“That’s one of ’em. Maybe the rest of ’em got .45s.”
I hardly heard what he said.
I spent the next four days with Louise to give her that honeymoon. Took her down to Ni’gra Falls. Even took her on a side trip over to a little Canuck town called Brantford. But during that whole little trip, my mind was in Toronto. When she was getting a manicure in Brantford, I bought me two automatic shotguns.
I wasn’t gonna tell Louise what I was planning, not just then.
But I was getting more and more stirred up. The hell with all them little old country banks! This’d be just the deal we needed to get us a stake big enough to hit back into oil—and in one fast sweep.
I’d told Joe to do the casing. Ever’ day, he was to go to a little café across the street from the Clearing House. He was to get there about seven o’clock in the morning. The café had a plate glass window, so he could watch ever’thing. I figured if them messengers was taking things into the Clearing House in the afternoon, they was bringing things outa the Clearing House in the morning.
Sure enough, I was dead right. Joe told me at 9:30 ever’ morning, here come them messengers and the guards, walking with them bags and briefcases, outa the big building and down the steps. Then they’d split up. Some’d go down one street, some down another street. At about 4:45 in the afternoon, the same messengers and their guards’d come back from all them different directions.
He said it’d happened ever’ day. Like the sun come up ever’ morning and the sun went down ever’ evening.
And why?
Joe’d found out. And it was the silliest thing you ever heard of!
There was about eight or ten different banks in Toronto them days. And ever’ bank had its own money with its own name on it. Like the Sterling Bank of Canada and the Union Bank. Ever’ night all the different kinds of money that come into one of them banks during the day was sent in a bag to the Clearing House. That’s where they separated it. Then, in the morning, each bank got its own money back.
’Course, it didn’t make no diff’rence to us why.
Only thing we cared about was the money.
If we could grab just two or three of the big bags, we’d likely be setting high.
Inside my head, it was like I could see right straight through them bags—at all them bundles and bundles and bundles of money. At the edge of my head, I could see them Canuck fingers holding tight onto the handles of them bags. But them Canuck fingers wasn’t gonna be no match for my fingers. My fingers always knowed just what to do and just how to move and just how fast to do it all. Snatch ’n grab, snatch ’n grab. Nobody ever beat my fingers.
I planned ever’thing down to the last detail.
We needed a diff’rent car, one that the laws couldn’t trace, and I got one. A Studebaker Big-Six. Dark-red 1919 model. Four years old, but brand-new tires. Goodyear cord with fresh tread. I stole it right off a side street. Old boy that owned it had went into a store and left the keys behind. I just got in and drove off.
Drove it right to a garage I’d rented on the edge of town.
Me and Jess cased the business district three more times, to double-check what Joe told me. I come up with all kinds of excuses for Louise, how come I needed to be out and about them times. I seen the best place to hijack the messengers would be the corner of two streets—Melinda and Jordan. That’s where about twelve of ’em headed after they come outa the Clearing House. Right before they split up.
I drawed a careful map.
When I was ready to lay it all out for the other boys, I called a meet in Glasscock’s room.
I put the map on the bed. So ever’ body’d know what to do and at what spot and at what time. I told ’em my plan: we was all gonna drive in one car to that corner. When the messengers come towards us, Jess and me was gonna jump out and each one of us was gonna grab one of the biggest bags. Glasscock and Dock was gonna be cover if we run into trouble. Joe was the driver.
“It’s gonna be easy as snap, boys. Easy as snap.”
Most times, Dock was ready to go along with anything I said, but this time he was hanging back.
“You sure the money’s there, old man?”
Glasscock said he was for it, Jess said he’d go along even though he didn’t like it, but Joe was even more agin it than Dock, even though he’d done the casing. “More I think about it, more I think it’s the craziest thing you ever come up with, Willis. You was the one that said the Wild West was over. That daytime jobs are stupid.”
“This is a diff’rent deal from a bank job,” I said. “They’re bringing the money to us. We don’t gotta go to them to get it. And it’s gonna be just five minutes work. Tops.”
