“I think it would be best.”
“Fine. Our conference room’s in the back of the bank, next to the vault. We ought to be able to start in just a few minutes.”
“Good. That way the briefing will be out of the way and we can get to business at hand.”
“Yes,” Rigley agreed, “let’s get it out of the way.”
Nolan walked at Rigley’s side with Grossman close behind and Jon trailing after. His hand was still trembling around the briefcase handle, but not as badly.
Ronnie Schmidt was giving Jeanie Day a gentle reprimand for hoarding silver when Mr. Rigley came by with three men and said, “Our first visit from federal examiners, Ronnie. Bank meeting to begin in five minutes. Help me alert the ranks, will you?”
“Yes, Mr. Rigley, glad to.”
The president and the three examiners moved on toward the meeting room back by the vault, and Ronnie turned to Jeanie again and said, “Either turn in the silver coins or buy them, dear, you can’t keep ’em in your drawer forever.”
“Oh, Ronnie!”
“Come on now, and spread the word about the bank meeting. You heard Mr. Rigley.”
Ronnie walked over to Harold Hickman, silver-haired head teller, and said, “Bank meeting right away, Harry, tell your girls. I’ll, uh, go over and tell Simmons and the new girl myself.”
Hickman nodded, smiling smugly.
Senile smart-ass, Ronnie thought, heading for the window Elaine Simmons was sharing with the new blonde, Sandy Baird. He ran his eyes up and down the figures of both girls as he approached them. He whistled softly to himself: a lot of sweet ass, he thought, to squeeze into one little window. He’d been trying unsuccessfully for weeks and weeks to get in that stuck-up Simmons piece, but no luck; maybe he’d do better with the blonde Simmons was breaking in. Wouldn’t mind breaking that one in himself, preferably behind the door of one of the rooms out at Port City Court.
“Hiya, girls.”
Sandy said, “Oh, hello, Mr. Schmidt.”
“Ronnie, dear, all the girls around here call me that.”
Simmons looked around over her shoulder. “Among other things.”
The bitch didn’t like him, he knew she didn’t, but she still had a sweet ass. “No matter how friendly I am,” Ronnie said, “you just got to give me a rough old time. How come?”
“Cause you got a pregnant wife at home,” Simmons said, “and I have no desire to be the pregnant girlfriend at work.”
“That’s what I like about you, Simmons,” Ronnie said, starting to feel a little irritated, sweet ass or no, “you got a sense of humor as big as your, uh, heart.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you get yourself and your pretty apprentice here together and toddle your cute rears over into the meeting room, and on the double.”
Simmons arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Federal bank examiners. Briefing on the changeover.”
“Oh.”
The room was long and narrow, most of it taken up by a huge conference table with twenty chairs on either side of it. At the far end of the table the bank president stood, arms folded. On the right side of the room, near the front, the janitor was leaning against the wall, catching some sleep, and across from him on the opposite wall, the bank’s ancient guard stood at parade rest. Nolan figured the old guy was a retired cop: on his navy shirt were press creases, suspenders, and weathered badge.
Nolan went to the head of the table, with the door at his back, Rigley down at the opposite end. Grossman moved to the right, Jon to the left. Casually they spread out, Nolan staying where he was at the table, Grossman edging toward the side the janitor was sleeping on, Jon nearing the wall where the bank guard stood.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Nolan said, “the first thing we’re going to cover today is what to do in case of a bank robbery.” He opened his briefcase and as he did Grossman and Jon began to open theirs. “What you do in case of a robbery,” Nolan continued, “is nothing.”
He shut the briefcase and let them see his .38. On either side of him Grossman and Jon were doing the same.
“Freeze!” Grossman said.
Nolan stared out over forty-three open mouths (Shelly was turning in an excellent acting job) as Jon reached over and pulled the old guard’s service revolver out of his hip holster. Jon stuck the gun in his belt with a show of comic-book bravado that made Nolan smile inwardly.
