McNally's caper

A BLOODY MESS

The van arrived at the West 47th Street garage before we did. As we pulled up, Smiley opened the outside doors, then closed them behind us.

‘Trouble,’ he said as Donohue got out of the Chevy.

Jack stripped away his fake moustache and the Band-Aid stuck to his forehead. Then he stood, hands on hips, staring at the back of the Bonomo truck. One of the rear door windows was shattered. There were a half-dozen bullet holes puckering the back doors and body of the truck.

‘Nice shooting,’ Donohue said sourly. ‘Who caught it?’

‘The helper,’ Smiley said. ‘Flat on the floor, trussed like a chicken, you’d think he’d be safe. He took one through the top of his head. One pill and he’s a clunk. Clement caught two, one bad. He’s going.’

‘Let’s take a look,’ Donohue said.

He opened the rear van doors. I stood at his shoulder, peering in. It looked like a slaughterhouse in there. The roped, gagged, and taped Bonomo helper lay motionless in one corner. There was apparently a neat hole in the top of his skull. You couldn’t really see it because the hair was wet, dark, and matted around the wound. But you could see the blood glistening.

Dick Fleming sat cross-legged in the center of the van floor, surrounded by filled pillowcases and mops, buckets, sponges, squeegees, etc. His face was white as paper and his lips were trembling uncontrollably. Clement was stretched out in front of him, his head in Fleming’s lap. Dick was jamming one of the spare pillowcases into Clement’s ribs, low down, near the stomach. Clement’s eyes were closed, and he was sucking in short, harsh breaths, coughing up blood-flecked foam. There was another bullet hole in his right leg, oozing blood.

I turned away, gagging.

‘Son of a bitch!’ Jack Donohue said bitterly.

He climbed into the van. He bent down close to Clement’s face. He said something but I didn’t hear what it was. He took the sodden pillowcase from Fleming’s hand, pulled it away gently. He looked at the wound, grimaced, then pressed the cloth back in place.

He climbed out, leaned against the truck. He lighted a cigarette with shaking fingers.

‘We’ve got to get him to a hospital,’ I said.

They all looked at me with blank faces. Black Jack took a deep breath.

‘We would if it would do any good, Jannie,’ he said quietly. ‘But it wouldn’t. There’s something bad cut in there. An artery maybe. He’s on his way out.’

‘You don’t know!’ I cried furiously.

‘I know,’ Jack Donohue said, nodding, ‘I know the signs. Ten, fifteen minutes at the most. Listen, if I thought he had a chance, don’t you think I’d let you and Fleming get him to a doctor? Go take a look for yourself. Go on, take a look.’

I climbed into the van, resolving not to be sick. I steadied myself by putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. He looked up at me, trying very hard not to weep.

‘Jannie, he’s dying,’ he said, shocked and anguished.

I looked down at that crimson pillowcase jammed into Clement’s chest. Blood was everywhere. The wounded man was soaked with it. Dick’s coveralls were stained. The floor of the van was a puddle. I couldn’t believe one body could contain so much blood.

I knelt in the mess. I smoothed Clement’s wet hair back from his forehead. His face was ashen. Now his breath was coming in great heaving sobs, as if a great weight were pressing him down. I saw his eyelids flutter, his lips move.

I leaned closer.

‘You’re going to be all right,’ I whispered to him, my lips close to his ear. ‘We’re going to get you to a hospital and get you patched up. You’ll see, you’ll be fine in a week or so. Strutting around. We’ll get you the best doctors and they’ll fix you up. Just hang in there and everything will be all right. You’ll be bopping around in your executive suit and …’

I went on and on like that. I saw his lips move again. I put my ear close to hear what he was trying to say.

‘Bullshit,’ he said.

Then he was gone. Like that. One instant he was alive, fighting to breathe. The next instant a great gush of blood flooded from his mouth, his head flopped over limply.

I climbed shakily out of the truck. The others had stripped off their coveralls. Jack Donohue was leaning against the truck again, smoking a fresh cigarette. His eyes were narrowed against the smoke.

‘He’s dead,’ I said to Donohue. ‘Satisfied?’

