Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 40, No. 6, June, 1995

Too Dumb to Steal by Dan Sontup

Ed called me a little after nine thirty. It was Saturday night, and old Mr. Johnson had closed up at nine o’clock like he always did every night except Sunday and that was because the station wasn’t open on Sunday. A while back, I had sort of hinted that I wouldn’t mind pumping gas on a Sunday since I didn’t go anywhere anyhow, not to church like Mr. Johnson or any other place in town. But he just grunted and said there would be no work done at his station on the Sabbath, but I knew the real reason probably was because he didn’t want me handling any money when he wasn’t around to keep an eye on me.

I was lying on my bed in my room at the back of the garage, listening to country music on the radio and trying to figure where I could get some money to get my old TV fixed. I like TV, but I like country music, too, so I didn’t miss the TV too much, except maybe the Westerns with the cowboys and that other show where the girls all run around on the beach in little bathing suits.

The pay phone on the wall out in the garage rang and kept on ringing, and I finally got up and went out there and picked up the phone and said, “Hullo, Johnson’s Garage, Donald speaking,” just like Mr. Johnson had made me practice saying until I got it right so it would be okay for me to answer the phone if he was busy.

I heard some sounds, people talking and other noises, but nobody said anything into the phone. Then there was a shout in my ear: “Hiya, Donny!”

I didn’t have to hear him say any more than that, and I knew it was Ed. It wasn’t just that he was the only one who ever called me Donny — everybody else calls me plain old Don or sometimes Donald — but you could never forget a voice like Ed’s. It sounded like a man snoring while he was still wide awake. Ed snored loud when he was asleep, too. I spent every night for eight years listening to him snoring away in the bottom bunk of our cell.

“You got out, Ed?” I said.

His laugh almost busted my eardrum. “You still know how to ask dumb questions, Donny. Of course I’m out! You think maybe I had my secretary place a long-distance call from the joint?” He laughed again at his own joke. Ed did things like that a lot of the time.

I had to ask him. “You bust out, Ed?”

“Dumb question number two. What’d I tell you last year when you got out?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “I told you I was gonna play it smart and work on my parole. You remember that, don’t you, Donny?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Piece of cake, that’s what it was. Talked real humble and sincere to those upstate hicks on the board, and they fell for it, ’specially since one of my buddies on the outside wrote them he had a job waiting for me.” He laughed a lot louder this time.

“I’m glad for you, Ed.”

“Sure, sure. Look, kid, I just got into town. Let’s get together. Got something important we gotta talk about.”

“Well, I don’t go out much, Ed, and—”

“You trying to tell me you don’t want me around?”

His voice was hard. I’d heard him use that hard voice before, and I was glad each time that it wasn’t me he was talking to then.

“No, Ed, ’course not. It’s just I usually just lay around here on the weekend when the garage is closed, sort of resting up for work on Monday and, well, what I mean is my boss keeps me hopping all week and I get pretty tired out and I—”

It was like he wasn’t even hearing me, just like sometimes back there in the cell. “I’m in the bus depot,” he said. “Come on down and get me.”

“I got no car, Ed.”

“You work in a garage, don’t you?”

“Sure, Ed, but we’re closed for the night and—”

“They got cars there, don’t they? I mean, cars that people leave to be fixed overnight, and maybe a tow truck, right?”

“Mr. Johnson takes the tow truck home with him, but yeah, there’s a couple of cars here now.”

“Ready to roll?”

“Yeah, I think so, but—”

“So borrow one for a while, dummy!”

“I... I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” He had that hard voice again.

“The keys are locked up in a desk drawer in the office, and the office is locked, too.”

The phone was real quiet for a long while.

“I’m sorry, Ed,” I mumbled.

Finally he said, “How far are you from the bus station?”

“About three miles.”

The phone went quiet again. Then he said, “I’ll see if I can hitch a ride. If I can’t, I’ll walk it. Which way do I go?”

“Turn left outside the bus station. That’s Main Street heading south. Stay on it. The garage is on the right just after you pass a diner and a movie house.”

“Look for me.” He hung up the phone.

I went back to my room and looked out the back window at the parking lot behind the garage. Charlie Fenway’s old Chevy was there, and a new, fancy looking road van, the kind with little curtains on the windows and the ladder on the back. The van belonged to Mr. Spaulding, the real estate man in town. I didn’t like him much. He always looked at me like I wasn’t there.