Grossman said, “Everybody slide your hands onto the table. Nice and easy. Okay, lay those fat pinkies of yours on the table, now, that’s right, just like in Simon says, got it?”
Sighs and whispers and moans flooded over the room in one quick rush.
“Nobody make a sound,” Nolan said. “It’s okay you breathe, but nothing else.”
Silence.
“We got any heroes here today?” Nolan said. “No? If we got any potential Audie Murphy in the audience I want to know, so I can shoot him now and get it out of the way. No? Good.”
The bank president, Rigley, said, “Sir, as president of this bank . . .”
“You’ll set an example by shutting up,” Nolan said.
Rigley did.
“All we want,” Nolan said, “is your money. Or rather the bank’s money. Let us do our work and we’ll leave you alone. With one exception. We’re going to take some insurance out, to make sure you people act right. We’re taking one of you with us.”
Another rush of sighs, whispers, moans.
“Please,” Nolan said.
Silence.
“The hostage won’t be harmed,” he said, “unless we are bothered by police. If police or FBI give us any trouble, our first move’ll be to shoot the hostage.”
The whites of eighty-six eyes showed all the way round.
Nolan said, “Pick somebody out, Benton.”
Grossman looked at Shelly and said, “You.”
Shelly made a convincing face of horror. “No . . . no, you can’t . . .”
Grossman reached over and grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet. “Shut up.”
Shelly somehow managed to turn her face a stark white and got her lips going in a realistic spasmodic quiver.
“Get her out of here, Benton,” Nolan said, disgustedly.
Grossman dragged Shelly out of the room, she pulling away from him valiantly.
“My friend Newman is going to watch you people,” Nolan said, “while I go out and help Benton make a withdrawal.” Nolan snapped shut his briefcase. “Please don’t anybody give him any static. Newman here’s wanted on three counts of murder as it is now, and well, they can only hang you once.”
Nolan left the room to Jon and the forty-two bank employees, proud he’d gotten that last line out with a straight face. He felt almost lightheaded: after all the sweat over his three young partners, this job was going as smooth as any he’d ever been on.
Shelly and Grossman were stuffing cash from all the drawers into one of the laundry bags. He walked over to them and laid his briefcase open on one of the already emptied money trays. “Shelly,” he said, “be sure to put all the bait money in here. I want it kept separate.”
“Okay.”
“You showed Grossman where the alarm buttons are in the teller’s windows? Don’t want to go setting one off our- selves after taking so much trouble getting everybody else away from them.”
“I showed him, Nolan,” she said, and she and Grossman moved on to the next cage.
Nolan took the other laundry bag and walked into the vault, spent four minutes filling the bag three-quarters of the way. He slung it over his shoulder and joined Shelly and Grossman, who had their laundry bag over half full.
“To coin a phrase,” Shelly said, “we hit the jackpot.”
Nolan nodded. “Grossman, go out and pull the car around front. Go ahead and open the back up for the bags. Hustle.”
Grossman turned and left.
Nolan leaned the two sacks of cash against a partition. “Where’s the bait money?”
Shelly pointed to his
briefcase on a nearby counter. He went over and looked in at the twenty packets, two per window, five hundred each in tens and twenties. He snapped the case shut.
“Come on, hostage.”
She smiled as Nolan took her by the upper arm and hauled her into the meeting room.
“Okay,” Nolan said, “file out the door past Benton here and into the vault. Make it orderly.”
Rigley spoke up. “We’ll suffocate in there!”
“It’ll be crowded,” Nolan said, “but it’s got vents. You’ll be able to breathe.”
They moved carefully out of the room, around the corner, and into the vault. It was a tight squeeze, but there was just enough room for everybody to get in, sardine-style.
“We’ll release your fellow employee when we’re convinced we aren’t being pursued,” Nolan said.
A man in back, the one Rigley’d called Ronnie, yelled “Don’t you harm her!” and Nolan shut the vault door.
He pointed at the sacks. Jon laid the guard’s heavy revolver on a counter and picked up both sacks, carrying one under each arm, and headed for the door.