The morning come up gray and drizzly, but I didn’t care nothing about the weather.
You don’t need the sun to do a stickup.
At 8:30, I put Louise in the hotel limousine to take her to the Toronto race track. It was outside of the city limits. I told her I had a good tip on two horses—one named Blazing Glory, one named Jones Rich. I give her fifty dollars to bet on ’em. I told her me and the boys was going out to “case a job.”
“I thought the little banks were out of town,” she said.
“This is something diff’rent.”
“Since when do you work in the morning?”
“Canucks do things diff’rent.”
I was sorry I wasn’t being altogether straight with her. But I knowed that this was our big chance to get some big money, and I knowed she’d try to talk me out of it if I’d told her about it. And I hadn’t lied to her. We was gonna case the job. We was just gonna pull it, too.
We all got together in Joe’s room at 8:45 sharp.
Joe give me a look when I handed him his box of bullets. They was buckshot. “What’s this, Willis?”
“Could be a crowd of people around. I don’t want birdshot spraying all over.”
“And buckshot’s better? Yeah, won’t put your eye out. Just kill you.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Hell, yeah, we’re gonna use some lead, Joe.” That was Glasscock. “You sure are the baby of the family!”
Joe hopped to his feet and near hauled off at Glasscock for that one. But I told ’em to set down and shut up. I told ’em, if things got tough, to just shoot the hell outa a telephone pole.
At 9:35, exact, our car was parked right where it was supposed to be, at the corner of Melinda and Jordan streets. Five minutes before the messengers was to get there. But while we waited I said, “If we work fast, we can get ’em all.”
All three of the boys’ eyes went round. Glasscock’s too. “What’d you mean, get ’em all?”
“We’re gonna get ’em all.” I’d come up with that while we was driving to the corner. “I’ll grab two bags. Jess, you grab two. Dock, you get one. Glasscock, one. Watch me when they come. I’ll point out who takes who. We just gotta work fast, is all.”
“Aw shit, Willis!” Joe hollered. “You outa your mind! It’s twelve messengers and six guards!”
“Ain’t your problem, Joe. You got the car.”
Glasscock started to say something else, but wasn’t no time.
It was 9:40, on the nose, and here come the bags!
To this day, I can still see ’em, how they looked, near ever’ detail. The messengers and guards was all walking fast, but easy, like wasn’t nothing on their minds but getting from here to there. Several of ’em had big thick mustaches, and one of ’em kept raising his arm—the arm that wasn’t holding the bag handle—and scratching his mustache, like it was full of fleas. I don’t know how come I remember that one old boy so clear, scratching his bushy old mustache like that, except that I knowed with all that scratching going on, I might could catch him off-balance.
There they all was—right towards us, right towards us, right by us, starting to split up. Never even give us a glance.
I pointed quick: “Jess, those two’r yours. Dock, that one. Glasscock, there. I’ll get the
rest.”
I shoved the shotgun under my coat and throwed open the car door.
Later on, the papers was gonna say that the whole thing only took five minutes. Just like I told the boys it would. But if you ever pulled a stickup agin a whole mess of Canucks, you’d find out that ever’ minute feels like a week.
“Gimme that thing!” I run over to two of the messengers and yanked the bag outa their grips. Their heads spun around and their eyes turned to circles, but they musta been trained pretty good. Or they was just crazy. They wasn’t about to give up that bag! They pulled it right back, right outa my hands! I spun around and BLAM!BLAM!, blasted the hell outa a telephone pole. I thought that’d scare ’em. It didn’t. I reached over to grab a-hold of the bag again. And that’s when one of ’em jumped on me.
Jumped right on my back!
He was a little guy, but I could feel a THUD! like somebody’d throwed a 150-pound sack of potatoes on my back.… only that sack had arms and legs and his fingers was a-clawing around at my chest and one of his legs was crooking around down near my crotch.
Crazy Canuck!
