Odds Against Tomorrow
Page 5
When the car stopped at the tenth floor, Ingram patted him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t flout the law, man! Integrate!”
In the empty corridor Ingram started briskly for Novak’s room, but after a half-dozen strides he slowed down in an effort to get his nerves in shape; his air of alert confidence was evaporating, burning away in the corrosive fear that ran through his body. He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and dabbed at the blisters of sweat that had broken out on his forehead. Just relax, he thought, rather desperately; laugh and talk, play it by ear. See how much he knows…
Straightening his shoulders he replaced the handkerchief in his pocket and adjusted the points carefully against his good blue suit. As he approached Novak’s door he fashioned a discreet and self-effacing smile for his lips; this was armor of a sort, a conciliating politeness that usually protected him against slights or condescensions. The pose was also a weapon; he could exaggerate it if necessary, broadening the smile and accentuating the obsequious head-bobbings, until his manner became a derisive burlesque of terrified humility. This upset white people, for some reason; it usually prodded them into foolish and pretentious reactions, making them unwitting partners to his sardonic charade. There was some satisfaction in that; not much, but some.
With his hat in hand, he rapped softly on Novak’s door. When he heard footsteps inside the room the fear began to go through him in cold little shocks. Easy, easy, he thought, fixing the smile on his lips.
Novak’s greeting told him nothing at all. They shook hands, and Novak led him inside and introduced him to a big, red-faced man named Burke, who looked as if he might have been a heavyweight fighter who had gone soft on drink. Burke said, “Nice to know you, Johnny,” and put out a big, meaty hand.
Ingram felt some of his tension easing; things seemed to be all right, nice and casual. “Sit down, and make yourself comfortable,” Novak said, lighting a cigar. He wore a white silk sports shirt and the heavy black hair on his chest showed like a smudge under the transparent material. “How’re things going?”
“Just fine, Mr. Novak.” Ingram sat on the edge of a chair, smiling carefully. Burke picked up his hat and said, “Well, I’m going down for the papers. See you around, Johnny.”
Ingram stood quickly. “I hope so, Mr. Burke.”
“So do I,” Burke said, with a little grin at Novak.
When the door closed behind him, Novak sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back a bit, locking his hands around one of his knees, and working the cigar over to the corner of his mouth. He stared at Ingram for a few seconds in his silence, with no expression at all on his dark, broad face.
“Well, you know why I’m here,” Ingram said, making a helpless little movement of his hands. “Might as well get down to business, eh, Mr. Novak?”
“You want money. Six thousand dollars’ worth of it. That’s a lot, Johnny.”
“But you know I’m good for it. I’ll give you any kind of interest you want, Mr. Novak.” Ingram took the handkerchief from his pocket and patted his damp chin and forehead. “You know I’m good for it. I can’t go to regular loan outfits, that’s the trouble. They don’t consider a gambler as being steadily employed.”
“But I’m not in the loan business, Johnny.”
“Yes, sir, I know that.” Ingram smiled quickly. “But we’ve known each other a good spell, and you know I’m good for it. You name the terms, anything you say will be fine. Twenty per cent, thirty, I don’t care.” His voice was becoming shrill, he realized; rising like a frightened girl’s. With an effort he got himself under control. “Well, how about it, Mr. Novak? Can you help me out?”
“What do you need the money for?”
“A pile of debts and bills two big Indians couldn’t shake hands over,” Ingram said. The lie came out easily, accompanied by the embarrassed little chuckle; the foolish, improvident darky, that was the best approach to use, he had decided. “I never could keep taxes and checkbooks and things like that straight. And after my mother died, I had a lot of bad debts. Folks are hounding me a little, and I’d like to get ’em off my back. You know I’m good for it, Mr. Novak. And I got a lot of things you could take as part security. A camera, a good hi-fi set, and—”
Novak shook his head. “I don’t want that stuff, Johnny. I’m no pawnbroker.”
“Will you take my note then? Will you, Mr. Novak?”
“That depends. First of all, let’s start leveling with each other, okay?” Novak stood and began to make himself a drink at the dresser, and Ingram twisted on the chair to watch him with wide, frightened eyes. “What do you mean, Mr. Novak?” he said, in a soft, husky voice. “I’m telling you the truth, I swear it.”