He looked at me without expression.

it was your idea,’ he said.

I turned away.

Dick Fleming came climbing out of the van. I helped him get out of his soaked coveralls. Blood had seeped through to make dark stains on his pants and blotches on his white shirt. There were blood smears on his face; his hands were sticky with the stuff. He tried to wipe it all away with his handkerchief. I stood close to him. I put an arm across his shoulders. I could feel him shake.

‘I’ve never seen a man die before,’ he said in a low, unsteady voice. ‘I’ve never even seen a dead person before. That’s strange, isn’t it?’

No one seemed to know what to do next. They were all looking at Jack Donohue, waiting.

‘The problem is-’ he started.

‘The problem is,’ I said, ‘that it’s not just armed robbery now. The helper is dead. An innocent man. Now it’s felony homicide.’

‘Shut your fucking mouth,’ he said without rancor, ‘and let me think this out.’

We waited. The others moved around quietly, putting on jackets, raincoats, topcoats.

All right,’ Donohue said. ‘I’ve got it sorted out. Clement getting snuffed is too bad, but we all took our chances. Rather him than us — right? The problem is, we were going to Clement’s pad up in the Bronx. I never figured on going back to the Hotel Harding. So Clement said we could use his place to hide out and make the split. But with him burnt, that’s out. So now we need a new hidey-hole. We got to get out of here, that’s for sure. So where we’re going is …’ His head turned slowly until he was looking directly at Fleming. ‘We’re going to your place.’

‘Dick’s place?’ I gasped. ‘Why the hell there? Why not my apartment?’

‘No way,’ Donohue said, shaking his head. ‘Plenty of witnesses saw the Bonomo cleaning van. How long do you think it’ll take the cops to get the rip sheet from Bonomo, go back over the truck’s route, and nose around every stop? Then they find your abandoned Jag in front of that antique shop on Madison Avenue. They check out the license plate and go directly to your apartment. They could be there right now, waiting for you.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ I said.

‘They’ll run a chase on you,’ Donohue went on. ‘All your friends and acquaintances. Sooner or later they’ll come up with Fleming’s name and address. But that won’t be for a day or two. Meanwhile his apartment will be as safe as any place in the city. We checked it out. Ten apartments in an old, converted brownstone. Everyone in the place works; right now we’ll have the whole building to ourselves. Am I right, Fleming?’

Dick didn’t answer.

‘Okay,’ Donohue said, ‘let’s get moving. All the pillowcases out of the van and the Chevy, into the Volkswagen and Ford. We’ll go like this: me, Jannie, and Angela in the VW, me driving. Smiley, Gore, the Ghost, and Fleming in the rented Ford, Smiley driving.’

It took less than five minutes to transfer the loot to the final getaway cars. While everyone was working, Donohue wiped down the van with a pair of discarded coveralls, smearing door handles, doors, side panels, steering wheel, gear shift lever, the interior of the cab, and the back of the van. Then, for good measure, he did the same smear job on the Chevy.

Finally, just before we left, he climbed into the van one last time and came out with the sodden pillowcase that had been used to jam Clement’s fatal wound. Donohue dropped the mess onto the cement floor of the garage and set fire to it. We waited until the soaked pillowcase was entirely consumed by flickering blue flames.

We stood around, watching that sad little fire. It was like a Viking’s funeral for poor Clement. (I never did learn if that was his first or last name.) When the fire had burned down, flared up, went out, I thought that was the end of a man who hoped to be something he could never be. Now there was only a small heap of grayish ash on the greasy floor of an abandoned garage.

‘Let’s go,’ Jack Donohue said, but not before he transferred my manuscript, Project X, from the back seat of the Ford to the VW. That guy didn’t miss a trick.

Fleming’s brownstone was empty, just as Donohue knew it would be. Dick handed over his keys without demur, seemingly still stunned by the death of Clement in his arms. We went up to his apartment, a few at a time, lugging the bulging pillowcases. Angela never strayed far from my side, and there was always an armed man close to Dick.