Best as I could, I aimed my shotgun at the other messenger’s feet to get him to let loose of the bag.
It didn’t work! I pulled and pulled at the bolt. It was hung up.
It was hard for me to keep my balance with that little stumpy man hanging on my back. Made me stagger around like a drunk man. But somehow I got my arm down and grabbed onto my pistol. Had it in my waistband. Now one of the other messengers nearby—not one of my two—was starting to run off, but then he stopped and spun around. I tried to pull my pistol out, but the hammer caught on the inside lining of my pocket. Damn! To loose the pistol, I had let go my shotgun. But now the fella on my back hopped off and scrambled for my gun. “Drop it!” I hollered. He didn’t do it. He come right at me. He started to raise the shotgun and I didn’t know if that thing would shoot this time or not. I aimed my pistol high up on his right side. Pulled the trigger. That done it.
Drop goes that shotgun!
I didn’t want to shoot him, but, hell, I didn’t want him to shoot me either.
The first of my messengers still had a-hold of the bag. I banged him over the head with my gun. I figured he’d let go like any sane person would. But he held on like his fingers was glued to the handle and tried to jerk the bag away.
“C’mon, give it up,” I hollered. “Let go!”
It was like one of them William S. Hart movies, pulling and tugging and shooting going on all over the place. And before any of us could get even one bag, one of the messengers was hollering at the top of his lungs, “Holdup! Holdup!”
Jesus Christ! All hell broke loose!
“Holdup! Holdup! Holdup!” come from all directions.
And where was my two messengers’ guard during all this?
At the first, he was right behind me. He coulda shot me. He was armed. But I think he was boogered about hitting the messengers instead of me. So all he done was stick his pistol up in the air and fire: Powwwwww! Powwwwww! And then, can you believe it, he hit off running! Ain’t it crazy how life is always throwing you surprises: The messengers was the brave ones, and the guard was the coward!
While all this was going on, outa the corner of my eye I seen Dock tussling with another messenger over a bag. That old boy wouldn’t give it up either. He was coming out with his gun. BAM! Dock shot him. Shot him in the right shoulder. Down went that pistol. Where the guard for Dock’s messenger was, I didn’t know.
Finally, I got my bag loose.
I quick looked around to see if I could get some others. But by this time the other messengers was running helty-skelty down a alley with the rest of the bags. If I hadn’t had all that trouble with my guns, I could’ve got at least one or two more.
Meantime, I figured Jess oughta have got a bag or two. But he was slow coming up, and the messengers and them guards was ready. They wasn’t silly cowards like mine, and so it was four agin one when Jess tried to yank a bag from ’em. He finally give up when he seen Dock was in trouble.
As for Joe, he couldn’t help much because he had to stay close to the getaway car, ready to git.
By this time I was back to the car with one bag. I was about to jump in when a big black sedan with some guards in it come squealing up to me. Stopped right there. On the passenger side there was a guy with a pistol. As he went to bring his gun up at me, I flipped mine up and shot right through that car door. Didn’t have no time to think. Didn’t have no time to aim. I didn’t know where the hell I’d hit that old boy. But his door flied open, and out rolled his pistol.
It landed right at my feet.
We’d hardly noticed it ’til then but all sorts of stuff was raining down from the sky—flower pots, chairs, boxes, books. There was people upstairs in them tall buildings around the scuffling that’d seen ever’thing and heard ever’thing, and all during the tussle they was throwing ever’thing they could find in their offices, right down into the middle of us.
A big clay pot come crashing down to my left. Dirt and broke-up red flowers went flying all over. About twenty books come showering down to my right. And just in front of me, two heavy wood office chairs come barrelling down, spitting distance. They splintered into a million pieces.
I ducked and dodged best I could.
By now Dock and Jess was at the car with a second bag. And that was it. We only had two bags. And by that time the messengers and guards had all a-scattered.
Where was Glasscock while all this was going on? We didn’t know. Except all of a sudden, when we was ready to take off, there he was.
“Let’s go!” he hollered, and he jumped into the car with the rest of us.
