An Ear to the Ground

Two

Alan Frisby laid down a file he was studying and looked inquiringly at his secretary as she came into his office.

“Colonel and Mrs. Shelley are here,” she told him. “They have an appointment.”

“Sure... send them right in.” Frisby pushed aside the file and leaned back in his executive’s chair. He was a slim, tall man who had been in the insurance business longer than he cared to remember. Now, at the age of fifty-five, with a first-class business under his control, he was hoping very soon that his son who was at the University would qualify and then take over some of the harder work.

He was a little startled when Martha came into his office which until her appearance had seemed to him to be large, but now as she moved towards him, the room seemed to shrink by her enormous size. The tall, stork-like man who followed her was obviously Colonel Shelley, her husband.

Frisby got to his feet, shook hands and arranged chairs. Martha sat down, but Henry moved to the window, pulling at his moustache and Frisby got the impression that the Colonel was being petulant for some reason or other.

Seeing him looking at Henry, Martha leaned forward and patted his arm with her hot, fat hand.

“Take no notice of the Colonel, Mr. Frisby,” she said. “You have no idea the trouble I had getting him here... he just doesn’t believe in insurance.”

“Never have done... never will do,” Henry growled as he moved around the office. “Waste of money. You lose something, and it’s your own damned fault. The thing to do is not to lose anything!”

Frisby had dealt with all kinds of eccentrics. After giving the Colonel his professional, understanding smile, which was returned by a stony stare, he turned his attention to Martha.

“This is really nothing much, Mr. Frisby,” Martha said. “The dear Colonel has just bought me a present for our wedding anniversary and I want it insured.”

“Damn nonsense,” Henry said from behind Frisby. “If you lose it, you deserve to lose it!”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Martha said, smiling. “The Colonel has ideas of his own... I have ideas of my own. I think I should insure my present.” With a little flourish, she put the jewel case on Frisby’s desk. “After all, he paid eighteen thousand dollars for it... you never know... it could be stolen.”

As Frisby picked up the case, Henry, a small piece of putty in his lean old hand, pressed the putty against the lock of the big filing cabinet that stood behind Frisby. The movement was swift, and immediately Henry came around Frisby’s desk and walked over to the window. He put the impression in a small tin box he had brought with him and dropped the box into his pocket.

“This is beautiful,” Frisby said, admiring the bracelet. “I can arrange to have it covered. You should have it insured.”

“I deal with the Los Angeles & California,” Martha said. “They take care of my other jewels.”

“That’s fine, Mrs. Shelley. I work with L.A.&C. I can fix it. I take it you want it covered for a year?”

Martha nodded.

“Yes... I would like that.”

Frisby checked his rates book.

“Thirty dollars, Mrs. Shelley... that gives you full coverage.”

“We’ll settle right now. Henry, have you thirty dollars?”

“I have thirty dollars,” Henry said, scowling. “Throwing good money away” But he drew a thick roll from his hip pocket, peeled off three $10 bills and dropped them on the desk.

“Where are you staying, Mrs. Shelley?” Frisby asked as he made out a receipt.

“Bellevue on Lansdown Avenue.”

Frisby looked impressed.

“That’s Jack Carson’s place?”

“That’s right. I’ve rented it for three months.”

“Would you have your policy number?”

“No, but you can check with them. It’s Colonel Henry Shelley, 1247 Hill Crescent, Los Angeles.”

Frisby made a note, then seeing Henry was peering at the photocopying machine on a stand by the window, he said, “Are you interested in these machines, Colonel?”

Henry turned.

“Don’t understand them. Glad I’ve got out of business. Too damned old now to cope with anything.”

“Now that will do,” Martha said, putting the jewel case into her handbag. “You’re not all that old.” She heaved herself to her feet.

When they had gone, Frisby called the Los Angeles & Californian Insurance Corporation. He always checked on strangers as Martha knew he would. He was told that Colonel Shelley was a recent client of theirs. His wife’s jewellery was covered for $150,000. He wasn’t to know, nor the Insurance Company, that Abe had loaned the jewels to Martha to get them insured. Nor were they to know that 1247 Hill Crescent was merely an accommodation address, owned by Abe, and used by any number of jewel thieves who needed a respectable background.

Martha climbed heavily into the Cadillac, parked outside Frisby’s office block. Henry followed her in.

Johnny set the Cadillac in motion.

“Well?”

“Looks simple,” Henry reported. “No alarms. Doors to the office easy. The only tricky one is the lock on the filing cabinet, but I have an impression that might give you a lead.”

“How about the janitor?”

“He looks the kind of slob who does as little as possible.”

Johnny grunted.

“We could be in there a couple of hours. The best time would be at eight o’clock. We can’t work in the dark.”

“Yes.” Henry gnawed at his moustache. “The business district is deserted by eight. You’ll have a full hour and a half before it gets dark.”

When they reached the villa, they had a conference.

Martha explained the operation.

“I got this dope from a woman who worked for Frisby” she said, peering into the depleted box of chocolates. “What I want are Frisby’s insurance records for jewellery. This woman told me Frisby keeps a complete file in the cabinet in his office. It should be easy to find. It had a tab on it marked ‘Local Jewellery Coverage.’ In front of the file is a list of names and addresses, values and details of where the jewels are stored — whether in a safe at home or in a bank or what-have-you. This I want. With this list, we’ll know exactly what is worth going after and how tricky it will be to get at. Without the list, we’ll just waste time and get nowhere. There is a photocopying machine in the office. All you have to do is to photo-copy the records, put the originals back in the cabinet as you found them, relock the cabinet and we will be in business.”