Charlie Fenway was different. He always had a smile and a joke for me, like I was an old friend of his, which I really wasn’t but he made me feel that way anyhow. He and his wife had dropped off the Chevy for a brake job around five o’clock so she could drive him in her car to his night shift at the bridge.

Timmy, the mechanic, had gone right to work on the Chevy for Charlie ’cause he promised Charlie he could come and pick it up first thing Monday morning even though it would be ready before then, but Mr. Johnson wouldn’t open the station for anyone on Sunday. He was real strict about not working on the Lord’s day of rest, he always told us, but like I said, he probably wouldn’t have minded one little bit if he thought he could trust me and I pumped enough gas to bring in some money for him, even if it was on the Sabbath.

Timmy let me help him with the Chevy brake job. He was teaching me how to be a mechanic. Both of us knew Mr. Johnson wouldn’t ever hire me for that, but Timmy gave me lots of pointers anyhow. He told me I didn’t have to pump gas and sweep out garages all my life.

But Timmy didn’t let me help with Mr. Spaulding’s road van. He said Mr. Spaulding would have a fit if something went wrong and he knew I’d touched his fancy van. So Timmy did it all by himself. The job was just putting in some kind of liquor cabinet in the back of the van that Mr. Spaulding said he had to have done right away ’cause he was taking out some important clients on Monday. Timmy could have done the job right then and finished it before Mr. Johnson closed up for Saturday night, but Timmy told Mr. Spaulding it would take a lot of time to make sure the cabinet would fit in just right, and Timmy winked at me when no one was looking and I knew he was going to make Mr. Spaulding go without his fancy van for the whole weekend. I liked that idea.

I walked up and down in my room for a while, trying to think, but the room was small and didn’t give me much space, so I went out into the garage again and walked back and forth by the big bay door with the glass windows in it. The street light in front kept it from being real dark in there.

After a while, I went out back and walked around the parking lot, trying to think everything out. I leaned up against the side of Mr. Spaulding’s van, sort of doing it on a dare to myself, and I kept on thinking and wondering about Ed and thinking some more.

After a while, it hit me that if Ed had got a hitch, he’d be along any minute. I hurried back into the garage and stood by the bay door and waited.

It took a long while before he showed up. He was walking slow and sort of limping along, so I knew he hadn’t got a hitch. He saw me, and I waved to him and pointed for him to come around the side of the garage.

I went to my room and opened the door to the parking lot in back, and Ed came limping around the corner of the garage and looked at me kind of hardlike and pushed right past me and went into my room and sat down on the edge of my bed.

I had left the radio on all this time, and the country music was going good and loud. Ed reached down and grunted and started pulling off one of his pointy-toe cowboy boots, and he stared at me and said, “Turn that damn thing off!”

I hurried over and turned off the radio. Ed had the boot off by now and was rubbing his foot.

“Hi, Ed,” I said, trying to make it sound like I was glad to see him.

“Had to walk all the way out here,” he said.

“I’m sorry about that,” I told him.

He grunted at me and pulled the boot back on and stood up. “I’m hungry. What you got to eat?”

Mr. Johnson had let me keep a hot plate and one of those small fridges, and I pointed to them in the corner. “Not much, Ed. Just some bread and milk and a jar of jelly, and I think there’s still some coffee in the pot on the hot plate over there.”

Ed went to the fridge and yanked it open and took out the milk carton and put it to his mouth and took a big swallow. He opened the bread and grabbed a couple of slices. “Gimme something to spread the jelly,” he said, not even looking at me.

I got an old table knife from the box where I kept all that kind of stuff and handed it to him. He opened the jelly and slapped gobs of it on the bread slices and took big bites and chewed away and washed everything down with gulps from the milk carton. I stood there and watched him and listened to him make lots of slurping noises, and when he finished he belched loud and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

He turned around to me, and this time his look wasn’t hard. I thought he might even be grinning a little.

“So here you are, Donny, huh?”

I nodded my head. “Yeah, here I am, Ed.”

He sat back down on my bed and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He was wearing one of those cowboy shirts, the kind with lots of stitching and two big pockets. He got a kitchen match from his other pocket and lit it with his fingernail. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and shook the match out and dropped it on the floor in front of my bed. I stayed where I was, standing in the middle of the room.

