They loaded themselves down and left the room. Down in the lobby, they encountered Eddie Miller, the bell captain, who was so astonished by the sight of them and the merchandise that he could not even bother them with questions. Outside, they piled everything into a taxicab and a few minutes later began unloading in front of Uncle Ben’s Shop on Eighth Avenue.
Uncle Ben stared at them goggle-eyed as they entered the store. “So you are a burglar,” he cried. “I got suspicious of you yesterday...”
“Cut it out, Uncle,” Johnny said harshly. “I haven’t got time for words. Get your pencil — check the stuff in, with the top prices and give me the cash.”
“I wouldn’t touch it,” Uncle Ben howled. “The cops come around every day, looking for hot stuff and I’m not going to get caught—”
“Believe me, Uncle Ben,” Johnny said fervently. “Not one piece of this junk, I mean merchandise, is hot. It was bought, on the level, open and aboveboard and I’ve got receipts for every piece here...” He took a fistful of paper from his pocket.
Uncle Ben took the receipts from Johnny’s hand, began to examine them. “All of this stuff was bought only yesterday and some today...”
“I know it.”
“Then what’s the idea?”
“No idea. I buy high and sell cheap. That’s the way I make my living.”
“You’re crazy!”
“All right, so I’m crazy. Just give me the cash for this and let me out of here.”
Uncle Ben began mumbling to himself, but got out his pencil and scribbled down figures. “I’ll give you three hundred and fifty dollars for the lot and I’ll be sorry for it,” he announced after a minute or two.
“Give it to me!”
Uncle Ben was taken aback. “What, no haggling?”
“I haven’t got time.”
“I never heard of a man who didn’t have time for dickering. Especially you. You weren’t bad yesterday, not half bad...”
“I told you I haven’t got the time.”
“I’ll make it three-sixty,” Uncle Ben said, in a tone of disappointment.
“All right, all right.”
“Not a penny more than three-seventy-five...”
Johnny groaned. “Give me the money...”
Morosely, Uncle Ben counted out the money. Johnny snatched it from his hand and was separating it as he slammed through the door. The taxicab was still waiting at the curb and Johnny bounced in. Sam followed and before the cab was rolling, Johnny thrust a hundred dollars into his hand.
“I’ll let you off at the bank on Seventh and Times Square,” he said. “I want you to start a Ten-Plan Checking account and meet me in front of the bank on Fifth and Forty-seventh. Don’t waste any time. Keep rolling...”
“I think the man was right,” Sam said thickly. “You’re crazy.”
“If you know of any other way of keeping out of jail, tell me...”
“Jail!” cried Sam.
“That’s where they send people who kite checks — and get caught...”
“What do you mean, kite checks?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing since yesterday?”
Sam winced. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Then don’t make any more remarks. Just do what I tell you... Here’s your bank.”
The taxi stopped and Sam got out. Johnny directed the driver to take him to his bank on Fifth Avenue, the one where he had the straight checking account. There he cashed a check for one hundred dollars. With it and a hundred dollars of his remaining money, he crossed the street and started another regular checking account in another bank. Two blocks away he went into a third bank and with seventy dollars started a new Ten-Plan account. That left him with about three dollars and fifty cents in his pocket.
And it was time to go back to the first bank and meet Sam. He found him waiting, bank book and checkbook in hand.
“Now, we start buying again, Sam,” Johnny announced. “You come with me and watch how it’s done, then I’m going to turn you loose on your own.”
Sam said not one word as they went into a jewelry store and bought a wrist watch for seventy-five dollars.
“Get the idea?” Johnny asked, after they had left the store. “You give them a check, but try to do it with such an air that they don’t call the bank. If they do, you’re all right, because you’ve got the money in the bank; but once they call the bank, that account’s dead and you can’t write out any more checks on it — not until we cover... Now I’ll go in this store and you go into that one. I’ll meet you over by that mailbox, as soon as you get through.”
Johnny went into the adjoining store and bought a trinket, then rejoined Sam.
Sam exhibited a wrist watch. “Ninety bucks... but they called the bank.”
Johnny swore. “You must have acted nervous, or doubtful. I guess I’ve got to do it all myself. But here, you can pawn these two watches and this rhinestone bracelet. They cost two hundred and forty dollars and you shouldn’t take less than ninety dollars for them — eighty at the very least. I’ll meet you at the hotel.”
Sam nodded morosely and they again separated.
Chapter Thirteen
At twenty minutes to twelve, Johnny descended upon Lexington Avenue and began depositing money in banks.
At the first, the teller gave Johnny a lecture. “It’s a good thing you came in; there were four checks came in this morning, overdrawing your account. You can’t do that on a Ten Plan account...”
“I know,” Johnny said meekly, “but I knew I was getting this money this morning and I thought it wouldn’t matter.”
“It does matter.”
At the second bank, an assistant manager came over to talk to Johnny. “I don’t like this, Mr. Fletcher. You started an account here yesterday with twenty dollars and you immediately wrote out checks for eighty-eight...”
“But here’s the money to cover them.”
The assistant cashier took the money. “Did you know you were going to write out all those checks when you started your account here yesterday?”
“Why, no. Only when I got home my wife took me shopping.” He smiled amiably. “You know how wives are — just can’t pass up a bargain.”
The assistant cashier hesitated. “I know, but don’t do it again, or we’ll have to close out your account.”
Johnny promised to be a good boy and left, hurrying to a third bank. He got by without a lecture there and went across to Fifth Avenue, to deposit a straight check to his day-old account — enough to cover the outstanding checks on it. The deposit check was drawn on the new straight checking account across the street.
At one-thirty, Johnny reeled back to the Forty-fifth Street Hotel, to find Sam Cragg seated in the Morris chair, staring moodily at the beds, piled with junk.
“I bought some more stuff.”
“What the hell for?” Johnny cried.
“Well, I got eighty-seven fifty from the pawnshop...”
“And you spent it?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? You buy stuff, hock it and with the money you buy more stuff.”
Johnny groaned. “You took two hundred and forty dollars worth of merchandise, pawned it for eighty-seven fifty. Then you pawn the eighty-seven fifty stuff for twenty dollars, then you buy twenty dollars worth, hock it for two dollars and the two dollar junk for twenty cents. Then you buy a ham sandwich with the twenty cents.”
“Silly, isn’t it?”
“With your flair for high finance, Sam,” Johnny said, “you ought to be holding down a big government job in Washington.”
“I’ve only been doing what you’ve been doing.”
Johnny seated himself on the edge of the bed. “I only got into this thing because of your damn suit.”