That Old Gang Of Mine

by Leslie Thomas

  'Okay,' shouted Gabby decisively. 'Let the 'gators out.' Everybody's eyebrows, inside and outside of masks, shot up. But the girl was serious. 'Let them loose!' she called again. Ari, his nose pale and trembling beneath the hood, climbed from the boat to the shore. He pulled the pin from the grating and lifted the grille. The alligators, now awake and aware, made a move for the open river. Herb and Salvatore made a dash towards the floating Tottie again, but Tottie was no fool. With a wet howl she got herself from the living river and staggered into the embracing arms of her guests and admirers.

  'Give it the lot,' said Ossie to Sidewalk. He did. The fan screamed and the small narrow boat shot forward and into the tunnel almost leaving its crew behind. They hung on by inches. Through the tunnel they roared and out into the

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  .

  concealing dark of the Intra-Coastal Waterway. The alligators, hardly able to believe their luck, slid out after them.

  Screams and cries filled the house behind them. Women fainted on both banks of the artificial river. Salvatore made a run for the telephone.

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  'Yes, for Chrissake!' shouted Salvatore into the phone. 'A fan-boat. That's what I said. I know, I saw them. Listen they can only go two ways, up The waterway or down the waterway ... Oh, okay, okay, or across the waterway ... We got two cars right here. Get Cook to pick me up and send Stewart south along US One. We'll go north. Right, let's move ...'

  He made for the door and then returned to get his gun and the holster from Tottie who was letting off small screams in a corner surrounded by numerous well-wishers and spectators. (It was not often you could see a famous actress virtually nude to the waist apart from a gun-belt, letting off small screams.)

  T just need to have my gun, honey,' said Salvatore briskly. He somehow felt better now. More assured. He was not a great policeman but he was a better policeman than a lover. At least he understood the basics. 'My gun please, Miss di Milo,' he repeated. 'I need to have my gun.'

  'Take your fucking gun,' said the lady ungraciously. 'Causing all this trouble.'

  He was tempted to argue the point but he knew there was no time. He took the gun and was pushed out of the way by the sanctimoniously concerned Herb who retrieved the belt from Tottie's bosom region and handed it scornfully to him. Salvatore strapped it on right away, enjoying the brief quasi-

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  heroic moment, before turning for the door. The bell outside was chiming urgently. That would be Cook.

  'Goodbye,' he called gallantly like a knight errant leaving on a mission.

  'Fuck off,' Tottie called after him. 'I'll sue you, you bastard. You've lost my alligators.' This last thought, which had apparently just occurred to her, prompted a new spasm of longer wails and hysterical half-sentences. Salvatore went.

  Cook was waiting outside. 'Why no all-cars call?' he asked desperately as they hurried towards the patrol car. 'We could have picked them up by now.'

  'This is personal,' muttered Salvatore getting into the front seat. The two bemused patrolmen sat in the back. I want to get those bastards myself.' Cook started to move towards the gates. 'Go north on US One,' ordered Salvatore. 'Follow the waterway. If they're going north we should be able to hear that fan a mile away. Never mind the siren.'

  The look-out, Katy, watched the patrol car pull away and put her hand to her mouth.' It was too late to whistle now. But she tried it. She put her fingers to her mouth and let forth a tremendous hoot. Then - according to orders - she walked swiftly from the scene and got a bus back to South Miami Beach.

  Cook rushed the car along the streets parallel with the waterway, every now and then pulling up by some private jetty or landing stage so that Salvatore could run eagerly to the edge and listen into the night. At the third pause he heard them. The unique whirr of the fan-boat's propeller. Exultantly he jumped back into the patrol car. 'We got them!' he shouted. 'Half-a-mile up-river. Come on Cookie, for Chrissake!'

  Zaharran and Lou the Barbender were waiting with the cars at the planned place between Fort Lauderdale and Pompano Beach. It was an anxious time and Zaharran was grateful that Lou was inclined to fill in the elongated minutes by telling him some of the astonishing feats of strength he had performed in his prime years.

  Eventually the droning of Lou's narrative was overtaken

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  by another drone. Zaharran, whose ears were in better shape than almost any other part of his ill-used body, sat up and quietened the strong man. They're coming,' he whispered. 'They're on their way.' He looked at his enormous watch around his enormous wrist. 'They're late.'