“The machine is a Zennox,” Henry said to Gilda. “The directions are printed on the lid. The machine is loaded with paper. All you have to do is to put the originals on the machine and press a button.”

Gilda nodded.

Henry took the tin box from his pocket and handed it to Johnny.

“That’s the impression of the cabinet lock. Tell you anything?”

Johnny opened the box and examined the impression. He grimaced.

“It tells me a lot. This is a Herman lock and they are damned tricky.” He sat back, staring out at the sea while he thought.

Martha, a large cream filled chocolate held in her fingers, watched him, suddenly alarmed.

“Can’t you handle it?” she demanded, her voice a little shrill. “Abe said you could handle any lock!”

Johnny turned his head slowly. His cold eyes surveyed her.

“Don’t panic, Fats,” he said. “I can handle any lock, but I want to give it a little thought.”

Gilda giggled.

“Don’t call me Fats!” Martha snarled, outraged. “Now, listen to me...”

“Screw you,” Johnny said. “Let me think, will you?”

Henry stroked his moustache and looked at Gilda. His heavy tortoise-like eyelid lowered a trifle. Martha was so shaken she put the chocolate back in the box, but she kept quiet.

Finally, Johnny nodded.

“It can be done. I’ll have to go to Miami for some key blanks. It would be too risky to get them here. Yes, okay, it can be done.”

Martha drew in a long, deep breath that lifted her enormous bosom.

“You had me scared for a moment. Everything depends on getting those records.”

Johnny looked away from her. He made no attempt to conceal his impatience with her; nor his dislike.

“We’ll need another car,” he said. “The Caddy is fine for a front, but it gets noticed. I’ll rent a Hertz.” He got to his feet and went into the living-room. The three heard him calling Hertz.

“Hello, Fats,” Gilda said and gave a hoot of laughter. “I wish you could have seen your face! Oh, boy! Did you have to take it!”

“Shut up, you little bitch!” Martha snarled. “I know you’ve got hot pants for him! You...”

“Ladies!” Henry broke in sharply. “That will do! We’re working together, and we are in business together.”

Gilda got up from her chair. She looked at Martha who was glaring at her, then she made a cheeky face and walked off the terrace, swinging her hips.

Johnny came back.

“That’s fixed. I’m picking the car up at the office. Well, I’ll get off. I’ll be back around eight o’clock.”

“Wait a moment, Johnny,” Henry said, “as you’re going to Miami would you take the bracelet back to Abe? I bet he’s laying an egg wondering what has happened to it. Give it to him, Martha.”

Martha hesitated, then handed the jewel case to Johnny.

“Don’t lose it.”

Johnny grinned at her.

“Think I’m going to run off with it?”

“I said don’t lose it!” Martha snapped.

When he had gone, Henry lit a cigar and stretched out his long legs with a sigh of content.

“Abe picked the right one, Martha,” he said. “He’s a professional.”

“Fats!” Martha muttered. “I’ll remember that!”

She was about to take another chocolate, then suddenly she pushed the box violently away from her and glared out to sea.

Henry hid a grin.

Johnny returned around eight-thirty. He had seen Abe and given back the bracelet and collected Henry’s receipt. He had also the key blanks which he had got through a friend of Abe’s and also the necessary tools to do the job. He said he would work on the key in the morning.

Flo gave them lobster thermidor for dinner and after Martha had eaten her way through two large lobsters and a pint of ice cream, they settled down for the evening.

Gilda was a TV addict. She turned on the set and anchored herself to it. Henry, with pad and pencil, sat with Martha on the terrace while he worked out his imaginary profit and loss on the Stock Exchange. Martha stitched away at her embroidery. Johnny sat away from them, looking down at the lighted harbour, watching the yachts and the headlights of the cars making a continuous double ribbon of light as the cars crawled around the bay.

At eleven-thirty, Martha hoisted herself to her feet.

“I’m going to bed,” she announced.

No one bothered to say anything and she plodded past Gilda, who was staring, hypnotised by the lighted screen, snorted and then made her way to the kitchen. She looked hopefully into the refrigerator. Flo always left a selection of cold food waiting for her. For some moments, Martha hesitated between a breast of chicken or a fillet of fried sole. She decided on the chicken and putting it on a paper plate — a stack of them always stood on the top of the refrigerator — she went to bed.

Twenty minutes later, Henry completed his balance sheet. He was delighted to find that he was ahead. He folded the newspaper and said, “Good night, all,” and went to bed.

Gilda felt a quickening of her blood as she heard Henry’s bedroom door close. The play she was watching was pure corn. She looked through the open doors, leading on to the terrace. Johnny was sitting there, his feet on the iron rail, motionless, looking down at the scene below She got to her feet, turned off the set and wandered out on to the terrace. She was wearing white stretch pants and a red halter. Her chestnut coloured hair was free about her shoulders. She was aware that she looked very attractive and this feeling gave her confidence. She came to stand near Johnny. She put her arms on the rail and peered down at the distant harbour. Johnny made no move to show he had noticed her. She waited for a long moment, then said, “What are you going to do with the money when you get it?”

“I haven’t got it yet.”

“Assume you will... what will you do with it?”

