by Jack Finney
Jerry just shrugged, standing there in the middle of the room. I don't know this for a fact, he said, but I'm certain the money never leaves there all at once. It's only common sense to take part of it out at a time and deliver it to the bank, or whatever they do with it. You'll never get a crack at the whole day's take anywhere but inside that room. We've got to find a way to get into that room. He walked back toward the desk.
And there is just no way, I said.
No one had quite said it yet, but I knew the same thought was lying in all our minds; in all the years Harold's Club's been operating, the cashroom had never been robbed because it couldn't be robbed; our project was washed-up.
I think if it hadn't been for the actuality of the car and trailer, the canned goods and gasoline, sitting in Guy's barn, we'd have quit. Instead we kept on chasing our own tail around and around. Jerry carefully tore the used sheet off his pad and began a new sketch. Brick sighed heavily and lighted a cigarette. I glanced at Guy, and Guy turned wearily away. It'd be easier to win the day's take, he said bitterly, by planning on making forty-nine straight passes at the crap table. Jerr, what about mass hypnosis? Hypnotize everybody in the joint, including the guards back of the glass, then —
Sunday afternoon, around four o'clock, we were ready to quit. We'd left Brick's room and piled into his car for a change of scenery. We'd driven aimlessly around town for a while, we'd walked for a while, we'd driven out into the country and back again. Now we were parked on Main Street because we were tired of driving, tired of walking, tired of being indoors; it was nice out, sunny and balmy. We'd worked over every faint possibility for getting into that little room in Harold's Club. We'd talked about getting jobs there and working our way into positions of trust. We'd talked about starting a fire or some sort of commotion in the main room, then forcing our way into the cashroom with a gun at the owner's back; talked about tear-gas bombs and so on. But every idea was unreal, foolish, and full of obvious holes.
Sitting there in the car on Main Street, Guy finally said, Well? Who's going to say it first?
No one answered; we all knew what he meant.
Then I spoke; I'd been thinking of this for some minutes now, and it seemed to be the time to bring this up; certainly there was nothing to lose. We thought we were stuck once before, I said, but that problem was solved.
Sure, Brick said ironically, and then, like a radio master of ceremonies, And congratulations, Al Mercer! You came up with the answer before; now do it again.
No, I said, I won't come up with the answer. But I didn't do it last time, either.
Jerry stared at me, his eyes narrowing. No? he said softly. Who did?
Tina.
Tina?
Sure. I told her about the plan; she knows all about it. I shrugged. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I did. And she gave us the answer on how to get to Reno, all of it, everything I told you. Maybe she can do it again. It was out now, and no one said anything. I couldn't tell what they were thinking, and I didn't care; I felt pretty sure our project was finished.
Then Brick said softly, Does she want a share?
That annoyed me. And what if she did? So far a full share of nothing is nothing. And it looks like it'll stay that way unless she comes up with this answer too. Unless you've got the answer and are now ready to reveal it.
No, he said quietly. Take it easy; I was just asking.
Well, the fact is she doesn't want a share and never asked. She and I will split mine.
Look, Brick said, if Tina's in on this, she's in. And if she can answer this one, I'm personally glad of it. He started the motor, turning to look out the rear window, ready to drive away from the curb. She working now?
I don't think so. She's probably home.
Let's go then, said Guy. Without her we're finished, so what can we lose?
Ten minutes later we were sitting in Tina's living room; Brick, Guy, and Jerry in a row on the bed, Tina in the rocking chair, and I near her at the desk. She looked nice. She was wearing a flowered spring dress, ready to go out; she was due at The Bowl in half an hour.
Once again Jerry was carefully explaining the problem, drawing his diagram on a sheet of paper Tina had given him. After that, she thought for maybe a minute. And she reached exactly the same answer we had; it just didn't take her as long. I knew we were finished.