He blew smoke at the ceiling and looked at me. “Let me spell it out for you, Donny. I got a call yesterday from an old buddy of mine down in Ellenville. You know where that is?”

“Yeah. South of here about ten miles down Route 90 on the other side of the river.”

“I was headed there on the bus when it broke down. We just about made it to the depot. They told us we’d have to wait three hours till they could bring in another bus.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Then I remembered that time you called me at the joint after you got out. You told me you were working at Johnson’s garage in this town here — at least that’s what I thought I remembered. I took a chance and looked it up in the phone book. Real good luck my finding you, huh?”

He blew more smoke out of the side of his mouth and dropped the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it with the toe of his boot. I didn’t say anything.

“I can’t wait another three hours for the bus,” Ed said, staring straight at me. “I gotta be in Ellenville an hour from now.”

I still didn’t say anything.

“My buddy who called me got a real sweet job lined up. In and out fast tonight, and we make a bundle. Then we just disappear. You get what I’m talking about, Donny?”

I nodded. “I think so, Ed.” I scratched my head. “But ain’t you busting parole — I mean, going out of town without permission?”

He looked at me and then threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah — that and pulling this job, too. Donny, old buddy, you’re even dumber than you were in the joint, you know that?”

I looked away from him.

“You think maybe I was gonna go back on Monday and report to my parole officer like a good little boy? That what you were thinking, dummy Donny?”

I shook my head.

Ed’s face turned serious. “This is a one-time deal. I won’t get a chance like this again.” He stood up quick and started to walk up and down. “I gotta get to Ellenville. I’m just about broke right now. I got no money, no gun, nothing, just a lousy little pocket knife.” He turned and glared at me. “I feel naked, you know that, naked — and I don’t like feeling like that.”

I tried not to look him in the eye.

“How much money you got?”

I swallowed hard. “About four bucks.”

He stared at me.

“I don’t get paid much, Ed.”

He kept on staring at me. I took out my wallet from my back pocket and pulled out the four bills and handed them to him.

“Those two cars out back the ones you were talking about — the van and the Chevy?”

I nodded.

“Both of them gassed up and ready to roll?”

I nodded again.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Donny?”

“No, Ed, I wouldn’t.”

“And the keys are in the office?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

I led the way back into the garage and over to the office door near the pay phone on the wall.

Ed tried the door. “It’s locked, dammit.”

“Mr. Johnson locks everything up at night,” I told him. “Except for my room.”

Ed looked around, and went over to the big red tool chests against the wall, the ones with all the sliding drawers.

“Timmy locks his tools, too,” I said.

Ed went over to the workbench. He found an old hammer and screwdriver and a bunch of ignition wires and a lot of other junk. He took the hammer and the screwdriver and went back to the office door. He raised his foot high and kicked it straight out against the office door. It burst open. Ed gave me a look over his shoulder and went into the office, and I followed him. The street light outside gave us enough light to see by.

Ed went straight to Mr. Johnson’s old wooden desk. “Which drawer?”

I pointed to the top drawer on the right. Ed didn’t even bother to check and make sure it was locked. He stuck the screwdriver into the top of the drawer next to the lock and banged away with the hammer. The drawer popped open.

Ed reached into the drawer and poked around and came up with two sets of keys in his fist. “These them?”

I nodded.

Ed grinned and stuck the screwdriver in his belt and walked over to me. He reached out with his free hand and gave me a light slap on the face. “You coulda done just what I did now, Donny.” He gave a little laugh. “And then I wouldn’t of had to walk all the way out here, would I? You coulda come for me at the bus depot just like I asked you to, right?”

I didn’t say anything.

Ed gave that little laugh again and sighed. “Well, what could I expect? Always said you were too dumb to steal.” He jingled the keys. “You tried it once on your own, and where did it get you? In a cell with me, that’s where.” He shook his head and stared at me.

I looked down at the pointy toes of his boots.

Ed punched me on the shoulder, not really hard, and turned around and went back into the garage and into my room. I followed him.

Ed stood in my room and looked down at the keys in his hand. “Spaulding Real Estate,” he read from the leather key holder. “That’s gotta be the luxury van, right?”