Inside, door locked and chained, everyone collapsed on chairs and sofa, physically and emotionally drained. Donohue asked politely for whiskey, and Dick brought out a bottle of vodka and a half-filled jug of burgundy. Everyone had a healthy belt. It was like drinking hope.

‘All right,’ Donohue said, ‘now comes the birthday party. Let’s see what we’ve got …’

He cleared Dick’s desk, piling books, manuscripts, magazines on the floor. He hoisted up the first of the fourteen pillowcases and ripped off the tape. He began to lay out the contents neatly on the desktop. We all clustered about.

I don’t care how expertly you describe gems, nothing can match the awe-inspiring sight of the real things in profusion. I admit we all (me included) ooh’ed and ah’ed as the items came out of the pillowcases and were arranged in close rows on the dark walnut top of Dick’s desk.

Donohue raised the shade and winter sunlight streamed through to strike sparks from those precious stones. Chokers and rings, pendants and earrings: All flashed, glittered, caught fire and burned. They took the light, ignited, glowed from within. What a display that was! I forgot for the moment that all this was stolen property, taken at the cost of two lives. All I could see were hard white, green, and red flames, twinkling and gleaming.

Donohue picked out a gorgeous bracelet of small cabochon rubies and diamonds set in flowerlike clusters on a white gold band. He handed it to Angela with a courtly bow.

‘With our thanks and compliments, senorita,’ he said solemnly.

‘Gracias,’ she murmured, taking the bracelet and looking down at it unbelievingly. As well she should; it was probably worth more than she had earned in her entire life.

I was about to cry ‘What about me?’ in an aggrieved tone, and caught myself just in time.

‘Smiley,’ Donohue said, gesturing toward the desktop, ‘how much would you guess?’

‘Quarter of a mil,’ Smiley said promptly. ‘At least.’

‘At least,’ Donohue agreed. ‘Maybe more. But that’s retail value. Still, twenty percent from a fence ain’t bad. All right, let’s keep score. That’s a quarter of a mil.’

He swept the jewelry back into the opened pillowcase and set it aside. He pulled up another case and stripped off the tape. This one contained boxes and packets that had been taken from the safe in the vault room of Brandenberg amp; Sons.

Donohue pulled out a flat, black leather box and set it on the desktop.

‘Here we go,’ he said, and raised the lid.

We all craned forward. Children opening their Christmas gifts.

Inside the case, nestled on puffed velvet, was a gorgeous three-strand necklace of alternating diamonds and emeralds on ornate gold chains. The three strands were joined in front to support an enormous marquise diamond that seemed to have a million facets. They caught the light and gave it back, so that all the faces thrust forward were illuminated. That gem burned.

There were gasps, cries, a few spoken words. Then all sounds died away. We stood in silence. Everyone was staring at a small, chaste metal label fixed to the inside of the case lid.

It read: ‘Devolte Bros. San Francisco.’

‘What the fuck?’ the Holy Ghost said in a deep, wondering voice.

‘Now wait a minute,’ Donohue said. ‘Wait just one cotton-picking minute. It could have been a loan. It could have been sent to Brandenberg on consignment. Let’s take a look.’

The next fifteen minutes were madness. All of us, Dick and I included, tore those pillowcases open, ripped them apart. The sparkling contents were dumped onto the desktop. Cases were jerked open, locked boxes smashed, stock tags stripped away. The pile of gems on the desk heaped higher, slipped, slid, fell to the floor. No one paid any attention; diamonds and sapphires were trod underfoot, wealth scattered, all that fortune treated like so many bargain items in a supermarket: ‘Damaged merchandise — prices as marked.’

Finally, all the pillowcases emptied, the loot piled in a ragged heap, we stopped, breathing hard, and looked at one another.

All the plunder from the Devolte Bros, heist in San Francisco was there, and jewelry bearing the tags of stores in St. Louis, Denver, Chicago, Dallas, and even some from London, Rome, and Rio. Jewelry from all over the world.

I looked at Jack Donohue. He was biting his lower lip and blinking so rapidly I could catch no expression in his eyes. It was Smiley who spoke first.

‘A Corporation front,’ he said dazedly, staring at that mountain of glitter. ‘A fencing and cutting operation. Working out of a legit East side jewelry shop.’