She shook her head. I don't know the answer. It looks impossible to get in there. And maybe it is. She was silent, biting gently at her lower lip. Then she said, looking around at us, But I just can't believe there's any such thing as guarding something so well that someone else can't find a way to get at it. Can you? She looked at us, but no one answered. I doubt if anyone has ever done that, she insisted, including Harold's Club. If you worked at it hard enough, and long enough, and were willing to do whatever had to be done, however long it took, you could steal the crown jewels of England. No — she shook her head — there's a way to do this because there just has to be. But I can't imagine what it is, and I don't think any of us will find it here.
Quietly she said, Someone has to go to Reno. One of us has to go to Harold's Club and practically live there. He has to sit around, stand around, walk around, and see everything there is to see, everything your memories may have missed. He has to find a new approach to this, and think, and think, and think, right there on the spot. This is one you can't solve in your mind; you've reached a dead end. I think this has to be answered right there, and that someone can do it. She smiled at him — Personally, I think it's Jerry.
It's funny, but that swung the tide right around. The enthusiasm came flooding back, and we were suddenly as elated and happy there in Tina's living room as though she'd solved the whole problem. She'd done no such thing, yet I was certain she'd found the answer — that old Jerry could go to Reno and somehow come back with the problem solved — and so were the rest of us, Jerry himself, especially. Then we sat and chattered, all excited and eager, all talking at once, till it was time to drive Tina to work.
We left then, got to The Bowl a minute or two early, and sat in the car talking some more. At one point Tina murmured something or other about when we'd make the trip, and Jerry very gently said, We?
Tina nodded. Yeah, she said.
Jerry, neither disputing nor agreeing, turned inquiringly to Guy.
Well, why not? Guy shrugged. We wouldn't even be making the trip except for Tina.
Jerry turned to Brick.
Suits me, Brick said. Suits me fine, in fact. He inspected Tina for a moment, then grinned slowly. Personally I'm very glad you're coming along.
I spoke then, and when Brick's glance turned to me, I stared squarely into his eyes, not smiling at all. Tina's coming along with us, all right, I said, but she's coming with me. I waited a moment, then smiled pleasantly. All clear? I asked.
Why, sure, he said easily. Only do me a favor. He turned back to Tina. For my own peace of mind, on that long trip — again he grinned slowly — wear slacks, will you, Tina? Loose, nonform-fitting slacks.
She stared at him coolly. I planned to, she said, then reached for the door handle, facing toward me. See you later, she murmured, and smiled into my eyes.
On the way back to the house Jerry suggested we have the gas tank filled and siphon it off that evening; and when Brick pulled into the Standard station on Locust Street, Jerry went to the outside phone booth and pulled the door closed. When we drove away, Jerry was grinning. All set, he said. I got a United Air Lines reservation from Chicago at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. I'll take the train to Chicago tonight, and by tomorrow evening I'll be in Harold's Club. All excited, he grinned again. I'll tell them at the house that I'm going to Chicago for a wedding in my family or something like that.
What about classes? Guy asked.
I haven't taken many cuts; I never do. I can stand a few now.
How about money? I couldn't help asking that, though there was nothing I could do to help out and I knew Jerry had enough, anyway.
I've g
ot enough at the house to get me to Reno, and I'll give you a check tonight for more. Cash it tomorrow when the bank opens, and wire it to me. He paused for a moment. Better drive over to Davenport and send it, whoever has time. Don't wire it from here.
Monday the rest of us went to classes; we could cut, Jerry insisted, only when it was strictly necessary. We had to have dates too, he said, and put in time loafing around the house, playing cards and Ping-pong. And we had to study, or at least sit in our rooms and go through the motions. So outwardly we kept right on living pretty much as we normally did, and since the four of us always had spent a lot of time together we didn't think it would occur to anyone that we were up to anything unusual. And on Monday and Tuesday nights, gloves on again, using small crowbars, we finished the job of stripping the inside of the trailer down to nothing but walls, roof, and linoleum-block floor. We stacked the stuff we pulled out in a corner of the barn, covering it with an old tarpaulin.
Thursday morning Jerry was back. He checked his bag in a coin locker at the Q depot and walked straight to the campus in time for his first class that day; it was hard to believe he'd actually been to Reno. As it happened, I saw him crossing the campus toward Old Main, but there was time to talk to him for only a minute. He was quietly elated, confident he'd solved the big problem, and I was on top of the world.