He looked up at her.

“Why do you want to know?”

She turned.

“Because I’m interested.”

“Well, if you’re that interested, I’ll tell you.” He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

“I’m going to buy a garage.” He lit the cigarette and blew smoke towards the star-studded sky. “I have one lined up. It handles fast cars... specialises. It’s not doing much now, but then the guy who owns it doesn’t really understand fast cars... I do. I could make a big thing out of it.”

She felt a little pang of jealousy. Men always had some project in mind... a garage, for God’s sake!

“Where is it?” she asked, forcing herself to show interest.

“A little place called Carmel on the Pacific Coast.”

She was aware of a dreamy note in his voice and this irritated her.

“Well, don’t count on it... we may not get the money,” she said sourly.

“It’s worth a try.”

There was a long pause, then as he was now staring down at the harbour again, she spoke sharply, “Obviously you’re not interested in what I would do with my share, are you?”

Johnny flicked ash over the rail.

“Not particularly. You’ll spend it... women always spend money.”

“I suppose they do.” She felt an urge to touch him, but she restrained herself.

Johnny suddenly looked directly at her. His eyes went from her head to her feet and then up again.

Gilda felt her nipples harden under that look. She tried to out-stare him, but she failed. She looked away.

“Do you want to come to bed with me now?” he asked.

She wanted to cry out: “Of course! Why do you sit there like a goddamn, superior dummy? Why don’t you grab me... I’m here to be grabbed!”

Her voice shaking with frustration and anger, she said aloud, “Is that what you say to every girl you meet?”

He grinned, his eyes moving over her.

“It saves time, doesn’t it? Do you or don’t you?”

“No, I don’t!” Gilda said furiously and she walked off the terrace. She heard him mutter something and she paused, turned and demanded, “What did you say?”

“I said who are you kidding?” Johnny repeated and laughed.

“Oh! I hate you!”

“The same old corny dialogue. You watch TV too much.”

She ran to her bedroom and slammed the door.

The following night, soon after ten-thirty, the tension between Martha and Henry became electric. They were sitting on the terrace, waiting. Henry was smoking a cigar too fast so that it burned unevenly. Martha gnawed at a turkey leg, every now and then laying it down to wipe her fingers on a Kleenex and then picking it up again.

“Don’t keep looking at your watch,” Henry said sharply, having just looked at his own. “It’s getting on my nerves!”

“On your nerves? What about mine?”

“All right, Martha, don’t let’s get panicky.” Henry was making a strenuous effort to control his own fluttering nerves.

“They’ve only been gone two and a half hours.”

“Do you think the cops have got them?” Martha asked, leaning forward and waving the turkey leg. “That Johnny! I’m scared of him. He could talk. He doesn’t like me.”

Henry looked with disgust at his unevenly burning cigar and crushed it out in the big glass ashtray.

“You’re working yourself up for nothing,” he said, trying to control the little shake in his voice. “He could have had trouble with that lock.”

“But Abe said he could handle any lock!”

“Well, you know Abe...”

Martha bit into the succulent dark flesh of the turkey leg and munched, staring down at the lights below.

“I can’t go back to prison, Henry,” she said finally. “That’s something I can’t do. I’ll take an overdose.”

“There’s no need to talk like that.” Henry paused and thought back on those fifteen years he had spent in a cell: an experience he too was determined not to repeat. An overdose? Well, why not? He was sixty-eight. There were times when he thought of death with pleasure. He knew he was walking a tightrope. If it hadn’t been for Martha, God knows what he would be doing now... certainly not sitting on this terrace with this view, after an excellent dinner and a good brandy to hand. This would be his last steal. It was, he knew, a gamble. He was healthy enough. There was nothing wrong with him. If he got the money and avoided the police, he could settle in a two-room apartment in Nice, France. He had done some clever and profitable jobs in and around Monte Carlo in his younger days. He had always planned to retire to Nice. But if the job went wrong — and it could — then it would be better to finish his life. With his record and with the size of the job against him, he would go away for at least ten years. That meant he would die in a cell. Martha was no fool. She was right. An overdose would be the best way out.

“But I am talking like that,” Martha went on. “They’ll never get me alive.”

“This is going to be all right, Martha. You’re getting worked up.” Henry wished he believed what he was saying. He paused, then took from his leather case another cigar which he lit carefully. “Have you a pill or something?”

She looked at him and nodded.

“Yes.”

Henry crossed one long leg over the other, hesitated, then asked, “One to spare?”

“Yes, Henry.”

“We won’t need them, but a sword is better than a stick in any fight.”

Gilda and Johnny came out on to the terrace. Neither of the two had heard them arrive. They both stiffened, turned and looked expectantly.

Gilda dropped into a chair. She lifted her hair off her shoulders with a little shuddering movement. Johnny came over to Martha.

“Here it is,” he said and put on the table four sheets of photocopy paper. “It wasn’t easy.”

Martha dropped the half-eaten turkey leg back on the paper plate. She looked up at Johnny’s hard, expressionless face.

“Any trouble?”

“Here and there... nothing we couldn’t handle. The janitor wasn’t such a slob. He nearly caught us, but not quite. Anyway, we’ve done it, and there it is!”

“You really mean there’s going to be no trouble?” Martha demanded.

