No Doors, No Windows

Six: Toe the Line

The cell door clanged into the wall, and the turnkey motioned Eddie Cappen to step out. Cappen winked at his cellmate, picked up the handkerchief full of odds and ends he bad collected during the past two years, and started toward the guard, saying, “So long, Willie, see you never, buddy!”

The little rat-faced man still in the cell laughed, gibed back, “See me never, hell! You’ll be back before I can grow a beard!”

Eddie Cappen waved an amused, disgusted goodbye, and stepped onto the cell block ledge with its steel railing. The guard signaled to the end of the line, and the lever was thrown. The cell door slowly slid back into place, closed, and Eddie Cappen knew now — for certain — he was getting out.

The guard hustled Eddie ahead of him, across the upper tier catwalk, and down the stairs at the end of the line. They walked quickly to the locker rooms, where the guard handed Eddie a package.

Cappen opened it and saw the cheap suit. He laughed. The first thing he would burn, when he was out, was this bit of charity from the State. He would be wearing three hundred dollar suits soon enough. He laughed inside, and put on the suit

“This way,” the guard said, leading Eddie down the corridor, past the administration offices of the prison. They stopped before the office that had WARDEN A. H. FELLOWS blocked in black letters on its glass.

They entered the anteroom, and the guard motioned at Eddie, saying to the receptionist, “Tell Warden Fellows number 118022, Cappen, is here.”

The girl nodded and flicked on her intercom, repeating the information. A gruff voice answered from the box, “Send him in.”

Eddie entered the Warden’s office for the second time since he and the Joint had said their hellos. The first time had been on his arrival, when the Warden had thoughtfully warned him to “toe the line and stay out of trouble.” It seemed to be one of the Warden’s pet phrases; Eddie had heard other cons laughing about it, but he had considered it good advice; and he had done as the Warden had suggested.

That was one of the reasons why his parole had come through early; he had been a model prisoner.

He had to be, to get out. And he had to get out, because his time in the Joint hadn’t been wasted: he had figured out the foolproof system.

“Sit down, Eddie,” the Warden said.

He was a big, blocky man, with an almost bald head, a few strands of brown hair combed studiedly back over the bald areas. His face was long, but fleshy. He had a nervous, cigarette cough. He was a rough man to deal with. Almost alone he had queued a riot a year before, using nothing but a bullhorn and a firmly pointing finger. Eddie respected Fellows, and more, never underestimated the man.

The Warden closed a folder, tapping it gently on the desk top to align the papers inside. He looked up at Eddie, and his expression was so severe Eddie was certain the Warden wanted to smile, but would not.

“So you’re leaving us, Eddie.”

It was a statement, so Eddie just nodded, letting a reserved, lopsided bit of a grin cross his face.

“Well, you probably know what I’m going to say then.”

Cappen decided to play the part to the hilt. Sincerely, he said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d say it anyhow, Warden. I haven’t exactly enjoyed my stay here, but I think I’ve, well, learned my lesson.”

The Warden’s face reflected pleasure, though there was no real, concrete evidence of it. “That’s good, Eddie.

“Many men come out of here bitter and disillusioned. A few can make it just even with the world, and even less can come out ahead. You seem to be one of the latter. You’ve been a good prisoner, Eddie.”

Eddie knew that; he’d planned it just that way.

“But more than that, Eddie,” the Warden continued, “you seem honestly interested in making a good life for yourself. Now you haven’t got as big a row to hoe as some of the men who come out of here; your time was for auto theft.”

Eddie decided he should point out one fact. “Yeah, but it was my third conviction, Warden; that makes it pretty rough. I got to watch myself real close.” It was always wisest to acknowledge the fact than pretend it didn’t exist.

“Well, Eddie, you’re right in that, but with a little perseverance you can lead a good, healthy life, become a valuable member of society. All you have to do is toe that line …”

There it was!

