“What do I do if she does make a pass with her feet?”
“You grab her, that’s what.”
“How can I, with both hands holding the basket?”
Pal was annoyed, but Bud said, “It’s a point, don’t smack it out. With both his hands full it could mean that second’s delay that could ruin us.”
“OK, Chuck, take a one-hand grip on the basket.”
“I can’t if it starts getting heavy.”
They figured on that for a while, everyone quite annoyed, and then Bud said, “Can’t he kick her? Fetch her one in the shins? If she gets wandering feet?”
Rick said: “OK, that ought to do it.”
Pal asked him, “How do you feel?”
“I feel good, Mr. Pal.”
“He don’t look so good.”
That was Bud, and Pal twisted around so he was facing Rick. Then: “Chuck, are you all right?”
“I said I felt good. Yeah, I’m OK.”
“You’re kind of pasty under the eyes.”
“It’s something I have now and then when I’m nervous, like I want to throw up. It don’t mean anything.”
I said, “Rick, how you do is swallow.”
“Beautiful, you’re talking to Chuck.”
“Oh, that’s right, I’m sorry.”
“That’s all the name he has. Remember it.”
For some time nothing was said, and I kept driving along. Then Pal asked Bud, “What do you think?”
“I think we do or we don’t.”
“OK, then. We do.”
6
At 8:25 exactly, with Rick still doing his best and hanging on somehow, I stopped on the cross-street after driving past the bank and taking the right turn. Pal got out and walked back, and I commenced watching behind, for what I could see on Wilkens, through the rear window, though the bag standing up in between made it I had to stretch my neck. But there was nothing to see, and I told Bud, “There’s no traffic back there — on foot, of people walking, or out in the street, of cars.” He said, “Yeah, this time of day things are slack. We took note of that already. It’s another thing in our favor.” I said it over again to Rick, hoping it might relax him, so the nervousness might pass, and it seemed to help, just a little. Anyhow, he said, “Yeah, Mandy, that’s good.” Then Bud snapped at him that I was Beautiful, and Rick said, “Yeah, that’s right, I forgot.” In ten minutes, though it seemed a lot longer than that, Pal was back, telling me, “OK, Beautiful, drive on.” Bud said, “OK, spill it, what happened?” “Nothing, nothing at all. I walked up like I wanted to the booth, counting the silver in my hand, and the guy inside nodded, holding up one finger, meaning he’d only be a minute. I stepped aside, like I was not in any hurry, and a girl went on talking about what a chance one of the downtown tellers was taking, shacking up with her boss weekends at a motel. She paid no attention to me and none of them did. It’s just like we hoped it would be.”
“How many of them were there?”
“Ah, eight.”
But he kind of hesitated and Bud caught it, turning into a wolf. “Goddam it, how many?” he screamed. You’d never have thought they were friends — if they were, which I’m not so sure of now.
“I told you, didn’t I? Eight?”
“You did but you don’t seem sure!”
“I’m sure. There were eight.”
“You counted them?”
“Of course I did! What was I there for?”
“I’d damn well like to know.”
I asked, “Mr. Pal, where do I go?”
“Frederick Road, then I’ll show you.”
Where Pal showed me was to a Holiday Inn, but we no sooner were brought to a table than he took Rick downstairs, to run his finger down his throat, or at lease so I supposed, and what he did do I don’t know, but when he came back he looked better. Then we all had buns and coffee, except Rick didn’t eat anything, just sipped along on his coffee. But while they were gone Bud was growling. “You heard what he said, didn’t you, Beautiful? About the girl? Shacking up with her boss at a motel, like that was a hot bit for us? So if that’s what they’re rapping about, they don’t have their mind on us, and no stakeout is there. So OK, the deep stuff is in, we got it covered complete! But the one thing I have to know, which is how many of them pigeons there are, he can’t be bothered about. He’s so goddam busy with this other, the chick shacking up in the motel, that he forgets to count. Listen, I got to know and I don’t! He said eight, but, Christ, he wasn’t sure!” It cleared up a point that baffled the cops, as I’ll explain in due course, when I get to it later on, but right now one thing at a time.
Pal left a tip and paid the cashier, and then we were driving again, headed for the bank. At 9:29 sharp, I pulled up in front and set the brake. Pal said, “OK, this is it.”
“I don’t want to.”
Rick kind of whined it, but Pal reached back and shook his knee. Very cold, he said, “Chuck, you got to.”
“I don’t want to. I want out.”
“Chuck, you’re in.”
“...OK.”
He just whispered it. Bud got out and went in the bank. Pal got out. Rick got out, then reached in and picked up the basket. Pal told me, “Beautiful, set the doors so they open quick but aren’t hanging wide for some cop to get sore about.”
“I’ll set them right, don’t worry.”
He and Rick went in, Rick carrying the basket, and I had a look at the street to see what was moving on it, but nothing was. No cars were coming toward me, and none were backed up behind, waiting for the light. At the end of the block a girl was walking along in the direction of the bank but not paying attention to me. I slid over, pushing my bag on the seat, to set the doors, pulling both of them in, so they looked to be closed but weren’t. The door catches weren’t caught, and they’d open at any pull. I slid back of the wheel again, pulling the bag beside me, and checked my motor to make sure that I still had it. It was humming along nice. The girl was still the only thing moving, that I could see, in the block, and by now she had reached the bank. She went in and my heart skipped a beat. But then I remembered: the way they were going to work it, she was under control. She would be made to lie down and wouldn’t cause any louse-up. From behind, after crossing with the light, a man came along and went in. But except for him, there was still no traffic at all, going or coming on Wilkens, or, that I could see, on the side street.
Then from inside the bank came a shot.
It sounded faint, and what with the motor running and me being inside the car, I wasn’t quite sure what it was. But then came another, and then two or three more, so there couldn’t be any mistake. For the first time my stomach felt queer. I was afraid, and my toe wanted the gas, to slam that car out of there. However, I made myself hold. Behind me, out of the corner of my eye, I could see the light turn red, but still no cars were there. There may have been more shots, I can’t be sure, but then all of a sudden out of the bank came Rick, staggering under the weight of the basket, which seemed to be full. But he was carrying it funny, by one hand, reaching back over his shoulder so it was on his back in a hunched-up, clumsy way. I opened the door, the front door, and he fell in, the basket on top of him and his legs hanging out the door. Then he pulled them in and as he did, said to me, “Mandy! Out of here! Quick! Step on it!”