But an hour later, when his class was over — I'd rounded up Brick and Guy in the meantime — and we sat out on the lawn in front of Old Main and Jerry explained his plan, it scared me. I didn't like any part of it.
Jerry was busy in Reno, all right, and ingenious; no question about it. As he told us what he'd done, he was actually wriggling with delight sometimes, constantly plucking blades of grass, shredding them with his nails, then tossing them away.
For one thing he'd bought a seventy-five-dollar camera in a Reno pawnshop on Commercial Row, the kind that prints its own pictures in sixty seconds right inside the camera. Obviously delighted with himself he told us how he'd spent six hours alone in his hotel room, working out a way to wrap that camera in a brown-paper package and carry it under his arm and still take pictures with it. Working with scissors and cellophane tape, he made a good strong cardboard box that fitted the opened camera exactly. He put the camera in the box, wrapped the box in brown paper, tied it with string; then with a razor blade he cut a small hole in one end of the box, through both brown paper and cardboard, exactly over the camera lens. He glued the round snip of paper back onto the little card-board disc he'd cut out, and refastened it in its original place on the package with a little cellophane-tape hinge. Then he ran a rubber band through a little puncture in the cardboard disc, and looped it back over the camera; this pulled the disc back against the camera lens and made the package look whole again. From the outside of this little hinged trap door, a length of string hung down; it looked like a loose end of the string he'd tied the package with. Holding the package under one arm, Jerry could pull that little piece of string with the fingers of the same hand; the little round trap door would open, exposing the lens for an instant. When he let go of the string, the taut rubber band would snap the little door shut over the lens. On one side of his package Jerry cut a hole just big enough to poke a finger in; he held that surface against his side so the hole couldn't be seen. Jerry finished up by writing an address on his package and sticking on a bunch of postage stamps.
Then he practiced, for hours alone in his room, till he could aim that camera, held under his left arm, at whatever he wanted to photograph. Practicing before the full-length mirror on the closet door, he'd bring up his right hand, casually, poke a finger through the hole in the side of the package, and trip the shutter.
Most of the time, no matter how much he practiced, it didn't work. He'd get only an edge of what he was aiming at, or miss it entirely. And — actually inside Harold's Club — he'd had to go to the washroom, inside a booth; unwrap his camera; develop his print; and if it was no good, reset the camera and wrap it up again. For every picture he snapped, Jerry had to spend ten minutes inside that washroom.
But eventually — it took him hours and several visits — he got what he wanted; and sitting there on the grass in the warm June sun, he showed us the prints. Harold's Club is brilliantly lighted, but Jerry's prints were still underdeveloped and just a shade blurred. But they were good enough for his purpose. For three days' time and work, and at a cost of several hundred dollars, Jerry had several prints of what looked like a metal teacart standing on the cigarette-littered floor of Harold's Club, plus the slightly blurred image of a man holding the handle of the cart. The cart, as the prints showed clearly enough, was a rectangular metal box less than a yard wide, somewhat longer, and several feet deep. It was mounted on four hard-rubber swivel wheels and had a tube-metal handle, like a baby buggy's, for wheeling it around.
We looked at the prints, passing them among us; then Brick gave them back to Jerry, and we all looked at him, waiting.
He was so pleased with himself he was busting. Tina was right, he said delightedly. I'd forgotten all about that thing; never would have remembered it without actually visiting Harold's Club again. I've got the dimensions; I stood against it for a second, and I know exactly where the top edge hits me on the leg. We'll get that measurement in inches, and I know how to calculate the others from the photographs.
I didn't know what he was talking about, and neither did Brick or Guy. It must have showed in our faces, because Jerry then began explaining his plan.
When he finished, I was so disappointed I didn't know what to say. I thought he'd lost his mind and I said so. The others felt the same way, and poor Jerry was so let down he looked as though he were going to cry. Instead he got mad. Why? he demanded. What's wrong with it? Just tell me what's wrong!