That was the phrase. That was what had started Eddie thinking. The Warden had said that two years ago when he had entered the Joint, and the words had stuck with Eddie, till they had become a catchphrase in his mind, till the sound of the words had altered their spelling, and finally Eddie had hit the perfect, the ultimate, the foolproof method of auto hi-jacking.

“… and you’ll be okay, boy.” The Warden finished, almost beaming, convinced he had produced one good man from all the filth in his cells. Convinced he had salvaged one soul.

He gave Eddie his possessions, taken from him when first he had come to the prison, and his two years’ wages — pitifully small amount — and the instructions about keeping in touch with his parole officer.

Eddie shook the Warden’s hand, stood up, and turned to go. “Don’t forget, Eddie, just toe the line, and you’ll be all right”

Eddie smiled back and nodded again.

Yassuh, boss, he thought, I’ll do that little thing; I’ll just do that.

When Eddie Cappen told his parole officer he intended to get a job with a garage, the lean, suspicious man arched an eyebrow and glanced over Eddie’s record. Auto theft.

“Isn’t that a little too close to your old trouble, Cappen?”

Eddie had made a calculated move, and now was the time to back it up.

“Well, sir, I don’t really know anything else but cars. I worked in the auto body shop at the Pen, and they said I was pretty good. I — I thought I’d put what talent I’ve got to good use.”

There was more talk, but finally Eddie convinced the parole officer he was best suited to the role of a mechanic, that he was sincerely interested in the garage business, and that his eventual goal was to open his own auto body and repair shop.

That week he went to work for Mickey Dalco at the little man’s garage. Mickey knew Eddie had a record, but pursuing his policy of giving ex-cons a chance, he hired Cappen nonetheless. “Just work hard and leave the till alone, Eddie, and you’ve got yourself a good job for a long time.” Mickey and Eddie shook hands on it

Later that week he met with his parole officer again, and checked in, giving him the news of the job. The parole officer was still suspicious, but it seemed Eddie was taking steps in the right direction. He smiled, and Eddie shook his hand on it

Still later that week, Eddie met with the old members of his car-heist gang. He talked to them in the back room of a beauty parlor, operated by his ex-girl friend.

They sat around, having shoved the hair driers aside, and Eddie grinned at the four men and one girl around the room.

“Benny,” he said to a dapper, thin man, “what’s the best method for grabbing a car you’ve ever found?”

Benny ran a hand through his greased hair, and replied slowly, “I use the adhesive tape. I take two rolls and lay a strip vertically down the window, with each of them, so there are like two bars on the window. I leave enough tape about the middle of the window so I can get a hold on it, then I jerk down real hard. It opens the window every time.”

Eddie interrupted. “What’re the risks?”

“They know my routine, the cops. If I’m caught with a roll of adhesive on me, they book me on suspicion.”

Eddie nodded, turned to the second man. “What’s your bit, Vinny?”

Vinny sucked in on the cigarette perpetually hanging from a corner of his slash mouth, said, “I use a jump wire on the motor. The under ‘alligator’ clip, so’s the vibrations of the motor don’t shake the jump loose.”

Eddie said again, “Risks?”

Vinny shrugged helplessly, “Same as Benny’s, but also the wire sometimes comes loose anyhow, and I stall in the middle of the street.”

Then it was the third man’s turn. Grouse answered quickly, “I use two spoons. I shove one between the rubber edgings on the little window, stick the other one in and bend it, twist the second spoon so it opens the handle of the little window.”

“Then you’re in, right?” Grouse nodded, and Eddie added, “but you’ve got the same problems as the others.”

Grouse replied, “Not only that, but it’s harder than hell to get into a car these days that way. People spot you, what can you say?”

Benny inserted, “Yeah, and with my adhesive tape method, it don’t work so well with power windows.”

Eddie looked at the last man, “And you, Tom?”

“I use a rolled-up magazine. The big, thick ones. I use it for a lever. Jack-handle it over the door handle and jerk down. I’m strong, that’s why it works.”