Dick Fleming turned to me in amazement.

‘Those weren’t salesmen, Jannie,’ he said. ‘The guys with the attache cases handcuffed to their wrists. They were couriers, bringing in stolen stuff from all over.’

‘Sure,’ I said, nodding. ‘They’d pry out the stones and melt down the settings in that back room. Reset the rocks on simple, elegant chains or whatever. And the runners would take it away for redistribution. A big operation. All those jewel robberies in the last three years …’

‘The Corporation,’ Smiley repeated. Finally, finally, he had stopped smiling, it has to be the Corporation. Who else could bankroll something that big?’

Donohue said: ‘No wonder he said we were making a mistake.’

‘Who?’ I demanded sharply. ‘Who said that?’

‘The manager. Noel Jarvis.’

‘Antonio Rossi?’

‘Who?’ Smiley asked.

‘The manager,’ I told him. ‘His real name is Antonio Rossi.’

Smiley whirled on Donohue.

‘ You knew that?’ he yelled.

‘Well …yeah … sure,’Jack said, shrugging.’It was in her book.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘I didn’t think it meant anything.’

‘You stupid fuck!’ Smiley screamed at him. ‘Rossi is a heavy. A heavy\ Oh my God, we’ve ripped off the Corporation. We’re in the stew. Everyone of us is dead!’

‘Now wait a second,’ Donohue said. ‘Don’t panic. We can still unload this stuff. I got a fence all line up. Asa Coe. Top man in the business.’

He used Dick’s phone, dialed the number rapidly.

‘Hello there!’ he said heartily. ‘This is Sam Morrison. I met with Mr Coe a few weeks ago, and he said- What? What? Now just wait a-’

He hung up the phone softly. He turned to us with a sick smile.

‘He doesn’t know me and doesn’t want to know me. The word’s out. Already.’

‘That does it,’ Smiley said. He tugged his black leather cap farther down over one eye. He gestured towards the glittering heap of stolen gems, it’s all yours. I want no part of it. I’m walking.’

‘The hell you say,’ Jack Donohue said.

‘The hell I say,’ Smiley agreed, smiling once again, i’m including myself out. I want to walk around with something between my legs for a few more years.’

We were listening to him, watching the soft, pleasant smile on his face. So when he pulled a gun from his jacket pocket, no one reacted. We were all frozen.

‘Nice and easy,’ Smiley said. ‘No rough stuff. I’m just taking a walk, that’s all.’

‘No way,’ Jack Donohue said. ‘So you can tip the Corporation? Save your own skin and fuck us? No way.’

He slid slowly, cautiously toward Smiley. All of the squat

man’s attention was on him. Maybe that’s the way Donohue planned it. Because while Smiley tensed, drew his lips back in an expression more grimace than grin, it was Hymie Gore who moved. Jack hadn’t exaggerated when he told me the big man was fast.

Fast? He was a blur. One big mitt came down on Smiley’s wrist and hand, turning the gun inward. Then the two heavy men were pressed close in a straining embrace. It all happened so quickly that none of us had a chance to intervene. Jack Donohue was just starting forward when the gun was fired three times, rapidly.

Simon Lefferts, my editor, had been right: A gun doesn’t go ka-chow\ But it doesn’t go bang, blam, or pop either. In this case, muffled between two thick men, it made a dull, thudding sound, like a side of beef dropping to the floor.

And that’s exactly what happened. Hymie Gore released his grip and stepped away. Smiley stood an instant, tottering, his eyes glazing. Then he went down with a thump that shook the room. He straightened. His heels beat a tattoo on the floor. Then his legs stiffened. Then he was still. The black leather cap had fallen off. He was completely bald, freckles on his naked scalp.

Jack Donohue kicked the corpse viciously in the ribs.

‘The miserable fuck!’ he said furiously. ‘He’d have sold our

asses.’