  The two large men jumped with identical awkwardness from the car and Lou went to the wheel of the second vehicle parked twenty yards away. They watched the dark, limp canal intensely. Then like a moth in the gloom they saw the fan-boat approaching. They started the engines of the cars, then went back to the wooden landing stage to help their fellow conspirators ashore.

  The fan-boat edged nearer. Even from the shore Zaharran and Lou could see the dim approaching smiles. 'You made it,' , whispered Zaharran.

  'Sure,' answered Ossie. 'We made it. But we've got to move quick now.'

  The loot bags were carefully handed ashore. The fan had been stilled by Sidewalk and the frail boat fidgeted alongside the jetty. They put the bags into the front car and then helped everybody ashore.

  'Let's beat it,' said Gabby. 'They're feeling sore back there. And there was that cop. He'll know what to do.'

  'There was a cop?' asked Zaharran.

  'Sure, he was at the party.'

  Zaharran whistled.

  Ossie, Bruce and Gabby jumped in the first car with Zaharran at the wheel. Sidewalk, Ari and Molly were in the second with Lou driving.

  'I sure hope Katy's clear,' said Lou.

  'She'll have taken off quick, don't worry,' said Ari. 'She'll be back at Sunny Gables by now.'

  They started off quickly through the quiet street. Another ten seconds and they would have been clear and into the main road traffic of US One, indistinguishable from any other car, but while they were still running along the waterside street, Salvatore's police car turned from a side junction. Each knew who the other was.

  'Cops,' breathed Ossie. 'Go like shit.' Zaharran put his foot

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  down. He heard the car behind begin to rush after them.

  'It's them!'" Salvatore shouted triumphantly to Cook, so loudly that Cook winced and pulled his ear away. 'Go for them, Cookie, let's get the bastards.'

  Cook had to perform a difficult manoeuvre at the junction to get the police car pointing the right way. He tried going on to the sidewalk, but misjudged the distance and had to back down again to avoid hitting a street lamp. Salvatore cursed him vividly.

  But they knew what the cars looked like now. 'Why not call all cars?' pleaded Cook, ramming the car's nose along the street. 'We got them, boss. We can sew them up.'

  'Shut your ass,' said Salvatore rudely. 'I'm getting these babies by myself. I know what I'm doing, Cookie boy, you just drive and fast. I'll show that Betty.'

  They were half a mile behind, siren now going, when Zaharran turned on to the highway leading to the cantilever bridge at Pompano Beach. Lou's car was a yard behind them. Zaharran swerved out so he could see the police in his driving mirror. His driving skill caused Ossie and Bruce to glance at each other. He flashed his brake lights and Lou swerved inside and came level. 'Beat it over the bridge,' Zaharran shouted to Lou. He was giving the orders. 'Wait the other side.'

  Now everyone was staring at the fat man. He grunted. 'I know what I'm doing.' Again Ossie's eyebrows went up. Gabby stared at Ossie then at Bruce. Zaharran turned. 'I know,' he repeated. 'Gabby - get over there to the bridge house. Stick a gun in the guy's ribs and get the bridge up. Do it!'

  She reacted quickly to his tone. She jumped from the car. 'Then take off,' said Zaharran. 'Anywhere.'

  The girl ran through the traffic to the far side of the highway. Zaharran started the ca
r over the bridge. The police siren was getting nearer through the traffic at the back. 'Who are you anyway?' said Ossie.

  'A friend,' Zaharran answered coolly. 'A friend who maybe will get you out of this situation. The cops will have an "all cars" alert out now, so hold tight.' He drove the car over the

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  bump of the cantilever. Behind them they could hear the drawbridge warning clanging.

  Gabby, her hood down, her Russian automatic in the back of the trembling operator, watched the cantilever arms of the bridge rising like a man making a slow surrender. The bell was sounding and the barrier was down, the red lights flashing. The traffic stopped. Above the bell she could hear the nearing irritable sound of the police siren. She judged it as well as she could. "Now buddy,' she said, 'just keep that bridge up there for as long as you can. Okay?'

  'Okay, young lady,' said the bridge operator. 'I don't want to die. It's my birthday.'

  'Happy birthday,' said Gabby. The bridge was almost up now, its fingers seeming to point to something in the sky. She heard the police car stop. She backed out, put the gun away and ran easily down a narrow street into the anonymous darkness. As she went she began wondering about Zaharran.