“He was marvellous!” Gilda said huskily. “He unlocked all the locks and relocked them. He had to spend eighty minutes getting that filing cabinet open and I nearly walked up the wall! But he didn’t! And when we got the file and photocopied it, he spent another half-hour relocking the file cabinet.”

“Be quiet!” Johnny said. “It was a job... it’s been done. I’m going for a swim.”

He left them and ran down the steps to the beach below.

“I told you, Martha,” Henry said. “He is a good man.”

“You don’t know how good,” Gilda said. “It was magic. The way he opened the doors... the way he knelt for all that time fiddling with that cabinet lock, talking to it as if he was making love to a woman; so gently, so... I’ve never watched anything like it, and when the lock yielded as a woman might have yielded, he gave a moaning sound that... well, you know...” Gilda stopped short, her face flushing, and she got to her feet.

“Have a drink,” Henry said gently. “Let me get you something.”

Gilda didn’t hear him. She went to the balcony rail and leaning over, she watched Johnny as he swam far out to sea.

The other two looked at each other, then Martha wiped her fingers on the Kleenex and picked up the photocopies.

The tension of breaking into the office block, the moment when they had nearly run into the janitor who was wandering around on the second floor landing, the long wait while Johnny had fought with the lock, the final triumph had now left Gilda limp and exhausted.

Leaving the other two examining the photocopies, she went into her bedroom, stripped off and took a cold shower. It was a hot night with a brilliant moon. The windows were wide open, but the room still felt close. She lay naked on the bed, staring out at the moon, her ankles crossed, her hands behind her head. She lay like that for a long time, her mind reliving her experience, reliving the jolt of terror as Johnny grabbed her and pulled her back into the shadows as the shambling figure of the janitor had passed them.

She was vaguely aware of the light on the terrace being turned off and Martha stumping off to the refrigerator. She heard Henry’s door close.

She wondered what Johnny was doing. If he came now to her room, she wouldn’t have refused him. Her body ached for him. She wanted him as she had never wanted any other man.

But Johnny didn’t come.

At exactly eight-thirty a.m., Flo wheeled the breakfast trolley into Martha’s bedroom. She was surprised to find Martha already out of bed, sitting on her small terrace, busily scribbling with a pencil on a sheet of paper.

“Morning Miss Martha... you all right?” Flo asked, her big, black eyes rolling.

“Of course I’m all right, you fool!” Martha snapped. She laid down her pencil.

She regarded the trolley with greedy eyes. Flo always provided something exciting for breakfast and always served it well.

“Tell the Colonel I want to talk to him in an hour. Where is he?”

“Taking coffee on the terrace below, Miss Martha.”

“Well, tell him.”

Half an hour later, Martha had demolished four pancakes and syrup, four lambs’ kidneys with creamed potatoes, five slices of toast with cherry jam and three cups of coffee. She pushed aside the trolley and leaned back in her chair with a sigh of content as there came a knock on the door.

Henry came in, looking like a lean old stork, a lighted cigar between his fingers.

“Sit down,” Martha said. “Do you want some coffee? There’s some left.”

“No, thank you, I’ve had my coffee.” Henry sat down and crossed his legs. “Well?”

“I’ve made a list... take a look at it.” Martha gave him the sheet of paper she had been working on.

Henry studied the list, stroking his moustache, then he nodded.

“I also made a list... we’re thinking along the same lines, but you’ve left out the Esmaldi diamonds. What’s wrong with them?”

Martha shook her head. She made a face as if she had bitten into a quince.

“Do you mean to tell me, Henry, that you would be stupid enough to go after the Esmaldi diamonds?” she demanded.

Henry stared at her.

“I don’t see why not. They’re worth $350,000. Abe would go mad with joy to have them. So why not?”

“Abe isn’t going mad with joy, and I’ll tell you for why. The Esmaldi diamonds are insured with the National Fidelity, and that means Maddox. That sonofabitch put me away for five years! He’s the smartest and most dangerous bastard in the insurance racket. I’ve made certain that all this stuff we are going after isn’t covered by the National Fidelity. The other insurance punks are not in the same class as Maddox. I’ve tangled with him once — never again!”

Henry nodded.

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, you know now.” Martha gathered her wrap around her. “Where’s Johnny?”

“On the terrace.”

She heaved herself to her feet and went to the balcony rail. She bawled down to Johnny to come up.

She returned to her chair, eyed the depleted breakfast trolley, then seeing a slice of currant loaf still on the bread plate, she buttered it heavily and began to eat it.

Johnny came out on to her terrace.

“Sit down,” Martha said. “We’re now in business.” She paused to wipe her mouth with a paper napkin. “We have a short list of people who own a whale of a lot of expensive jewellery which is kept in their homes in Raysons’ safes. The collection is worth $1,800,000. Take a third of that which is what that thief Abe Schulman will pay and we get net $600,000. The way I split it up is that you get $125,000. How do you like that?”

Johnny studied her, his face expressionless.

“Sounds okay. I’ll believe it when I get it,” he said finally.

“That’s right.” Martha nodded. “Well now, Abe tells me you can handle safes and locks. I’ve selected the people who keep their jewels in Raysons’ safes because I understand you’ve worked for Raysons. How about it, Johnny?”

Johnny lit a cigarette, slowly and deliberately, while he stared at Martha, then he said, “Let me tell you about Raysons’ safes. They are very special. For one thing they can’t be broken open. For another, for the owner of the safe, they are absolutely foolproof. Anyone crazy enough to try to break into one of these safes is asking for a long stretch in jail.”