Perhaps I should have fainted or become ill at witnessing this ugly violence. But it was the third dead man I had seen in the past hour, and something had happened to me: I had lost the capacity to feel. I think it was an unconscious reaction. I think it was a self-protective mechanism. The psyche, to protect the organism, shuts off feelings of horror, disgust, despair. You no longer understand what has happened, is happening. You see, you observe, but gunshots become merely loud sounds, blood becomes merely a red liquid, a corpse becomes merely a motionless heap. How else could you survive?

‘Nice going, Hymie,’ Donohue said to Gore. ‘You did real good.’

‘Gee, thanks, Jack,’ Hymie Gore said happily. ‘I never did like that creep. He called me a stupe once.’

DECISIONS, DECISIONS

Donohue and the Holy Ghost dragged Smiley’s body across the floor by the ankles, stuffed it into a closet, closed the door. The passage left a wide, bloody smear that rapidly soaked into Dick’s carpet. I saw him staring at the stained path with widened eyes and wondered how long it would be before he came apart.

Donohue poured us all shots of warm vodka. We slumped back onto chairs and sofa. What bemused me was that not one of us, not once, glanced at that mountain of jewelry piled higgledy piggledy on Dick’s desk. It didn’t seem so much to us now. Just stones,

‘Listen,’ Jack Donohue said, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling. ‘I don’t have to tell you we’re in a bind. The cops are looking for us. By this time the Feds are in on it, figuring we’re going across the state line. But the worst is the Corporation. They’ll be combing the city. And when they’re on your ass, believe me they make the cops look like Boy Scouts. I mean they’re everywhere. I figure it’ll take them about a day or two to come up with the Hotel Harding, Fangio’s, the whole schmear.’

‘How will they do that?’ I asked curiously.

Donohue shrugged. ‘That watchman will find Clement in the 47th Street garage. The cops will check out his contacts, which will lead them to me. And what the cops know, the Corporation will know. They’ll put out the word. They’ll pay off or promise favors. The desk clerk at the Harding will talk. And Blanche. The bartender and waitress at Fangio’s. Everyone will talk. That’s the way it goes. So I think maybe we better split up. There’s no way the six of us can travel together. Ghost, what do you want to do?’

The Holy Ghost, feet and fingers tapping uncontrollably, turned to Angela. They had a brief conversation in Spanish, rapid, harsh, the words spit out at machine-gun speed. Much gesturing. Many expressions: fear, anger, dismay. Finally …

‘We’ll split,’ the Holy Ghost said to Donohue. ‘Fade into Spanish Harlem. We’ll make it there.’

‘Sure you will,’ Jack said, flashing one of his brilliant grins. I hadn’t seen that grin for a long time. I don’t know why, but it made me feel better. ‘You and Angela just go to ground. You got a good chance, a real good chance.’ He gestured toward the desk. ‘Take whatever you want from that stack of shit. Forget about percentages. Just take. But if you’re smart, you’ll stick to the small stuff. Rings, unset stones, maybe a bracelet or two. Things you can sell or hock without anyone asking questions. Help yourself.’

We watched Angela and the Holy Ghost paw over the heap of sparkling jewelry. They followed Donohue’s advice and selected only single stones, rings, earrings, gold chains, cufflinks. Angela filled her purse; the Ghost jammed his pockets.

‘Well,’ the Holy Ghost said awkwardly, ‘it was a good one, Jack. Just like you said.’

‘You bet,’ Donohue said, winking at him. ‘A nice Christmas for you — right?’

‘You better believe it,’ the Holy Ghost said. ‘Presents for everyone. Weil be careful with this stuff, Jack. I mean, we won’t put on any flash.’

‘I know you won’t,’ Donohue said. ‘I know you’ll play it smart. You want to take one of the cars?’

‘No,’ the Ghost said. ‘We’ll manage without.’

‘Sure,’Jack said. ‘I understand. Be lucky.’

‘Yeah,’ the Holy Ghost said. ‘You, too.’ He went over to Hymie Gore, patted the big man’s cheek. ‘Take care of yourself, Hyme.’

‘What?’Gore said.’Oh … yeah. See you around, pal.’

The Holy Ghost turned to Dick Fleming and me.

‘Very pleased to have made your acquaintance,’ he said.

‘Likewise,’ Angela said.

