot, and you’re driving a hack. Guess he beat you out again, didn’t he?”
Skinner clenched his fists on the table. “Look, you guys got something on your mind, let’s hear it. I know you looked me up for a reason.”
“Sure we did, Speedy. Fifty thorn sand reasons.”
“Huh?”
“Fifty grand, Speedy. How’d you like to make that kind of money?”
Skinner paled, and the loss of color made him look older again. “You mean a robbery?” he whispered. “Is that what you guys are talking about?”
“You know about me and Hart, Speedy, don’t look so surprised. If you’re not interested, no hard feelings. We’ll just make some other guy rich.”
“But why me?” Skinner asked. “I never buddied with you two in school. Why pick on me?”
“It’s a question of legs,” Hart said. “I told you.”
Peace said: “The job’s fast and it’s foolproof. The payoff’s big. You interested or not?”
“How can I tell?”
Peace nodded understandingly, and then bent closer.
“You know the Triton Tool Works? Sure, everybody in town knows it. I used to work there myself, summers. Hart here, he’s been working there past two months, in the maintenance department, just to figure out the setup.”
“It’s a beaut,” Hart grinned. “The sweetest payroll heist yet.”
“Payroll?”
“A hundred fifty grand, at least,” Peace said. “They bring it in by armored car the first of every month.” He took a folded square of paper from his pocket; it had been creased so often that it was as soft as a towel. Skinner looked at the crude diagram, but couldn’t make sense out of it. Peace explained, spreading the paper flat and pointing, “This whole area here is the front yard of the factory. It’s a real big yard, maybe five hundred feet across; they used to park cars here until they bought the lot on the other side. Now the whole thing’s fenced in; you can’t get an auto anyplace near the main building. That’s why we got to do this different.”
“Different?”
“I’ll explain in a minute. Now this here’s the front gate where the workers come in, and this here’s the side gate; that’s where the executives come in. Understand?”
“I guess so.”
“Now there’s one time when that dough is out in the open, and that’s on paydays. They take it out of the safe and put it into little envelopes; Triton likes to pay off in cash. Hart checked the time for five weeks, and it’s always on the button — ten-fifteen, every Friday morning, Wexler the paymaster, and three old dames, lock themselves in the office and start counting it out.”
“But if they lock the door—”
“It won’t be locked on the day we do the job,” Peace said. “Hart’s gonna fix that, right?”
“You bet,” Hart said. “See, I’m on the maintenance crew, Speedy, I can make a routine check of the doors the day before. I’ll fix that lock so that one good shove will open it. You won’t have any trouble.”
“Me?” Skinner said.
“Only a guy like you could do it,” Peace said soothingly. “It won’t be any trick to get the money bag; old man Wexler will be too scared to put up an argument. But the tough part is getting out with it; like I said, we can’t park a getaway car near the office. Somebody’s gotta run with it.”
“It’s a good hundred and fifty yards from the payroll office to the side gate,” Hart said. “The main gate is closer, but it’s always shut up tight by that time.”
“Oh, no,” Skinner said. “I’m not taking that kind of risk, not for a million bucks. Besides, how would I even get into the place? You got to have identification if you’re—”
“You’ll use Hart’s badge. He won’t be working that day; he’ll be sitting in a car by the side gate, with me. Nobody’ll stop you; they got new workers reporting into the factory every day. I’m telling you, Speedy, the whole thing is a cinch — for a guy like you, who can run.”
“I can’t run faster than a bullet—”
“There won’t be any bullets,” Hart said. “Old man Wexler couldn’t fire a gun if he had one. All you got to do is run like hell.”
“Fifty grand,” Peace said dreamily. “You could kiss that hack goodbye. You could get yourself a fleet...”
“Sorry,” Skinner said. “It’s not for me.”
“What’d I tell you?” Peace said contemptuously. “I told you he couldn’t run no more, Hart.”
“It’s not that—”
“Sure, we know. It’s your wind. That’s why you let Lester Arnow beat you.” Peace laughed, and dropped a dollar on the table. “Come on, Hart, let’s beat it.” He stood up, and touched Skinner’s shoulder. “If you change your mind, Speedy, give Hart a call at the Palace Hotel.”