Martha stiffened, then leaned forward, her little eyes flinty, her face a granite mask.

“Are you telling me you can’t open a goddamn Raysons’ safe?” she shrilled, blood rushing into her face.

“Oh, take it easy,” Johnny said, his expression bored. “The way you eat and act, you’ll be dead in a year. Don’t yell at me!”

“God!” Martha screamed, beating her fat fists on the arms of the chair. “I won’t take talk like that from you, you goddamn...”

“Shut up!” Johnny snarled and leaned forward. “Hear me? Shut your fat mouth!”

Henry watched all this, smoking his cigar, his legs crossed, his expression interested.

“Are you telling me to shut up? You?” Martha bawled.

Johnny got to his feet.

“No, I’m not telling you to shut up. I made a mistake. Yell as much as you want to. I don’t work with people like you. Find someone else. Someone who knows how to open a Rayson.” He started across the terrace.

Martha shouted, “Johnny! Come back! I’m sorry!”

Johnny paused, turned and then grinned. He returned to his chair and sat down.

“Forget it. I guess we’re both a little temperamental.” He paused to light a cigarette, then went on, “Let me tell you more about the Raysons’ safes... let me explain their system. Take anyone who has a lot of money, a lot of jewels, bonds.” He paused to look at Martha. “Have you cooled down? Are you listening?”

“I’m listening,” Martha said, struggling with her temper. “Go on!”

“Well, this somebody wants to stash away his valuables. So he goes to Raysons and tells them his problem. To Raysons it is no problem. They have heard it all before. You want a foolproof safe, sir — we have it. You have to expect a hole knocked in your wall to take the safe, but Raysons do the whole job... no fuss... just one hundred per cent efficiency. Now a Raysons’ safe is a fireproof, foolproof, burglar-proof box with a sliding door that is controlled by a patent electronic gimmick that opens and shuts the door by pressing a button. There are two controls. Each control is hidden somewhere in the room or even out of the room, depending on what the customers want. Only the owner of the safe, Raysons and the man who fits the safe know where the controls are hidden. The man who fits the safe has been working for them for years and he gets a big wage. He can’t be got at. He’s that type of man. The controls are about the size of a pinhead and can be concealed anywhere. You might ask why two controls? The first control operates the police alarm. Every Raysons’ safe is wired direct to the local police headquarters. The second control opens the safe. So to open the safe you touch the first pinhead control and that cuts off the police alarm. Then you touch the second pinhead and the safe door slides open. You take your jewels or your bonds or your cash out, pass your finger over the two controls again and the safe shuts and the police alarm is set. Nothing to it... it’s a sweetie.”

Both Martha and Henry were sitting forward, listening, absorbed.

Johnny drew on his cigarette, then went on, “If you don’t know where the controls are hidden and you try to break open the safe, there is a ray inside the safe that reacts to any violence. It sets off an alarm in the local Cop House and before you can even dent the safe you have three or possibly four cops breathing down your neck. Let’s get this straight: the Raysons’ safe is probably the best and safest of its kind in the world.”

Martha sank back in her chair. She now regretted her heavy breakfast.

“Well, that’s wonderful!” she said bitterly. “So all this goddamn work and calculations I’ve been making is so much waste of time!”

Johnny shook his head.

“No. It can be done. I’d rather open a Raysons’ safe than any other safe. What you have to remember is once you know where the two controls are hidden, the safe opens itself. You can open it, take the loot and be away within three minutes. The trick, of course, is to know where the controls are hidden.”

Martha perked up.

“Well, go on...”

“Because the people who buy the safes are rich and lazy and possibly stupid, each local branch have blueprints in their files of each safe they have fitted and where the controls are located. This became a must when some rich old woman forgot where the controls were and the fitter also couldn’t remember. What an uproar exploded! I remember it well. She wanted her jewels... she was entertaining some top brass and she couldn’t get at her finery. She sued Raysons and got away with it. So...” Johnny grinned. “From then on, Raysons have blueprints of every safe fitted. Each local branch keeps their own blueprints. Our next move is to get at the blueprints as we got at this list from Frisby. So let’s work it out...”

That afternoon, Martha and Henry made a call on Paradise City’s branch of Raysons’ Safes Corporation. Martha explained that she was thinking of building a house in the district and she would want a safe. While David Hacket, the branch manager, was explaining their system, Henry, in his role of a cynic (a lot of damned nonsense... put your stuff in a safe deposit bank), prowled around the office, checking the locks, the filing cabinets and looking for any wiring that might indicate police alarms. He also checked that there was a photocopying machine and its make.

Finally, when Martha was sure Henry had all the information he needed, she said she would think it over and call again.

Back at the villa, Henry was gloomy.

“It’s tough,” he told Johnny. “There are burglar alarms. The four cabinets have metal covers on the locks. I couldn’t get an impression. This is a tough one.”

Johnny laughed.

“Is that all you found out? I’ll tell you what else there is. There’s an electric ray that alerts the Cop House if you pass through the ray after office hours. Every door you open alerts the Cop House. If you try to open the safe or any of the filing cabinets another alarm goes off. Raysons are full of gimmicks. I know... I worked with them, but it doesn’t mean a thing. I’ll tell you why. Raysons don’t rely on the City’s supply of electricity. They have their own plant. All you have to do is to cut their motor and their teeth are drawn. Raysons are so pleased with this system they have installed it in every one of their branches. If you don’t know, you’re a dead duck, but as I do know, I can get at those records.”