Then they were gone. Donohue locked the door behind them, put on the chain.

‘They may make it,’ he mused. ‘They may just. The Ghost is smart enough to move the stuff slowly, all over the place. He’ll unload it here, there, everywhere. He’s no dummy. Hyme, how about you? Want to split?’

Hymie Gore looked up from his tumbler of vodka.

‘I’ll stick with you, Jack,’ he said, if that’s okay with you?’

‘Sure,’ Donohue said, if that’s what you want.’

He sat down in an armchair. But he didn’t sit, he collapsed. I realized what this day had taken out of him. He was drained, shrunken. He seemed to be running on pure nerve; he had no physical strength left. I wondered how long he could go on without rest, without sleep. Until he was safe, I supposed, and wondered if that time would ever come.

He sipped his vodka and regarded Dick and me thoughtfully over the rim of his glass.

‘That leaves you two,’ he said. ‘You got a couple of choices. I’m going to run, probably south to Miami. I got to get out of the city. They’ll burn me here. Me and Hyme. If you want to come along, that’s okay. As long as you know that I call the plays. Your other choice is to stay and take your chances with the law. Sorry about that clunk in your closet, Fleming, but it had to be. Then there’s the robbery, and those two stiffs in the garage on 47th. You’ll have to weasel out of all that. Plus the bomb scares, the stolen Chevy, and so forth. But it’s your decision. If you want to stay, we’ll tie you up — just tight enough to give us a chance to split. Then you can call the cops and sing your hearts out.’

‘But you’ll take my book?’ I asked him.

He grinned at me.

‘You bet your sweet juicy little ass. An insurance policy, like. You two want to talk it over, go right ahead. Go over in the corner where Hyme and I can’t hear you. Just keep in sight, that’s all.’

I motioned with my head,and Dick and I moved over to the window. Donohue and Hymie Gore stayed where they were. Both were stretched out, drinks propped on their chests. Their heads were back, eyes half-closed. But I had seen how quickly they could move. I wasn’t about to try a mad dash for the phone or the locked and chained door.

‘Dick,’ I said, holding his arms, ‘what do you think? What do we do?’

‘I don’t know, Jannie,’ he said bewilderedly. ‘Where do we stand on this whole thing? Legally, I mean?’

‘It’s a mess,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I’m no lawyer, but here’s how I see it: We can claim that we acted under duress, that we were forced to take part in the robbery and witness the killing of Smiley against our will.’

‘It’s the truth,’ Dick said hotly.

‘Sure it is. I was threatened by a knife, you by a gun. But the cops are going to ask. “You claim you were under duress for twelve hours? And never once during that time, not for one instant, could you have yelled, screamed, fallen down in fake faint, or done anything else to bring this whole thing to a screeching halt?’”

Dick was silent.

‘We’ll have the devil’s own time proving duress,’ I went on. ‘But that’s not the worst of it. The worst is that goddamned manuscript of mine, that lousy Project X. Donohue is never going to let that out of his hands, because it proves we were the kingpins in the robbery, the leaders. We planned the whole caper. We picked the target, cased the place. I made nice-nice with the manager, and you checked out police surveillance of the store. With that manuscript in his hands, if he’s ever picked up by the cops, Donohue can claim we set the whole thing up and he was just a hired hand. That’s what he meant by calling it an insurance policy.’

‘But you were just doing research for a book.’

‘Dick, that’s the oldest gag going. It’s got whiskers. The cops hear that excuse every day in the week. Every john caught with a hooker claims he was just doing research for a book. Burglars, muggers, second-story men, swindlers, kidnappers — when they’re caught, all of them claim to be writers, doing research. If I tell the cops the truth — I was doing research — they’ll fall down laughing. They’ll read that manuscript and all they’ll see is a day-by-day account of the planning of a spectacularly successful jewelry store heist that left three men dead — so far.’

‘But we’re not criminals,’ Dick protested. ‘We have no records. We both earn a good living. We’re solid citizens. What possible motive would we have for pulling an actual robbery?’