  Salvatore was spitting with rage. 'That fucking bridge!' he kept shouting. 'That goddamn fucking bridge!' He sent one of the patrolmen running to the bridge house. He glared at Cook as if it were his fault.

  'AH cars?' suggested Cook blandly. 'Want to make the call?'

  'No! I'll give the orders!' Salvatore howled. Oh God, he couldn't lose them now. What lousy goddamn luck. 'Get Stewart,' he grunted. 'And quick.'

  Cook got the other patrol car on the radio. Salvatore grabbed the instrument. 'Where are you?' demanded Salvatore.

  'Going south on US One,' he said. 'We're at Hollywood Beach.'

  'Okay, turn around. Go across the bridge at Lauderdale. Suspects now on ocean side US A-One-A heading north or south. I don't know. They've fucked us at Pompano Bridge. Okay?'

  'Okay, we're going,' answered Stewart. 'Why not make it all cars, chief?'

  'Do what I say!' howled Salvatore. 'I'm doing this!'

  The Pompano Bridge before them was now descending, the

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  patrolman having persuaded the frightened bridge keeper that it was the right thing to do, and that he was personally safe. The policeman ran as he saw the patrol car moving around the waiting traffic and jumped into the rear just as it was accelerating towards the falling arm of the bridge. 'A woman,' he said breathlessly closing the door. 'She stuck a gun into the guy and told him to put the bridge up.'

  Salvatore cursed. Even as he did so Stewart, to the south, was crossing the Fort Lauderdale drawbridge towards the ocean. As he did so the policeman beside him called a warning and along the opposite lane, going in the other direction, roared the two fugitive cars. As Stewart braked and reached the summit of the bridge, it began to yawn open, horrifying the police crew. The car went nose-first down an ever-steepening hill. Bruce, a gun in the ribs of the bridge keeper; watched it coolly, then stepped back and ran into the shadows. Stewart's car came down the incline and slewed around in the road. Then Salvatore's car arrived. Now both cars were on the same side of the bridge.

  Salvatore stared unbelievingly at the other police car. 'It's the Keystone fucking cops!' he bawled. He began to use his radio, swore again, and leaned out of the window. 'Stewart, you jerk. Where are they?'

  'On the other side of the bridge,' answered Stewart. 'Shall I call all cars?'

  Salvatore blasphemed again. Jesus Malcolm Christ, why couldn't they get anything right? 'Stay there,' he shouted. 'Wait till the goddamn bridge is down then get over it. Go north on US One, okay?'

  He guessed right for once. He shouted at Cook loud enough to frighten that officer and Cook turned their own car north along Collins and towards the bridge at Boca Raton. They reached the bridge and mounting the middle reservation, skimmed by the traffic. Like Stewart on the previous drawbridge they had just reached the summit when the road began to lift under their wheels. Salvatore went crazy. He knew what was going to happen and it did. The fugitive cars came in the opposite direction and the police car, passing them, had no alternative but to run down the ever increasing angle

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  of the slope on to the wrong bank of the waterway. As they arrived on the other side so Stewart's car turned the corner at the end of the street. Stewart saw what had happened and grinned with mean satisfaction.

  'Serve the bastard right,' he said to himself.

  Salvatore ran to the bridge house himself. The Boca Raton bridge operator was ashen-faced, leaning on his little desk. He saw the policeman with enormous relief. 'A guy with a mask ... and a gun,' he mumbled. 'He had a real gun.' It was too late to look into the shadows now. Salvatore decided on one last throw. He ordered both cars south down the ocean side of the waterway. He sent Stewart over Pompano Bridge and his own car ran on to the cantilever at Fort Lauderdale. To his astonishment parked casually by the side of the bridge house was one of the runaway cars.

  Salvatore ran over, his still unloaded gun waving, and followed by his panting policemen. Sitting in the driving seat, reading the Miami News, was Zaharran. He turned and gave Salvatore a huge creased smile.

  Salvatore felt sick. 'Oh God,' he said, almost like a prayer. 'What the fuck is this guy doing here?'

  'This guy,' said Zaharran slowly, 'is reading the sports page of the paper, because this guy just might as well occupy himself doing that because this guy just had a month's work screwed up by some cops.'

  Leaning wearily against the hull of the car Salvatore said: 'You had them? You got them?'