“No kidding, Johnny?” Martha said, her fat face beaming.

“I know Raysons like I know the back of my hand... few do. I can get at them.”

Martha cut herself a large slice of chocolate cake that Flo had baked the previous day.

“I was getting worried,” she admitted. “Henry was so depressed.”

“You can still remain worried,” Johnny said quietly. He took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit up.

Her mouth full, Martha stared at him. His cold eyes met hers, and she felt a twinge of uneasiness. Hurriedly, she swallowed what she was eating, then asked, “What do you mean?”

There was a long pause. Henry regarded Johnny thoughtfully. Gilda, on her Li-Lo in her white bikini, lifted her head.

Johnny said, “Without me, you three would be sunk. If you think I’m talking out of the back of my neck, say so, and I’ll leave you to handle this and then where will you get? Exactly nowhere!”

Martha put down her unfinished slice of cake. She was shrewd enough to realise what this was leading to.

“Go on,” she said, her voice harsh. “Finish it.”

“You said my share was to be $125,000,” Johnny said. He let smoke drift down his nostrils. “The whole take you said was $600,000. Now, I’m telling you something. Without me, you would never even smell $600,000, let alone put your hands on it. So...” He paused, looked at Martha, then at Henry. “My cut is to be $200,000, and you can please yourselves how the rest is divided. You can take it or leave it.”

“Listen to me, you sonofabitch! If you think...” Martha began, her face purple with rage when Henry, speaking sharply, stopped her.

“Martha! I’ll handle this!”

Martha stopped short and stared at Henry who was regarding her in his calm, quiet way, his tortoise-like eyelids lowered, his cigar burning evenly between his thin fingers.

“If this creep...” Martha began, but Henry again stopped her with a wave of his hand.

“Johnny is right, Martha,” he said. “Without him, we can’t go ahead with this. He’s the technician.” He turned to Johnny, his smile benign. “Look, Johnny, suppose we make a little deal. Suppose we settle for $150,000... huh? What do you say? After all, this is Martha’s idea. She’s behind it all. What do you say... $150,000?”

Johnny got to his feet.

“You talk it over among yourselves,” he said. “I want $200,000 or you can fix this deal yourselves. I’m going to take a swim.”

“So am I,” Gilda said and swung herself off the Li-Lo. Johnny ignored her. He walked down the terrace steps and on down to the beach with Gilda after him.

“The creep!” Martha said furiously.

“Now, Martha,” Henry said quietly, “that won’t get you anywhere. All right, those are his terms. It doesn’t mean he will get them, does it? We’re not signing any contract with him. He can’t sue us, can he?”

Martha stared intently at Henry, then the rage died out of her eyes.

“Do you think you can handle him, Henry?”

“I can but try,” Henry said. “I’ve handled a lot of smart boys in my time. The point is we just can’t do without him.”

“I had the idea the moment I set eyes on him, we would have trouble with him.” Martha was so angry she couldn’t finish her cake.

Henry watched Johnny and Gilda as they swam together.

“And another thing, Martha, Gilda has fallen in love with him,” he said sadly.

“Do you think I care?”

“I like Gilda... a pretty girl. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.” Then seeing Martha wasn’t interested, Henry went on, “When he comes back, I’ll say yes to his terms... right?”

“So long as he doesn’t get the money, you can say yes to anything.”

“You let me talk to him.”

Martha heaved herself to her feet.

“I’m going to take a nap.” She hesitated, began to say something, decided not to and stumped off the terrace.

Half an hour later, Johnny and Gilda came up the steps. Johnny paused near Henry.

“Well?”

“It’s all right, Johnny. We’ve talked it over,” Henry said. “Of course, she didn’t like it, but she knows when she’s licked. You get $200,000.”

Johnny stared at him. The cold eyes made Henry a little uneasy, but he retained his calm expression.

“Okay,” Johnny said. “But listen... I know all about you. Abe told me... one of the smartest con men in the racket. Don’t try to con me. That’s a warning.” He stared again at Henry and then walked off the terrace to his bedroom.

Henry took out his silk handkerchief and touched his temples.

Gilda lay down on the Li-Lo.

“I suppose she’s hoping to gyp him,” she said, putting on her sun-goggles. “Don’t you do it, Henry. I like you. I couldn’t care less if he twisted her fat neck, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

Henry regarded her beautiful body.

“Thank you, my dear. I wish I were twenty years younger.”

Gilda laughed.

“You men...”

An hour after dinner, Martha came out on to the terrace where Gilda was catching the last rays of the sun and Henry was working on his Stock Exchange calculations.

Johnny had remained in his room for the past three hours. Gilda had seen cigarette smoke drift out of his open window from time to time and she wondered what he was doing. She wasn’t worried about her share when the share-out came. She trusted Henry who had promised her ten per cent of the take: that meant, with any luck, $60,000. That would be enough. With that kind of money and with her looks, she reckoned she would never be in want. She admired Johnny for demanding the bigger sum. Anyone who had the guts to stand up to Martha won her admiration.

“Where is he?” Martha demanded, settling herself in the wickerwork chair, causing it to creak.