Nolan gripped Shelly at the elbow. “Remember not to smile,” he told her.
“I’ll try,” she said, smiling.
2
Nolan smoothed the lather over his dampened mustache and started shaving. He took extra care not to cut himself; his upper lip would look fresh-shaven enough without nicks further encouraging suspicion. A sense of detachment washed over him as he stared into the mirror at the razor eating his mustache away, and watched as one of two selves began taking the other’s place. The one with the mustache, whom he’d gotten rather used to, was making an exit, and the bare-faced bastard was putting in his first appearance in some time.
He scooped his hands down under the running tap, brought them up full of water, and splashed his face, then dipped them back for a refill, which he dumped in his hair to wash the white powder out. He toweled his head partially dry and shook some hair oil into his palms, rubbed it into his scalp. When his hair was combed and parted, its normally ungreased, dead-dry look had reversed.
Jon came into the bathroom, dressed casually now in a green banlon sweater and white jeans, his arms dangling nervously at his sides. “Hey, you really look different, Nolan. I wouldn’t recognize you if I didn’t know.”
“That’s the point.”
“Say, uh, how much longer before phase two?”
“Soon. How’s everybody coming?”
“Shelly’s got her clothes changed. Slacks and sweater, now. She looks real different, too, with that blonde hair.”
“And Grossman?”
“Yeah, he’s back in tee-shirt and jeans.”
“Fine.”
“Something funny, though, Nolan.”
“About what?”
“Shelly and Grossman.”
“Go on.”
“They aren’t talking much.”
“They’re edgy, that’s all.”
“I don’t know, Nolan. Grossman’s been acting funny today.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But he’s been so quiet . . .”
“He’s just been concentrating on the job.”
“I don’t know.”
“Quit worrying, kid.”
“Well, we aren’t exactly home free yet, Nolan.”
“That’s why you shouldn’t worry.”
“I think I’ll take some aspirin.”
“Do that.”
Jon’s face contorted into something—a smile of sorts, Nolan guessed—and the boy turned and left. Nolan ran a wet washcloth over his face. He looked in the mirror again and frowned at the redness over his mouth and rubbed on some aftershave talc, hoping to camouflage the area. That still didn’t satisfy him, but he didn’t want to bother with it any longer.
He went into the bedroom and pulled a sportshirt out of his bag.
Everything was going fine, Nolan figured, just so Jon didn’t spook. The boy’d been nervous on the job, but had done his part and hadn’t let it show too bad. Actually, the robbery itself had gone so well it almost worried Nolan, but not much. Jon had gotten this far; it’d be a damn shame if he spooked at this point. Grossman’s acting withdrawn? That didn’t bother Nolan; that was the way a pro who’s really into the job is supposed to act. So no sweat. Nothing left now but to go in the other room and say the goodbyes and go separate routes.
Jon stuck his head in the door and said, “Hey, Nolan, forget what I said about Gross and Shelly.”
“I already did.”
“Well, then, forget it again. They’re out there sitting at the table together, holding hands and everything, like a couple of kids.”
“I told you.”
“Grossman still isn’t saying much, but he’s looking at her real intense. So the old love fire’s still burning.”
“See.”
The boy smiled, this time a normal one, and disappeared.
Nolan grabbed his gray suit coat out of the closet and climbed into it. He went back over to the bed and started packing odds and ends into the travel bag.
Funny how Grossman panned out, he thought, after all the doubts. The kid had driven well on the job, he was cool behind the wheel, handled the car like a pro. Made it from the bank to the bridge in fifty seconds, and no attention-calling squeals of tire or sharp turns or anything. When they’d approached the bridge, it was he who reminded Shelly to leave on her wig until past the toll booth, as Nolan had told them they should be sure to be seen going over to Illinois, and she removed it once the “Welcome to” sign greeted them on the other side. Grossman cut the usual twenty minutes between bridge and farmhouse to fourteen; there wasn’t danger of highway patrol stopping them for speeding, not on any of those country roads. Exactly fifteen minutes after he’d pulled away from Port City Savings and Trust, Grossman had returned the station wagon to its place inside the barn by the farmhouse.