Then the woman spoke. “Okay, Eddie, we all know how each other make a buck. We know all the routines, and we know all the handicaps. What’s the score?”

Eddie Cappen slid back in his seat, tilted his hat back on his head and grinned widely. “Kiddies, I’ve got the pitch of the year. The only sure-fire way of getting off with a hot car.”

They grinned back at him, first dubiously, unbelievingly, but as he explained in detail, their grins grew wider, and finally …

Eddie shook hands on it.

Six months of inactivity came first. Eddie had to allay the fears and suspicions of the parole officer. He also had to get Mickey Dalco’s complete trust. Trust that would allow Eddie to say:

“Mick, I’ve got some more work to do on re-touching that ’71 Chevy’s paint job over the rust repair. Okay with you if I stay late tonight?”

Trust that would allow Mickey Dalco to reply:

“Yeah. Sure. Here’s the keys, Eddie. Lock up tonight, and just be here by eight tomorrow mornin’, so’s I don’t have to stand around in the cold waitin’.”

Trust like that took six months.

Trust like that allowed Eddie to use the tow truck. The big red tow truck with the Dalco sign on it.

Trust like that was important. But finally trust like that came, and with it, Eddie’s first venture into the foolproof car-jacking system typified by the phrase “toe the line.”

Or, more correctly, “ tow the line.”

Eddie took Vinny with him on the first job. They took out the tow truck on Eddie’s lunch hour, in broad daylight.

“Mickey, I’m gonna use the tow. Want to take a run uptown, see if they got my TV installed at home. Okay with you?”

“Sure, Eddie. Go ahead. But I’ll need you pretty quick after lunch. Don’t dawdle.”

“I won’t.”

Eddie didn’t dawdle. He traveled the nine blocks to the alley where Vinny waited with the big sign. The sign had pressure-sensitive tape stuck to its back, and it fitted neatly over the Dalco advertising on the side of the truck. The new sign read

With the sign up, they went looking. The car they wanted was parked double outside an apartment building, and Eddie backed up to the Continental in accepted tow style. He got out and lowered the winch chain. He hooked the big steel hook under the front fender, noting through the locked car window that the emergency was off and the car was in park. It wasn’t really necessary; even rear-wheel drives move with their front wheels off the ground, but there was no chance of error if you were observant.

That was Eddie’s key to success. Be observant, and nothing can go wrong.

He jumped back in beside Vinny, and they took off quickly. A few pedestrians idly took notice of the big red tow truck hauling away the new Landau-top Continental, but had they been checked later, they could not have told what the men looked like who had done the towing, what the sign on the truck said, or which way they had gone after they’d turned the corner.

It was a foolproof method.

On the fifth job they learned it was better to hoist the car by the rear wheels, for two reasons: the car followed the truck better, and they had found cases where front-wheel towing was impossible due to locked brakes. It was the sort of thing experience taught, as was the incident that occurred on that fifth job.

They crashed a light.

Unintentionally, but the cop whose motorcycle was parked by the curb took after them and they were dragged to a stop.

He berated them, checked the truck registration — not the registration of the car in back — and let them go with a warning. On that job, Tom sweated; Eddie laughed all the way to the junkyard.

The four cars that had been previously stolen were all parked side by side in the yard. In the center of the deep yard, surrounded on all sides by chrome and rusting parts of old autos. Work had to be done on them, and Eddie did it in his spare time, cut off from the world, safe from cops.

He towed the Continental in beside the Cadillac, and unwinched the chain, letting the car down with a clang. Tom got out and lit a cigarette, leaning against the truck.

“Whew!” he gasped, “that was damned, damned close.”

Eddie playfully dug him in the ribs with an elbow. “Close, nothing. That’s as close as they’ll ever get. D’you ever read a story by Poe called ‘The Purloined Letter’?”

Tom shook his head, and Eddie said, “Well, it was simple. This letter was stolen, and they knew it was in a guy’s room, so they hunted and hunted, but they couldn’t find it, even though it was there.”