“In his bedroom,” Henry said, putting down his notebook. “Look, Martha, don’t let us have any unpleasantness. This boy can handle the job — we can’t. So we must pay for it.” The heavy eyelid closed and opened. This little speech Martha realised was for Gilda’s benefit.

“Oh, well, all right,” she said. “I’ll leave it to you,” and she picked up her embroidery frame. “We are having Maryland chicken for dinner.”

“Good.” Henry opened his notebook again. “Flo is one of the best cooks we’ve ever had. She...” He paused as Johnny came out on to the terrace.

Johnny was wearing a lightweight blue suit and he was carrying a small overnight bag in his hand. He came across the terrace and stood in front of Martha.

“I want three hundred dollars,” he said.

Martha stared at him. Henry put down his notebook, and Gilda half sat up, supporting herself on her arm.

“You want — what?” Martha’s voice went up a note.

“Three hundred dollars,” he said quietly. “I’m going to Miami. I’ve got things to fix.”

“You’re not getting three hundred goddamn dollars out of me!” Martha shrilled, her face turning red.

Johnny stared at her, his eyes ice cold.

“Listen to me, you stupid cow,” he said, his voice soft but vicious. “Do you or don’t you want to swing this job?”

Martha reared back in her chair as if he had threatened to hit her. Henry got to his feet and walked over to Johnny. He put himself between Johnny and Martha and looked levelly at him.

“That wasn’t a nice thing to say, Johnny. You don’t talk like that. I won’t allow it!”

Johnny half-lifted his clenched fist. Henry remained motionless, looking straight into Johnny’s hot, angry eyes. The two men, one frail and old, the other powerful and young, regarded each other for a long moment, then Johnny suddenly grinned and relaxed.

“I like guys with guts,” he said. “And that’s what you’ve got, Colonel.” He stepped around Henry and said to Martha, “I apologise, but I still need three hundred dollars. I can’t walk into Raysons and put their electrics on the blink without money.”

Henry took his roll from his hip pocket and gave Johnny three one hundred dollar bills.

“Here you are, son,” he said. “What are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to Miami... I’ll be away three days... Thursday evening we will make the raid.”

“That still doesn’t tell me what you are planning to do.”

“I’ll tell you when I come back,” Johnny returned, then without looking at either Martha or Gilda, he walked off the terrace.

No one said anything until they heard the Hertz rental car start up and drive away, then Martha said, “I’ll fix that sonofabitch if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Make sure he doesn’t fix you first,” Gilda said. “I’d back him any day against you!”

“Ladies!” Henry said sharply. “Please...” He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly time for dinner.”

The next two days dragged interminably for Gilda. She found life in the villa and in the City flat and dull without Johnny around. She swam and sunbathed and listened to Henry’s old world chat with a boredom that she found intolerable. Martha ate and worked on her embroidery, sullen and bad tempered.

On the evening of the third day, after dinner, they heard a car drive up and they all stiffened, looking at each other. A few minutes later, Johnny came out on to the terrace.

“Welcome back,” Henry said. “How did it go?”

Johnny sat down, lit a cigarette and looked directly at Martha. He had given only a casual glance at Gilda who had put on a white linen dress especially for his arrival. Henry, when she came out on to the terrace, declared she looked beautiful, but the impact of her beauty seemed lost on Johnny.

“It’s fixed,” Johnny said. “I had to put Raysons’ electrical equipment on the blink and I had to do it so they wouldn’t know. The answer was a time switch clock. I talked it over with Abe. He has contacts everywhere. He sent me to a guy who fitted me out with the uniform of the Paradise City Electricity Corporation. I bought a toolbox on a sling and a time switch clock. Abe sent me to a makeup artist who put fifteen years on my face, plus a moustache. I then went along to Raysons. Their equipment is in the basement and during the day it is not in use. I told the janitor there was a failure and he let me have the run of the basement. It was dead easy. So now, tonight, at nine o’clock, the time switch turns off the electricity. All we have to do is to walk in, find the files, photocopy them, remove the time switch clock and we’re away.”

Two days after Johnny had got the blueprints, Martha came down on to the big terrace where the others were reading the papers.

Martha was feeling in good shape. Flo had given her one of her favourite breakfasts, consisting of grapefruit, three lamb chops each set on crisply fried bread, surrounded by a bed of watercress. She couldn’t remember when she had had better lamb chops and she was in such a good mood that she even nodded to Johnny instead of scowling at him.

She sat down.

“Now listen to me,” she said. “I have a short list here.” She waved a sheet of paper. “The trick with this operation is this: we empty the safe and the owners don’t know for some weeks that they have been robbed. In this way we can work four or even five safes and we’ll be on our way before the cops get into the picture.” She paused while the other three regarded her. “There’s no miracle in this. Now I’ve got the names of the people who own good jewellery, I’ve found out what they are doing and where they are. There’s nothing smart about this: I got the dope from the Society Column of the local rag. For instance, Mrs. Lowenstein who owns $180,000 worth of jewellery is in a clinic and she will be there for three weeks. We have the blueprint of her Raysons’ safe. We go there, pick up the stuff and Mrs. L. won’t know she’s lost her loot until she’s returned from the clinic. So she’s the first one we’ll hit. Now the second one... Mrs. Warren Crail. She owns $650,000 worth of jewels. At the end of this week, she and her husband are going on a fishing trip and they won’t be back for five weeks. So we fix her safe. Then there’s Mrs. Alex Jackson, who owns $400,000 worth of jewellery. She is also going off on a yacht. There’s a chance she will take some of her jewellery with her, but not all of it. All these slobs have faith in the Raysons’ safes. So they leave their jewellery... anyway, why should they worry? It’s all insured. Are you getting the photo? There’s Mrs. Bernard Lampson who owns $350,000 worth of jewels. She is off to the Bahamas for skin diving. She won’t be taking her stuff with her, so we’ll get it. How do you like it?”