Joe let out the clutch. The car took off with a screeching of rubber. It was a miracle none of us got killed. Joe, the Baptist preacher, said later that the good Lord musta had His arm around us. I doubt that. Them Canucks was just lousy shooters.
Our car was racing down that street—rocking and zig-zagging—when, sccrreeeeech! Joe had to slam on the brakes. There was a couple of cars in front of us that was hardly moving. We couldn’t get around ’em, cars was parked on both sides of the street. Then we seen behind us a guard waving a pistol in his right hand, running after us. He seen we wasn’t moving. Dock throwed his own pistol outa the window and, powww-www! powwww-wwww! shot the ground on both sides of that guard. Well, that set that old boy a-hopping. But he still kept coming. Crazy Canucks! I don’t know why he didn’t shoot instead of just run after us. Maybe he’d fired all his bullets. Maybe he thought if somehow he could catch up with our car he could stop us. All I know is that as we went on in the car he kept running on the sidewalk alongside of us and shouting, “Stop ’em! Stop ’em!”
We had to stop him somehow. Finally, Joe done it. We was passing a store with a big plate glass window. Joe pulled out his pistol with his right hand while he held on to the car wheel with his left. He fired direct in front of the guard into the window. SPLASH! Glass exploded ever’where.
That done it.
You never seen anybody turn-tail like that guard!
By this time we’d come to a intersection, King Street and Shaw Street. The one on my map where I’d marked “Turn right here.” That’s what Joe did. He squealed around that corner so fast we was near up on two wheels, and then we was hid pretty good in the middle of a whole bunch of other cars. We couldn’t follow our getaway route exactly, there was just too many cars. But we headed kinda in the right direction.
In only a few minutes we was a mile or two from where we’d done the robbery. And, so far as we knowed, nobody who’d seen the stickup was anywhere near us. Once they got into all that traffic it’d be hard for them to keep on our tail.
Still, we couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t stop us somewhere along the way. Particularly if the police was sending out broadcasts about us and our car over the radio. So we wanted to get fast as we could to that garage on the outskirts of town.
But for the first tim
e since the Battle of Toronto begun, I begun to breathe a little easier. “We was lucky to get outa there alive.”
“You’re damn right,” Joe exploded. “This whole thing was crazy … stupid, stupid!”
Meantime, the others kept looking back to see if there was anyone trailing us. Glasscock piped up: “Jesus Christ! Not a scratch on any of us! We showed ’em!”
Jess shot back: “Whatdaya saying, ‘we’ showed ’em?”
“We showed ’em. It means what it means.”
Dock said to Glasscock, “Lemme see your gun.”
He didn’t answer. Dock reached over and pulled the pistol outa his pocket and smelled the barrel. “Ain’t been fired.”
“Willis said no killing. I hit ’em with the barrel. Beaned two or three of ’em.”
Joe was breathing hard. “Hit ’em? Hit ’em, nothing! You hid, you yeller dog!”
“Shut up, all of you!” I said. “We got bigger problems here.”
The traffic was getting even thicker. It was slow going. At one intersection a policeman was directing cars with hand signals, and we come to a dead stop. He kept waving the ones on the cross street along; it seemed like he wasn’t ever gonna turn and wave us on. And if you never seen them Canuck policemen making signals with their hands, weaving ’em this way and that, it’s quite a show.
Like their hands ’r dancing.
A couple minutes, I couldn’t stand that show no more. I got out on the running board. I was gonna jump down on the pavement and poke my pistol at the officer and make him wave us on. But all of a sudden he turned on his own towards us, and he danced his hands up and down and sideways.
Off we went.
It wasn’t five minutes more, we was out of that business district.
Just in case, when we passed a streetcar, Dock got outa the automobile and caught the trolley. And further along Jess done the same with another streetcar. Then Glasscock.
That left only me and Joe in the automobile. If the laws was looking for a car with five desperate bank robbers in it, it wouldn’t be us.
All Honest Men Page 24