Cops and Robbers

Joe

When I pulled the chair over behind Eastpoole’s desk, it was strictly bravado. I didn’t plan on using it; the truth is, I was too tense to sit. If I couldn’t be up and moving around, I’d bust every blood vessel I had.

Still, the best place to keep an eye both on Eastpoole and the television screens was from back around behind his desk. So I let him go on sitting there, and I stood behind him, leaning my back against the corner of the wall, between windows facing out in two directions, where I could watch what was happening both inside the room and out on the street.

The arrangement of the TV sets was the same as the six out in the reception area. The one on the top right showed the reception area itself, with the two guards behind the counter there. The top middle, top left, and bottom right showed three different offices, two of which we’d gone through when we’d come in here. The bottom middle screen showed the vault, and the bottom left showed the anteroom that led to the vault.

The vault was empty of people, and looked like a deep walk-in closet. You couldn’t see a door in any part that showed on the screen, so the door was probably directly under the camera. The three walls visible to the camera were all lined from floor to ceiling with letter-size file drawers. The open space in the middle of the room was only about six feet square, and there wasn’t any furniture in there at all.

The anteroom wasn’t very big either. Where the camera was positioned, you could see the heavy vault door standing open in the far wall. A desk was to the left where the only guard was sitting, facing toward the camera. He had an ordinary wooden chair, without arms, and he was sitting there reading the Daily News. There was nothing on his desk but a telephone and a sign-in sheet with a ballpoint pen. A second wooden chair stood beside the desk, and that was it for the furniture. The same as with the vault, the entrance must have been under the camera.

After Tom and the secretary left, I took up my position behind Eastpoole, checked out the TV screens, and then took a quick gander out the window on my left, the one facing the street with the parade. The bands were still going by, thumping away, like the world’s longest half-time show. Way down to the right, blocks away, it looked like it was snowing; in July. That was the ticker tape and paper coming down, marking where the astronauts were. You couldn’t see them yet, they were still too far away.

I checked out Eastpoole, then. He was sitting there with his head a little forward and down. His palms were flat on the desk in front of him, and I guess he was studying his fingernails. His shoulders were hunched just a bit, meaning it made him nervous to have me behind him. Which was really tough.

People like this Eastpoole really irritate me. You see them driving Caddies, air-conditioned cars. I love to give them tickets, the bastards, but I know it doesn’t do any good. What’s twenty-five dollars to people like Eastpoole?

I looked over at the television screens, and Tom and the secretary were just walking through one of the offices; the one on the top left. I watched them walk, and the secretary had a really nice ass. I like that kind of knit dress she was wearing, it shows a lot about a woman’s shape, and this one was built very nice indeed.

I wondered if Eastpoole was getting into that. There wasn’t any point asking him; whether he was or he wasn’t, he’d deny it. And he’d give me a look, as though he couldn’t believe there were such animals as me running around loose. Oh, I know that type. He hired her for her shorthand, that’s what he did. Sure. Her shorthand, and his short arm.

It was tough to wait here like this, with nothing to do. I had the urge to needle Eastpoole a little, maybe poke him in the shoulder to see if he was as nerved-up as I was. But I knew I shouldn’t do it, I shouldn’t do anything that might make him forget to be smart and cool and quiet. It wasn’t worth twenty years in a federal penitentiary to get a rise out of Eastpoole.

Twenty years. That thought suddenly brought it home to me; we were doing it! The thing we’d been talking about, building up for, kidding around with, we were actually doing it, we’d passed the stage of maybe yes, maybe no. There weren’t any more maybes now. It’s like the first time you ski down a real hill on your own; all the chances for thinking it over are gone, and from here on the only thing you can think about is keeping your balance.

I almost hadn’t done it. I came this close to not bracing Eastpoole at all. Coming in with him from the recption area, I kept thinking about just running the whole thing through as though it was a gag. I mean, actually look at the windows on the northeast corner, maybe give the employees a lecture about throwing offensive objects onto the people below — I had this whole thing worked out in my head where I’d give a whole speech about shit without ever quite using the word — and then just turn around and walk out again. Pretend that’s all I’d ever meant to do, that the whole robbery thing had never been anything but a gag anyway.