Henry had heard all this before. He nodded and looked across at Johnny who was staring off into space.

“Yes,” Johnny said, “if your facts are right.”

“This is where Gilda does some work,” Martha said. She looked at Gilda. “Now this is what you have to do...”

Baines had been Mrs. Lowenstein’s butler for ten years. He was an import from England and in the past had served two of the best titled families during his sixty-eight years. He had been seduced by the enormous salary Mrs. Lowenstein had offered him and he had agreed to come to Paradise City to run her establishment... he had regretted it ever since.

However, he was a man of integrity and he also had a conscience so in return for his salary that was five times as much as any English Duke could afford to pay him, he endured Mrs. Lowenstein’s vulgarity, her shrieking voice, her dreadful clothes and her frightful friends.

Happily, ever year, Mrs. Lowenstein went into a health clinic where they worked on her bulk and generally cleaned her inside and out, and then returned her after a month to her magnificent home to begin eating and drinking again with renewed vigour. Baines looked forward to this month when he had the house to himself. The rest of the staff took their vacation at this time. Everything was put under dust wraps and Baines settled down happily in his suite on the top floor that consisted of a bedroom, a sitting room, a bathroom and a kitchenette. Baines was a TV addict. He spent nearly all his free time staring at the lighted screen.

Around eleven-thirty one morning as he was arranging his lunch with loving hands, he heard the front doorbell ring.

Baines was in his shirt sleeves, but he was always immaculately dressed. He was a short, stout, pink-faced man with snowy, thin hair and calm blue eyes — the perfect picture of what an English butler should look like. He frowned, turned off the gas that was heating the Coq au Vin he had prepared the previous day, put on his tailcoat and went down in the elevator to the front door.

A dark haired, severely dressed girl stood on the doorstep. She wore a blue frock with white collar and cuffs and heavy sun-goggles. Her jet black hair made a neat helmet for her well-shaped head.

The wig and the dress completely transformed Gilda into an efficient, serious looking young business woman.

“I am from the Acme Carpet Cleaning Co.,” she said and handed Baines a printed card that Abe had supplied.

Baines read the card with an aristocratic lift of his eyebrows.

“I think there must be a mistake...” he began.

“Mrs. Lowenstein telephoned from the clinic,” Gilda explained. “Mrs. Lowenstein has asked for an estimate for us to clean the carpet in the main living-room and also the carpet in her bedroom.”

As Mrs. Lowenstein never ceased to use the telephone at the clinic this came as no surprise to Baines. Many a time when he was enjoying a good TV serial the telephone would ring and he would have to listen to Mrs. Lowenstein’s whining complaints with one eye on the TV screen.

“I understand,” he said and opened the front door wide. “What do you want to do?”

“May I see both carpets? I will have to measure them for the estimate.”

Baines liked the look of this girl. She was neat and respectful. He approved of her. He let her in and watched her as she measured the living-room carpet with a foot rule. Then he took her up to Mrs. Lowenstein’s bedroom where all the furniture in the enormous room was under dust sheets.

Gilda measured the carpet and as she closed her notebook, she said, “Mrs. Lowenstein won’t be back then for a few days?”

“Madame won’t be back for at least three weeks,” Baines said, thinking Glory be! but not saying it.

“That gives us plenty of time.” Gilda smiled brightly. “We will send Mrs. Lowenstein the estimate and if she agrees to it, I’ll let you know when we can collect the carpets. Would that be all right?”

Pleased with her good manners, Baines said that would be quite all right. As he conducted her down in the elevator, she said, “Are you all alone here?”

“Yes,” Baines said with a contented sigh. “The rest of the staff are on vacation.”

“I’m sure you appreciate the quiet,” Gilda said, moving from the elevator. “It must be nice to be on one’s own for a little while — especially in such a beautiful house.”

Baines warmed to her.

“It’s a pleasure.” He opened the front door. “I always say you can never be lonely with the telly.”

“Are you a fan?” Gilda turned and looked through her sun-goggles at him. “So am I. When I get home, I turn it on and that’s it until I go to bed. Goodbye.”

Baines watched her walk down the steps to the white Opel car. Then remembering he had his Coq au Vin to heat up, he shut the front door, shot the bolt and took the elevator up to his quarters.

That night Johnny and Gilda raided the house. Gilda had no trouble in climbing to the first floor. Johnny stood in the moonlight and watched her as she went up the side of the house as if she were walking up a flight of stairs. She lowered a knotted rope down to him and he came up that way, hand over hand, joining her on the balcony. She had described to him the lock on the window and Johnny had brought along the necessary tools to open it.

With the blueprint from Raysons, it took them only a few minutes to locate the controls, another minute or so to open the safe. Both wore surgical gloves. Johnny emptied the glittering gems from their cases into the small sack he had brought with him. The job lasted less than five minutes. Then they left. Johnny relocked the window from the outside, then they slid down the rope, jerked it free and were away.

The first raid of the big take was accomplished.