‘Greed,’ I said. ‘Sick excitement. A clever DA could.suggest a dozen motives. Maybe we did it just to prove how smart we are, to outwit the cops, to defy society and the law. Whatever. But the motive really isn’t important if the cops get their hands on Project X. They’ve got a conviction on that alone.’

‘Then you figure we don’t have a chance if we give ourselves up?’

‘I didn’t say that. Maybe if we surrender and prove we didn’t profit from the crimes, a smart, expensive lawyer could get us off with a fine, suspended sentence, probation. It’s possible. You want to take the chance?’

He was silent again, rubbing his blond eyebrows furiously from side to side.

‘Jannie,’ he said finally, ‘you do what you want to do, and I’ll do what I want to do. I mean, we don’t necessarily have to do the same thing, do we? If we disagree, we can go our separate ways, can’t we?’

I looked at him curiously.

‘Sure, Dick,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to try to talk you into anything. It’s your neck. It’s your decision how to save it.’

He sighed. ‘Got a cigarette?’ he said.

I went back to the cobbler’s-bench cocktail table, picked up a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches, brought them back to Dick at the window. Jack Donohue opened his eyes to watch what I was doing, but he didn’t say one word.

‘Let me tell you something,’ Dick said, lighting our cigarettes. ‘When the bullets started banging through that truck, I flopped down on my face, as flat as I could get. My head was close to the Bonomo helper. He was a young, husky, good-looking guy. I was staring right at him when he was hit. He shuddered and then he was dead. I knew it. And then, later, Clement died while I was holding him. In my arms. And then we opened the pillowcases and saw all that gorgeous jewelry we had stolen. And then Smiley was killed.’

‘So?’ I said, perplexed. ‘What’s the point?’

‘The point is,’ he said, turning away from me to stare out the window, ‘the point is that there’s never been any drama in my life. Never. I’m thirty-one years old and the most exciting thing that’s happened to me up to now was a week’s vacation in Acapulco, where I got diarrhea. I do all the smart, senseless things a single man in Manhattan is supposed to do. But I never kidded myself that I was living. I mean, nothing was happening. I looked forward to a long safe, uneventful life. Jannie, it wasn’t enough.’

I stared at the back of his head, wondering why he wouldn’t look at me. What he was saying had meaning. I could understand how a guy like him could be shocked, excited, almost exhilarated by the events of the past twelve hours. It was a new world for him. A mild, gentle editor of children’s books finds himself in a hypercharged scene of armed robbery, violence and sudden death.

I had been wrong about him; he wasn’t about to crack up. But an earthquake had shaken him, changed his perceptions. There was a life he hadn’t even envisioned — except once removed in books, movies, television. But this was the real thing. And now he was in the middle of it, part of it. It was raw, sweaty, dangerous. Hadn’t he opted for risk and adventure, sensing the lack in his own life?

The thrilling robbery, the careening escape, the deaths of men close to him — all had given life a savor it never had before. He was feeling now, feeling deeply. Fear, courage, love, hate. Things he had never really felt before. They had been words with dictionary definitions. But now, only now, he knew what they meant.

And there was something else. I wasn’t sure about it, but I had to find out.

I put up a hand, stroked his fine hair fondly.

‘Dick,’ I said in a low voice, ‘do you want to make love with Jack Donohue?’

He didn’t answer for a long time, and I thought perhaps he hadn’t heard me. But finally he turned. He looked into my eyes.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, puzzled, troubled. ‘Maybe.’

‘Then you’re going with him?’

He nodded.

‘Then I’m going too,’ I said.

‘Jannie,’ he groaned, ‘please. Not for my sake.’

‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘I have my own motives.’

‘Like what?’

‘First of all, I want to stay close to my manuscript. I spent a lot of time and work on that thing and I’m not going to give up without a struggle. Second, I want to see how it comes out.’

‘What? You’re crazy!’

‘No, no-Sol Faber claims readers want neat, tidy endings. I can’t see how this caper can possibly end tidily, but God knows I’ve been wrong up to now. So I’m coming along. In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides, there’s the matter of ego. I don’t like being manipulated, and that’s what Black Jack has been doing: manipulating us. I want to see if I have the wit and energy to beat him at his own game.’