If it hadn’t been for Tom there with me, that’s probably exactly what I would have done. But I could feel Tom there beside me, waiting for me to make the move, and I just couldn’t chicken out. Same as with skiing again; there comes that point, you’ve done your boasting, everybody’s watching you, and it suddenly doesn’t matter if you break your neck or not. You’ve got to do it, because if you don’t you’ve made a fool of yourself, and nothing is worse than that.

Twenty years?

Well, almost nothing.

Movement on one of the television screens. I looked over there, and I was aware of Eastpoole tensing up right in front of me.

The secretary had walked into the anteroom. She had her back to me, I couldn’t see the expression on her face. Any other time, honey, I’d love to see your ass, but right now it’s your face I want.

At least I could see the guard’s face. He looked up and gave her a big smile. So far as I could tell, she didn’t say anything wrong to him, because the smile didn’t flicker for a second. She moved forward, bent over to sign the sheet of paper on his desk, and then walked on into the vault. I kept watching the guard, and he didn’t do anything wrong at all. He didn’t even bother to look at her signature, just opened his newspaper again the second she was out of the anteroom and into the vault.

Now I could see her on the next screen. She walked into the vault, looked around, and glanced up at the camera. Yeah, honey, I’m watching.

I looked at the screen showing the reception area. The two guards were both leaning on the counter, talking together. Neither of them was looking toward the screens.

Back in the vault, the secretary was opening one of the file drawers. She started to finger through it, and pulled out a sheet of heavy paper like a high school diploma. She opened another drawer and rested the sheet of paper on top of the things in the drawer, then went back to the first one to select some more.

I hoped she was getting the right stuff. I hoped Tom had gotten the point across to her and that she’d understood what it was we wanted. I didn’t want to get home later on and find out we’d gone through all this for a lot of paper we couldn’t use.

It was taking her a goddam long time. She kept looking at paper after paper, and most of them she just shoved back into the drawer. What was taking so long? Come on, damn it, grab the paper, let’s go. We don’t want to miss the parade, that’s part of our scheme.

I looked out the window again. The astronauts would be the wind-up of the parade, and that’s where the stream of ticker tape was coming down. It was closer, but still blocks away. But it wouldn’t take forever.

I looked back at the screens again. The girl in the vault was still picking through the file drawer. “Come on,” I whispered, too low for Eastpoole to hear me. “Come on, come on.”

But she kept doing it. The stack on the other drawer was getting pretty thick now, but she still wasn’t finished.

We’d wanted too much, that was all. We should have settled for half of that. Five million, that would get us half a million each. Five hundred thousand dollars, who needs more than that? It’s nearly forty years of my salary. We’d been greedy, that’s what, and it was taking too long.

Come on, bitch, come on!

Movement. I looked at the screen on the top right, the reception area. An elevator door had opened there, and three uniformed patrolmen were coming out of it, moving toward the two guards behind the counter.

I slapped a hand down on Eastpoole’s shoulder. He’d seen it, too, he was tensing up like fast-drying concrete. My throat was so dry my voice came out like steel wool. I said, “What’s going on?”

The three cops stopped at the counter, one of them talked to the guards. A guard turned toward the telephone.

I squeezed Eastpoole’s shoulder, clamping down on it. “What’s going on?”

“I d-don’t know.” I could feel him trembling under my hand, the concrete was breaking up. He was frightened for his life, and he had a right to be. “I swear I don’t know,” he said, and sat there trembling.

The guard was dialing. On the vault screen, that stinking bitch was still picking out papers, one at a time. All the other screens were fine.

The phone rang, on Eastpoole’s desk. Eastpoole stared at it. His head was twitching.

So was mine. I fought the goddam holster, I got my pistol into my hand. “By God,” I said, “you’re a dead man.” And I meant it. I thought we were both dead men, and if I was, Eastpoole was.

Eastpoole lifted his hands. He stared at the telephone. He didn’t know what to say or what to do. He really and truly didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.

I kicked the chair out of the way that I’d dragged around behind the desk before. It went over on its side with a crash, and Eastpoole jumped. I crouched down beside him, so I’d be able to listen on the phone and still watch the television screens. I pushed the pistol barrel against Eastpoole’s side. “Answer it,” I said. “And be goddam careful.”