We stared at the grass, not knowing how to say it; then Guy answered for all of us. Nothing, Jerr; he said gently. That is, I can't find any actual holes in it, but—
But what?
Well — Guy shrugged — it's just too — I knew he was hunting for the kindest possible word, not wanting to hurt Jerry's feelings. It's — Well, I don't know what. Good Lord, Jerr, he burst out then, no place in the world was ever robbed that way! It's fantastic!
For a moment Jerry was silent. Then he smiled, quietly confident again. Yes, it is, isn't it? he agreed pleasantly. We were all sitting cross-legged or half lying on the grass, and he glanced around at us. Maybe I should have said this first, before explaining the details. Well, listen — Jerry tossed away the blade of grass in his fingers — it has to be fantastic. Don't you see that? It has to be something so absolutely unheard of, so completely unthought of, that no one in Harold's Club has ever for a moment even dreamed of such a thing, or how to guard against it. Or else — tell me! — how do we get into that cashroom?
He waited, then went on. Tina said it; we needed a whole new approach. What we were doing was studying their precautions, then trying to figure a way to beat them. Well, that was wrong; we were playing their game and couldn't win. We don't beat their precautions. They've long ago thought of everything we could think of in that line, and they're protected against it. We need something entirely new. Something they've never thought of or guarded against. Something — fantastic.
Jerry looked at us, and when he saw absolutely no enthusiasm in our faces he said quietly, Listen; don't think I haven't some idea of what's involved in this. Figure out the time, work, and trouble this will take, then multiply by two, and we still won't have fully realized what we're in for. Describe this briefly the way I did and it sounds impossible, fantastic. His voice dropped; he was pleading now. But listen. Take it just a step at a time; do everything we have to do, one thing after another, and do them slowly and right; and this'll work, the way I say.
He glared at us. Build this to scale — he tapped the prints in his hand with the knuckles of his other hand — buy the sheet metal; buy a welding outfit; learn how to use it; make this thing the way it's got to be made, never skipping a single
step or detail, never letting ourselves go slipshod or get discouraged; do everything else we have to, and do it all to perfection — he stopped to suck in a breath — then practice, practice, practice, with a prepared typescript in our hands, and this will work!
Sitting there on the grass, eyes fierce, he was actually breathing hard, furious. Why, blast it, he said softly, what do you think we've been talking about? We're talking about a major robbery! Stealing several hundred thousand dollars! From a place no one ever has robbed, and that ten thousand people have thought about robbing without ever figuring out how! You think you do that without work? And endless preparation? Like robbing some puny filling station? He glared at us. Why, the Brooklyn robbery I told you about, the thing that started all this — those guys spent weeks in nothing but preparation. They refined every detail; every movement they finally made was studied and rehearsed a thousand times. Their scheme was fantastic! That ice-cream cart was ridiculous! But the scheme worked. They did it. No, sir; you don't steal a fortune with fifteen minutes' planning and ten minutes' easy work. You get yourself killed if you try. Once again he rapped the prints in his hand with his knuckles. But this way it can be done.
Jerry impressed us. He got to us, all right. But it was Tina who swung us around. We went to see her that night, all of us, and took the pictures with us. Tina spread the prints out on her desk, and listened intently to Jerry's fantastic plan. And she sided with Jerry completely; the same arguments came to her mind; she even used some of his very phrases. So we compromised; we agreed to work, under Jerry's direction, and decide when we'd finished whether to go on or not. Jerry put up the money we needed, and we went to work. I've never worked so hard, never accomplished so much, never beat down so many frustrating obstacles, small and large, as I did and we all did in the next ten days.
It was incredible how little sleep we got by on. In Peoria we bought a welding outfit, secondhand, and a good supply of stainless-steel sheet metal from a restaurant-supply house. In Guy's barn, afternoons and nights, we learned how to cut, bend, shape, and handle stainless steel; and that isn't easy. We learned how to weld from an instruction manual, and actually that wasn't too hard. We never became professionals, but if our seams were messy, they were strong.