‘You voluntarily go now,’ he reminded me, ‘and your duress defense goes out of the window. You become a full-fledged accomplice.’

‘I can always plead insanity.’

‘You should have done that three months ago,’ he said. But he was smiling, and leaned forward to kiss the tip of my nose. Then we marched back to stand side by side in front of Donohue.

‘We’re going with you,’ I announced.

Jack let his breath out in a long sigh.

‘Biggest long-shot gamble I’ve ever made,’ he said, grinning. ‘It’s nice to have a winner.’

‘Would you really have turned us loose to go to the cops?’ I asked him.

‘Sure,’ he said cheerfully.

I didn’t believe him for a minute. I hadn’t told Dick Fleming one of the reasons I had decided we should go with Donohue: I was afraid that if we didn’t he’d kill us both. He was capable of it.

‘I’ve been figuring our best bet,’ Donohue said, standing and pacing around the room. ‘We’ve got a day or two before that thing in the closet begins to stink up the joint. But I think we better get out of here tonight, after dark. They won’t have very good descriptions of us. Me, Hymie, and Fleming were in coveralls. They had masks, and I had the fake cookie-duster and the Band-Aid. You’re the problem, Jannie.’

‘Me?’ I protested. ‘Why me?’

‘Get with it,’ he said disgustedly. ‘They find the Jag, trace your apartment, get an accurate description and a photograph from your sister or friends. You’ll be all over the front pages of the tabloids and on the TV news shows by tomorrow. So you’ve got to become Bea Flanders again.’

‘Not again!’ I wailed. ‘I thought I was finished with those goddamned falsies. Besides, all Bea’s stuff is at my apartment.’

‘Not to worry,’ Donohue said. ‘I’ll go out, pick up enough junk for you to change your looks. A red wig, a-’

‘Not red,’ I said. ‘I hate red hair.’

‘Will you use your fucking brain?’ he snarled at me. ‘The cops get to your apartment, they’ll know what Jannie Shean looks like. The Corporation traces me to the Hotel Harding, they’ll make the connection with the blonde who lived next door to me. So now you’ve got to be a redhead. So I’ll pick up a red wig, tight skirt and sweater, a trenchcoat — whatever. Make me out a list. While I’m out, I’ll buy some food and booze, enough to keep us going until we get out of town.’

‘How are you going to pay for all this?’ I asked suspiciously.

He flashed one of his 100-watt grins and jerked a thumb toward the pile of stolen jewelry.

‘Hock a couple of things,’ he said. ‘Rings, watches, earrings — like that. There’s no way, no way, the cops can have a description of the stuff out to pawn shops already. By the time they do, we’ll be long gone.’

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘what about the insurance-’ I stopped suddenly. ‘Forget it. It was a dumb idea. It’s not likely Brandenberg and Sons would have taken out insurance on hot jewelry.’

‘No,’ Donohue said dryly, ‘not likely. While I’m gone, Fleming, you get into some clean clothes. That stuff you’re wearing is a mess.’

Dick looked at him gratefully.

‘Another thing,’ Jack said. ‘You got any suitcases?’

‘A couple,’ Dick said. ‘Two leather, and some canvas carryalls.’

‘Good,’ Donohue said, smiling at him. ‘Pack up all the ice. Put some shirts and towels around it so it doesn’t rattle. I’ll be gone for a couple of hours, maybe more. I’ll take your phone number, and if there’s any problem, I’ll try to call. I’ll let the phone ring twice, then hang up. Then I’ll call again. That one you answer. But don’t answer any other calls. Got it? And don’t open the door for anyone. Don’t play the radio

or TV. And try to move around quiet. And don’t worry about me: I’ll be back.’

Strangely enough, I was sure he would. ‘I’ll take the Ford,’ he said. ‘I’ll gas up. We’ll leave about midnight. Get some sleep — if you can.’ ‘Where we going, Jack?’ Hymie Gore asked him. ‘South,’ Donohue said. ‘Miami.’ ‘We’ll never make it,’ I said. ‘Sure we will,’ he said. ‘Dead or alive.’