  'Sure I had them,' said Zaharran just as wearily. 'Right here. I was among them. I was right in there. I was ready to spring the trap. I even had the loot, Salvatore, right here in this automobile. But suddenly we get ambushed by the cops and suddenly I try to stall the car and suddenly they think maybe I'm working for the cops and suddenly they put a big Russian gun in my ear. I'm lucky to be sitting here with my entire head.'

  'Okay, okay,' said Salvatore more eagerly. 'But you got them. You got descriptions?'

  'Sure. Every face was the same. Covered with a hood with two eye slits. That any good to you? I never saw them with-

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  out masks. After tonight I would have been all right with them. They would have trusted me. But you blew it, Captain Salvatore, you blew it.'

  'How the fuck could we know?' demanded Salvatore angrily. 'You didn't tell us nothing.'

  'Okay, you didn't blow it. It just got blown.' He folded the newspaper deliberately. 'There's a chance I might get the loot back,' he suggested. Salvatore's face brightened. 'And most of the dough from the bank,' added Zaharran.

  'You can? You can do that?' Stewart's car arrived on their side of the bridge but Salvatore waved him away impatiently.

  'Maybe, but I have to be left alone. Already I got some of the cash sent back to the bank. Ten thousand bucks in a package by post. Right?'

  'Right,' said Salvatore. 'That was you then?'

  'Who else? Santa Claus? But don't bug me. I got to do it my way. And only / know about my way.' He turned a slow old eye to Salvatore. 'For the reward.'

  'For the entire bank haul there's ten thousand bucks,' said Salvatore. 'You know that.'

  'What about tonight's? Will there be something for receiving that?'

  'Well not yet. Jesus Harold Christ, it only just happened an hour ago. But I guess there will be. I guess that can be arranged. You can really get the stuff back?'

  'I think so. But on my own. Okay Salvatore?'

  'Okay, if that's what you want.'

  'That's just what I want,' said Zaharran. 'I don't want any official screwing up of this. Maybe you'll let me know tomorrow about the reward for tonight's stuff. I'm already running at a deficit on this case.'

  Salvatore nodded. 'Maybe next time we'll get the bastards,' he said. 'I got a feeling we will. Where did they come from Zaharran?'r />
  'Philadelphia,' lied Zaharran easily. 'They came down from Philly.'

  'I might have guessed,' said Salvatore seriously.

  'And they won't be operating in the Miami area again,' continued Zaharran. 'They're splitting.'

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  "That's the best news so far. Where are they splitting to? Back to Philly?' 'Alaska,' sniffed Zaharran. 'Alaska, I heard.’ 'Wouldn't you just know,' said Salvatore.

  'Okay Mr Zaharran,' said Gabby. 'So you came to find us. Why didn't you find us?'

  Zaharran sat in Bruce's room facing the three young ones. Bruce farted and restarted the air conditioning which had been faltering. Zaharran looked at him appreciatively. 'A short-term discomfort for long-term benefits,' he said quizzically. He looked around at them. 'I don't know,' he said, going back to the question. 'I came to find you, but somehow I didn't. I guess I got kinda fond of the older folks. I'm an old folk myself, see. I sympathize because I have the same problems. I get lonely and bored and frustrated like hell. I guess you could say I'm an old folk first and a retired cop second. And I never did have ten thousand bucks in cash before. That was too much of a temptation for a poor man.'

  'You've sent that back too?' said Bruce.

  'Sure. I didn't get a choice. Not after I'd collected all the rest from you. The bank got its cash back. It's a real nice deal for them. And Miss Tottie di Milo's friends got all their trinkets back and a story to tell their friends. And nobody is going to be any the wiser about you. As far as the cops are concerned you've taken off. For Alaska. So I guess everybody's more or less happy.'

  'What about you?' asked Ossie. 'You pick up the rewards?'

  'Sure I do. I've been working, remember. This is my profession. I have to live don't I?' They agreed that he had to live. 'You'll be moving out I guess,' he said, eyeing them suggestively. 'Somewhere not too near. Like China.'

  'That direction,' nodded Ossie. 'We're just going, right now. We came to say goodbye.'

  Solemnly Zaharran shook hands with each of them and they went out leaving him sitting in the room. He released wind to try and start the air conditioning. It didn't work. He was getting old.