McNally's caper

SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT

‘Bea, there’s something you and me have got to talk about,’ Jack said. ‘We been putting it off, but we’re getting close now, and we should get it settled.’

‘The split?’ I said.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘The split.’

We had been trailing the Bonomo van all night, doing a final check on its Friday route and timing.

‘You’ve had expenses,’ Jack said. ‘Picking up our drinking tabs, the gas for your car. The masks, tape, rope, and so forth. So all that comes off the top.’

‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t amount to that much.’

‘No, I won’t forget it,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I figure a couple of C’s should cover you. Right?’

‘More than enough,’ I said. ‘Too much.’

‘Let’s call it two C’s. That comes off first. Then I figure the two muscles we bring in at the last minute, we can get them for five big ones each.’

‘They’ll sign on for that?’

‘Sure they will,’ Donohue said. ‘And be happy to get it. So that’s another ten thousand off the top. Now, out of what’s left, Hymie Gore and the Holy Ghost get ten percent each.’

‘In rocks,’ I reminded him.

‘Correct. In rocks. So their share will be approximate. But that leaves like eighty percent for you, me, and Fleming. I figure thirty-five percent for you — after all, it was your idea — and twenty five for me, and twenty for Fleming. How does that sound, Bea?’

I sat awhile in silence, as if I were giving his proposal careful consideration.

‘It’s fine with me,’ I told him. ‘You’re the boys who are actually going in, while I sit outside in the car. So I figure my thirty-five percent is generous. But I’m not sure Dick will be happy with twenty.’

‘Why the hell not?’ Donohue demanded. ‘I can’t see where he’s contributed much to this caper.’

‘Jack, he was in from the beginning on all the planning. You’ve got to admit he came up with some good ideas. Like this truck route business tonight.’

‘Well, maybe,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But you and me have been doing most of the work.’

‘I’ll talk to him. I think I’ll be able to get him to take the twenty without screaming too much.’

‘You do that,’ Donohue said. ‘Talk to him. How close are you to this guy, Bea?’

‘What do you mean — how close?’

‘I mean, I can’t figure out what’s between you two. He’s not your brother, is he?’

‘Of course not. What gives you that idea?’

‘I don’t know. Sometimes you act alike. Talk alike. Even look alike, in a way. Is it a sex thing? I mean, between the two of you?’

‘Jack, he’s just a friend. I knew him out west, then looked him up when I came to New York.’

‘A close friend?’

‘So-so. I like him. I get along with him.’

‘Bea,’ Donohue said softly, ‘we could cut him out. Easy as pie. Make the sale to Asa Coe and take off. Fleming could never find us.’

‘No,’ I said instantly. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘Or a fake count,’ Black Jack said gently. ‘Con him out of coming to meet with the fence. Then he has to take our word for how much we get for the stones. You and me could be big winners, babe.’

I turned my head away, looked out of the window. Or tried to. But it gave me my reflection back. And behind me was the dim, wavery image of Black Jack Donohue staring at me steadily, his face stony. I turned back to him.

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘You do that,’ Donohue said. ‘You think — Oh-oh, here they come! Two more stops before they get to Brandenberg’s.’

We followed right along, keeping a cautious distance, and Donohue said nothing more about the split. But I did think about it. I thought how Jack was ready to deceive Hymie Gore, the Holy Ghost, Dick Fleming, and for all I knew, me.

If I had ever felt guilty about betraying his hopes and dreams by this make-believe Big Caper, I felt it no longer. He really, I told myself, was not a very nice man.

‘All right,’ Donohue said, as truck 14 pulled away from a rug store on 50th Street and Madison. ‘Now they’re heading for the last stop before Brandenberg. How we doing?’

‘Right on schedule,’ I said, consulting the clipboard. ‘A few minutes off here and there, but all the stops check out.’

‘Good. Now they’re pulling up. It’s that antique store.’

It was on Madison between 53rd and 54th streets. We parked across the street, down the block, and watched. It was 8:15 A.M.; the sidewalks were filling up with people. Sunlight came shafting through the slots between buildings. It promised to be a sharp, clear day. The morning rain had vanished, leaving the pavements clean and glistening.

‘They’ll leave here in about forty minutes,’ Donohue said. ‘Go north on Madison. Turn west on 55th. Pull up in front of Brandenberg’s. So we’ve got to take them sometime between the two stops.

‘When they come out of the antique shop,’ I said, it’s the only way. Jack, you notice when they doublepark and go into the place they’re cleaning, they don’t lock the truck? I mean, they probably take the ignition key, but I haven’t seen them lock the rear doors of the van after they take their cleaning gear out.’

He turned sideways on the seat to stare at me.

‘Bea,’ he said dubiously, ‘are you sure of that?’

‘Absolutely. I’ve been watching them all morning. They probably figure they’ve got nothing in there worth stealing. But you just wait until they come out. You’ll see them go to the rear of the van, open the unlocked doors, and put their cleaning gear inside.’

We waited. At 8:53, the two Bonomo employees came out of the antique shop. They were carrying a canister vacuum cleaner, mops, buckets, rags, and a feather duster on a long, jointed pole. They went to the rear of the van, opened the unlocked doors, began to stow their gear inside.

‘Babe,’ Donohue breathed, ‘you’re a whiz. A whiz\ That’s it; they don’t lock those back doors.’

‘So while they’re inside the shop,’ I said, ‘we can be putting our guys inside the van.’

‘They’ll be wearing the Bonomo coveralls,’ Jack said. ‘No one on the street will look twice.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Then the real Bonomo guys come out of the antique shop, open the back doors of the van, and-’

‘And they’re staring down the muzzle of a piece that’ll look as big as the Brooklyn-Manhattan tunnel. 1 love you!’

Laughing, he grabbed me, pulled me close, gave me a hard kiss on the lips. I resisted. Oh, maybe a second or two.

Then I pulled away.

‘Hey,’ I gasped. ‘Early in the morning for fun and games. They’re taking off. Don’t you want to follow them?’

‘What for?’ he said. ‘I know where they’re going. To Brandenberg and Sons. To fame and fortune. Just where we’ll be going a week from right now. Kee-rect?’

‘Kee-rect,’ I said.

It was a hard, cold morning, but suddenly I was covered with sweat. Not perspiration. Sweat. I had never been so scared in my life. I think, at that moment, I finally realized exactly what I had done, was doing. I knew I was going to walk away from it, but even that didn’t help. I felt I had set an avalanche in motion, rumbling down. How do you stop an avalanche?

‘My God,’ Jack Donohue said. ‘You’re shaking. Cold?’

I nodded, teeth making like castanets.

‘Let’s stop for some hot coffee,’ he said solicitously. ‘Can’t have you coming down with the flu. Not now. When we’re so close.’