Nolan lifted the travel bag with one hand and reached down with the other for his briefcase, which he’d taken time in the barn to fill with an additional ninety thousand in non-bait money. He walked out into the living room where Jon, Grossman, and Shelly were sitting around the poker table.
Shelly smiled and said, “You look different, Nolan.”
“Good.”
Jon got up from the table and came around to face Nolan. “What happens now?”
“It’s about time we part company,” he said, looking over at Grossman and Shelly. “Any last questions?”
“Yes,” Shelly said. “You had us leave the bags of money in the station wagon. Are you and Jon going to take the wagon? I mean, won’t there be descriptions of it on the radio?”
“Jon and I’ll be taking his Chevy,” Nolan said.
“Why not leave the Chevy and take the Country Squire?” Jon asked. “Nobody got a good look at the wagon.”
“That’s true,” Nolan said, “but we can’t chance leaving your car behind. Somebody’ll be finding this place sooner or later, and they’ll link it to the robbery. Then your Chevy would be eventually tracked to you, Jon, even if we took time now to destroy the plates and rip off the registration. We’ll toss the bags of cash in the trunk. If we get stopped, you’ll just say you lost your trunk key. Don’t worry about it, they won’t bother us, we won’t fit what they’ll be looking for.”
Shelly said, “Any way to tell how much we got?”
Nolan shrugged. “What’s your guess?”
“Seven hundred thousand. Give or take.”
“Sounds right.”
Jon said, “That’s a big haul.”
Nolan smiled. “Maybe a record, in Iowa.” He turned to Grossman. “All set on your route to Canada?”
Grossman nodded.
Jon said, “Soon as you’re settled, get in touch and we’ll set a time for me to get the cash to you.”
Grossman nodded again.
Shelly said, “Shouldn’t we take some of it with us?”
Nolan said, “I alread
y talked that over with Grossman. You’ll be carrying around a thousand of it for expense money. That’s all you can get away with carrying without somebody getting suspicious if you get stopped. And you’ll be stopped once for sure, at the border.”
“I just hope nothing gets fouled up,” Shelly said, “and we’d never get our share.”
“Don’t worry,” Nolan said. “Okay, that’s about it . . . oh, Grossman, you’d better give me that .38 back.”
“Why?” Grossman said.
“Somebody finds it on you, you’ll get taken in for sure. It’s best we leave all the guns behind. Jon’s already given me his, it’s in a drawer back in the bedroom.”
“And leave them in the house for the cops to find?”
“It doesn’t matter, they’re untraceable. But I will rub them clean and throw them in the thicket back of the house before we go.”
“So where’s your gun?”
“It’s in my bag here.”
“We leave ours, you keep yours?”
“I’m in a little different situation than you are.”
“Sure,” Grossman said. “Well, let me give you mine, then.”
“Fine.”
Grossman moved around in the chair and reached down into his belt and came up with the .38. Nolan reached out to take the gun and Grossman batted Nolan’s arm away with his free hand.
Jon said, “Don’t screw around, man.”
Grossman pointed the .38 at Nolan’s chest.
Shelly smiled nervously and said, “Gross . . . ?”
Grossman said, “Couple things I want to talk over with you, old man.”
Nolan said, “Your game.”
“First let loose of that suitcase thing, just let it drop. And then hand me the briefcase.”
Nolan did.
“Let’s discuss a couple points,” Grossman said, his voice soft and a monotone. “You said once you never shot anybody outside of guys who crossed you. Is that right?”
Nolan nodded.
“I take that to mean,” Grossman said, “that you figure killing a guy that crossed you is justifiable.”
Jon said, “Gross, cut it out, will you, man?”
“Shut up, Jon,” Grossman said. “Nolan? How about it? Killing justifiable in such a case?”
Two for the Money Page 14