I nodded.

“Rich bastard, huh?”

I shrugged.

“Think the van’ll get me to Ellenville any faster than the old Chevy?”

I shrugged again.

Ed turned away a little from me, then all of a sudden swung around and slapped me hard in the face. I staggered back and fell down on my bed and sat up and rubbed my face where he hit me and looked up at him.

He was smiling. “That’s for being too dumb to even answer me.” He tossed the van’s keys next to me on the bed. “I’d get real far driving a splashy van like that through this hick town, wouldn’t I? Bet it’s the only one like it, right?”

I rubbed my face again. It still stung.

“Sit there,” Ed said.

He went out of the room and back into the garage. I heard him at the workbench, and then he came back holding the bunch of ignition wires. He dropped them on the bed, and before I even knew it was coming, his fist smashed into the side of my face.

I fell over on my side on the bed. My head was spinning. I felt him pulling my hands behind me and holding my wrists together. And then there was something being wrapped tight around my wrists, and I knew it was one of the ignition wires. I tried to sit up, but he pushed me down on the bed and then he grabbed my feet and another ignition wire went around my ankles. He worked fast, while I was still a little dizzy, and then real quick he had me all tied up like one of those little calfs the cowboys rope in rodeos on TV.

He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me up so that I was sort of curled up on the edge of the bed facing him. He slapped me again, then backhanded me with another slap. My eyes started to tear.

“Know why I’m doing this, Donny?” he said. He slapped me again. “Maybe you think it’s because you wouldn’t come and get me at the depot like I asked?” Another slap. “No, it’s not really that, old buddy.” My face was on fire. “But it would have told me something if you’d busted into the office like I just did and got the keys and come out to me.” The slap was even harder this time. “It woulda told me that you were still my real buddy, just like back in the cell, and I might’ve said to myself, well now, little Donny might be just the one to take along with me to Ellenville and then we could hang around together afterward and have lots of money to spend.” He slapped me two more times and let go and I fell back on the bed.

“But it didn’t work out that way, did it?” I heard him say. My ears were ringing now, and his voice came through all muffled and far away. “I don’t like it when things don’t work out for me.”

He grabbed my shirt again and pulled me up. I looked up at him, blinking because my eyes were tearing. He gave me that little laugh again. “I’m really doing this to help you, Donny.” This time his fist smashed into my nose. I felt it crunch and tasted blood. “I still like you. You can’t help that you’re dumb.” His fist got me on the jaw. I felt like I was blacking out, but the pain kept me from going under. “When they find you, you can tell them I beat you until you told me where the keys were, and then I tied you up so you couldn’t call for help after I left.”

He held me up by my shirt, and through the tears I could see him looking at me and then shaking his head. “Doesn’t look right,” he said. “Gotta make this look real so they’ll believe you.” His fist smashed into me two more times, one after the other, first in the eye and then on the side of my head.

He let go of me. I fell back on the bed. I heard him moving around and then the door shut. Then there was the sound of Charlie Fenway’s old Chevy starting up and the squeal of the tires when he pulled out of the parking lot.

It was quiet in the garage now. I lay there on the bed and tried to breathe through all the blood in my nose and mouth, and the pain kept me from passing out and I was glad of that. I wanted to be conscious when they came to get me.

I lay there and thought how they’d have to believe me now when I told them the truth. They really couldn’t think I had been in on this with Ed, even if they found out later that we were cellmates back upstate. They’d have to believe that no one would take this kind of a beating just to make it look good. Ed had really done me a favor. He hadn’t really meant to. He was just talking when he said that. He liked beating me up. I knew that. He got a kick out of it, and that’s why he did it. But it was going to turn out to be a good thing for me that I was so beat up when they came and found me.

I lay there and waited for them to come. It would be soon, I knew. Ed would never make it across the river to Route 90.

I could see it inside my head — Ed driving up to the toll bridge at the river and reaching out to pay the dollar toll at the one booth they kept open at night, reaching out of the old Chevy’s window to put a dollar bill into the hand of Charlie Fenway where his wife had dropped him off for the night shift on the bridge.

And even with all the pain, I kept this picture in my head while I lay there and waited and wondered why, back there in the cell, I had one time thought it might be nice to be as smart as Ed.