“Save it, save it,” Novak said irritably. He sat down again and stared at Ingram in a heavy silence. “You’re in trouble,” he said at last. “So let’s cut out the crap.”
“I swear to God—”
“You’re in trouble with Tenzell,” Novak said, his voice falling coldly across Ingram’s feeble protest. “You gave an undated IOU to Billy Turk for six thousand dollars. And he sold it to Tenzell at a twenty-five per-cent discount. Now Tenzell wants the money, doesn’t he? Now—tonight.”
Ingram wet his lips. “Who told you, Mr. Novak? Is it all over town?”
“Never mind who told me. It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s true,” Ingram said, shaking his head wearily. “I shouldn’t have tried to con you. I’m in bad trouble, Mr. Novak. If I don’t get that dough, I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.”
Novak smiled faintly. “I can tell you, Johnny. You’ll get the hell beat out of you by some of Tenzell’s boys. Not just once or twice, either. That’s the best that can happen, I guess you know. If Tenzell gets really mad, you’re through. Kaput.”
Now that the charade was over, Ingram felt a bone-deep lassitude settling over him. “Can you help me out, Mr. Novak? I’ll pay you back. You know that.”
Novak stood and walked slowly over to the windows, holding the cigar in his teeth, and rolling the glass between his big hands. “Maybe,” he said. “But it’s a lot of cash.”
“I know—I’ll give you any kind of a deal you want.”
Novak frowned out the window at the bright sunlight that was glinting on the sides of the city’s buildings and falling in long patterns into the streets. In the blue sky a four-engined plane gleamed like a tiny silver cross. “This is going to be operation backscratch,” he said, turning and looking at Ingram. “Understand? I’ll lend you the dough. But I need some help from you. That sound all right?”
“Why, sure,” Ingram said, smiling anxiously. “I’m grateful to you, Mr. Novak. I’ll do anything if you just pull me out of this hole. You know that.”
“Okay,” Novak said, returning to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m planning a job, Johnny. A bank job. And I need a colored guy to make it work. A colored guy is the shoehorn that gets us into the bank. That’s you, Johnny. A nice shiny shoehorn.”
Ingram was trying to smile, but it was a shaky effort; he felt empty and weightless, his insides consumed by fear. “You’re kidding, Mr. Novak. You’re kidding me.”
Novak’s eyes were cold. “I don’t kid around, Johnny. Neither does Tenzell. Think it over.”
“But I’ve never done anything like that, Mr. Novak. I—I don’t have the guts for it.”
“Guts you don’t need. I’ve got other guys for that end of the job. It’s your skin I’m buying, nothing else.”
“Mr. Novak, you’re making a mistake.” Ingram shook his head desperately. “I’m a card player, just a plain ordinary citizen. You don’t want me on a job like this.”
“Is that your answer?”
“Wait, please wait! I’m scared—I’m scared, Mr. Novak.”
“Of Tenzell? Of me?”
“Let me just think a minute. Please, Mr. Novak.”
“Sure, take your time. It’s a big, solid job, if you’re interested in details. And you’ll get a q
uarter of the take. Think it over. It’s better than winding up in an alley looking like somebody stuck your head in a mix-master.”
Ingram smiled nervously and lighted a cigarette, sucking the smoke deeply into his lungs. “Yeah, sure,” he said. If his mother were alive it would be different, he thought despairingly; not easier, but different. For a long while taking care of her was all that mattered. He had made all his decisions with her in mind; keeping her comfortable, playing cards with her, seeing that there was plenty of food in the house and all the bills paid—those were his first considerations. He wanted her to be comfortable and quiet in her last years, free to entertain her old friends, to go to church and live the kind of respectable life she enjoyed so much. The Tenzell business would be different if she were alive. He wouldn’t let that hurt her, even if it meant stealing the money. If she were living now, he’d grab Novak’s offer without a second thought. One thought would be enough—her comfort and peace. But now there was just himself, and it was easier to be afraid. But why should he be? What am I scared of? The questions scurried like rats through his mind. He could get away from Tenzell, blow out of town. But they’d catch him some day. It wouldn’t be a bullet, that’s what made him sick with terror. They’d come into his room on a dark night or catch him in an alley, and there was no telling what they’d do to him—enjoying it, laughing at him. He had a terror of being beaten; it was an old fear; it had been with him all his life.