He had to take a couple of seconds to get some control, so he’d be able to move and talk. I let him have the time he needed, and then he reached out and picked up the phone and said, “Yes?”

I could only make out about half the words the guard said to him. But it didn’t seem as though there was any tension in the voice, or any sense of excitement out there in the reception area.

On the other hand, if they were here because they knew what was going on, they’d know we could see them on television, wouldn’t they?

But how would they know? There hadn’t been any breakdowns, there wasn’t any reason for anything to go wrong.

Eastpoole said into the phone, “But do they have to—? Well, one moment. One moment.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece, and turned to talk to me. “They’re here to check security for the astronauts,” he said.

I kept watching the screen. I said, “What do they want?”

“Just to station themselves at windows.”

We didn’t want cops in here. What the hell was the matter with them, why didn’t they pick some other floor? Why didn’t they go on the roof, for Christ’s sake, that’s where your snipers come from. “God damn it,” I said. I felt like blowing up into a million pieces. “God damn it.”

“I’m not responsible,” Eastpoole yammered, “I didn’t know they—”

“Shut up, shut up.” I was trying to think, trying to decide what to do. He couldn’t refuse, that wouldn’t look right. “Listen,” I said. “They can do it, but not in this office. Tell them that.”

He nodded, fast and nervous. “Yes,” he said, and into the phone he said, “Go right ahead, tell them it’s all right. One of you escort them in. But I don’t want any of them in here. Not in my office.”

I could read the guard’s lips on that one, see him say, “Yes, sir.” Eastpoole hung up, and so did the guard. The guard turned back to the three cops, said something to them, and then walked around the end of the counter to lead them in.

I looked at the vault screen, and the girl was finally finished. Carrying a double armful of papers like a schoolgirl with her books, she pushed the two drawers shut and turned toward the door.

I jabbed Eastpoole with the pistol again. “Call the vault!” I told him. “I want to talk to that girl.”

“There’s no phone in the—”

“The anteroom! The anteroom! For Christ’s sake, call!”

He reached for the phone. The girl was out of sight of the vault camera now. On the anteroom camera, I saw her come through the doorway. The stack of papers in her arms was maybe three inches thick, as thick as two ordinary books, but of course stacked somewhat looser. There were maybe a hundred and fifty sheets of paper there.

Eastpoole was dialing a three-digit number. The guard in the anteroom turned his head when the girl walked in, saw the stack of paper she was carrying, and jumped to his feet to open the hall door for her.

I kept jabbing Eastpoole in the side with the gun. “Hurry it up!” I said. “Hurry it up!”

The guard and the girl were both moving toward the camera, they’d be out of sight under it in a second. “Come on,” I said. I wanted to shoot everything in sight; Eastpoole, the television screens, the astronauts out in the street. The goddam drums were pounding away down there as though I didn’t have enough pounding from my heart.

“It’s ringing,” Eastpoole said, still terrified, still trying to show me he was cooperating. And just before the guard disappeared out of sight, I saw him look back over his shoulder toward the phone on his desk.

But he was polite, he was. Ladies first. He went on, he disappeared. The girl disappeared.

“It’s ringing,” Eastpoole said again, and from the sound of his voice and the look on his face I thought he was about to cry.

The guard appeared again, alone moving toward the desk and the telephone. I reached over and slapped my free hand down on the phone cradle, breaking the connection. On the screen, the guard picked up the receiver. He could be seen saying hello into it, being confused.

Eastpoole was jabbering, he was going to shake himself right out of his chair. Staring at me, he was saying, “I tried! I tried! I did everything you said, I tried!”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” The other cops were long since gone from the reception area. Tom and the girl would be walking through all those offices, Tom having no idea about the three cops.

Eastpoole was panting like a dog. The six screens were all normal. I stared at them, and bit my upper lip, and finally I said, “A phone on their route.” I looked at Eastpoole. “What’s their route back?”

He just stared at me.

“Damn you, what’s their route?”

“I’m trying to think!”

“Anything goes wrong,” I told him, shaking the pistol in his face, “God damn it, anything goes wrong, you’re the first one dead.”

Shakily he reached for the phone.