“Where was it?”

“In a letter box, with a bunch of others, right up on the wall, where they could see it all the time. Y’see what I mean? The cops can’t see what’s in front of their noses. They’ll see us, but what’s more logical than a tow truck draggin’ a car away for repair?”

Tom grinned, started to say something.

Eddie cut him off. “ Iknow. What if a guy comes out and yells at us for hooking up his car? We just say, ‘Oh, excuse me, Mister, we got a call for a repair on a crate like this … must be the wrong car,’ and we drive off, grab another one down the line.

“And if the cops spot us, they check the truck registration and not the car we’re hauling. No point to that! ”

Tom nodded, clapped Eddie on the back. “Ed, buddy, you’re a goddam genius.”

Eddie smiled. “I owe it all to the Warden.”

Eddie worked steadily on the cars over the weekends, filing down serial numbers on the engines, repainting when necessary, changing plates and other identification. Benny, who owned the junkyard, made sure he was let strictly alone, and they moved five to eight cars a week.

The money was rolling in, but Eddie was playing it cool. He checked with his parole officer, and he buried his share of the money, living no higher than his garage salary allowed.

He was becoming a pillar of the community.

The auto theft toll mounted alarmingly, but the police were stymied. Somehow, a phantom was boosting cars in broad daylight and running them out of the state before anything could be done about it.

On their thirty-eighth haul, Eddie stole a Pontiac parked outside a grocery store, and as they pulled away, Vinny swore he saw a woman come rushing out onto the curb, screaming.

“Let her scream,” Eddie said. “We’ll be long gone before she can do anything about it.”

He left Vinny to check with the broker about getting rid of the new heist, and took the Pontiac to the junkyard. All the other cars had been removed, and it stood alone.

Eddie jacked it down, and left it there. He was due back at the garage.

It was three days before he could get to work on it, but before he could leave work the scheduled night, three men came to the garage.

They talked to Mickey, and they studied the tow truck, and when they started back into the repair shop, Eddie knew something was wrong. He made a run for it.

He got as far as the window, ready to leap through and break down the alley, when they drew their guns.

“Hold it, hold it! Don’t shoot!” he yelled, and they lowered their aim. Must be another gang , Eddie thought. They don’t look like plainclothes.

“Looks like this is our boy, Paul,” one of the men said to the other. They were all hard-eyed, ruthless.

“Where’s the car, fellow,” the man addressed as Paul said.

“What car?” Eddie tried to bluff it.

Paul’s hand, holding the .32 Police Positive, came around in an arc, slashing at Eddie Cappen’s face. The pain penetrated all the way to Eddie’s brain, and he staggered, putting a hand to his cheek. Blood was flowing down his face.

“In — in the junkyard, crosstown,” he said, in pain. “Who are you? How’d you find me? Who squealed?” Anger boiled in him.

Paul answered as he supped the cuffs on Eddie Cappen. “Nobody squealed. The woman saw a red tow truck, and this thing was big enough to call us in, so we searched the city till we found a red tow truck that fit the description. Then we found you. Too bad it took us this long.”

“What are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘Big enough to call us in?’ Who are you?”

“FBI, Mister. You pulled a beaut this time.”

Eddie Cappen reeled, his legs felt like soggy soda straws. “What’re ya talkin’ about? I only swiped a car. That’s maybe a few years, but with parole I’ll get out!”

The Federal agent shook his head. “Uh-uh, buddy. We don’t want you for the car job. We’ve got you on kidnapping, and probably murder.

“There was a baby asleep in the back seat of that car, and this long without attention, it’s probably dead.”

The third man said, “That’s the chair in this state, brother, if they reinstate the death penalty; and if they don’t it means twenty-to-life on death row. You’ll never make it, I can tell: you shake too much.”

Eddie Cappen felt sickness backing up in him. A baby in the back seat. Dead … yes, after three days … dead!

Be observant.

Toe the line.

He would never make it.