The door opened and Burke came in carrying the morning papers under his arm. He looked questioningly at Novak, and Novak said, “Well, how about it, Johnny? Time’s a-wasting. You want me to take Tenzell off your back?”
Ingram tried to smile but the effort only stretched the skin tightly over his sharp cheekbones. “I’m your shoehorn, Mr. Novak.”
“What’s that?” Burke said, laughing; his face was flushed and his eyes bright with a stupid good humor. “What’s the shoehorn bit, Johnny?”
Novak glanced irritably at him. “It means Johnny’s in. That’s the deal, four of us. Now we get down to work.”
“Well, let’s have a drink and celebrate,” Burke said. “What’s yours, Johnny?”
“Make ’em light,” Novak said. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Sure, sure,” Burke said in a big, genial voice. As he turned toward the dresser the phone rang, and Novak lifted the receiver and said, “Yeah? Oh, sure. Come on up, Tex. We’re ready to roll.”
“Tex?” Ingram raised his eyebrows and smiled faintly. “Sounds like I’m moving in high society.”
“He’s okay,” Novak said. “Don’t worry.”
CHAPTER FIVE
EARL’S MOOD was one of relaxed and uncomplicated contentment as he stepped into the elevator; the pressure within him seemed to have been dissipated by his decision to accept Novak’s offer. Now he was sustained by a solid and unfamiliar sense of importance; he knew he was on the inside of something big and that put a lift in his stride. You made your breaks, he thought, as the elevator began to rise.
He wasn’t worried about failure, because he didn’t have the imagination to picture disaster in vivid and personal terms; it was this lack that made him a good soldier. The whole thing might go wrong, of course; there was always that chance. That much he understood; but he couldn’t conjure up the colors and textures and details of failure—sirens, for instance, or the smash of bullets into his body or the potential horror of waiting to die in a gas chamber or electric chair.
He didn’t think of these things. Unconsciously he had shifted the responsibility for what he was about to do onto Novak’s shoulders. Novak was running things. It was a little like the Army, he thought comfortably; you did what you were told, even if the orders were stupid and dangerous. That didn’t matter; if things went wrong it wasn’t your fault.
Last night after leaving Lorraine he had called Novak. Then he had strolled through the quiet streets for several hours, his anger at Lorraine fading away as he savored the peace that had come with his decision.
Lorraine was all right, he was thinking, as he went down the corridor to Novak’s room. A good kid; nervous and clinging, but what woman wasn’t if she liked a guy? When this was over he’d take her away and they’d settle down somewhere and enjoy life. He had told her that this morning; she had needed cheering up and he had done everything he could do to get her into a better mood. Everything, he thought, grinning a little.
Novak opened the door and said, “Come on in. You know Burke. This is Johnny Ingram. Johnny, Earl Slater.”
Earl stepped into the room, giving Burke a smile, but when he turned and put out his hand to the other man a little shock of confusion and hostility went through him; the man was colored; a sharply dressed colored man with a drink and a cigarette in his hand. Ear] let his arm fall slowly to his side. “What’s this?” he said, feeling puzzled; was it some kind of a joke, he wondered.
But Novak wasn’t treating it as a joke; he sat on the edge of the bed and said casually, “Johnny’s in this deal, Tex. He’s the guy who makes my plan work. You understand?” He glanced up then, and his voice sharpened as he saw the confusion and anger in Earl’s face. “You understand?”
“Yeah, sure,” Earl said slowly, watching the Negro with bright, blank eyes.
“Okay, take a seat. We’re ready to get down to business.”
“Drink, Tex?” Burke said, nodding at the bottle on the dresser.
“Yeah, give me a little something,” Earl said. “I got a kind of funny taste in my mouth.”
Burke poured whisky over ice and handed the glass to Earl. Then he freshened his own drink and sat down on the window sill. Ingram crossed his legs carefully, his glass resting on his knee and an expression of sly amusement on his small foxy features. He chuckled amiably and said, “I’ll bet you got a dark brown taste in your mouth, Mr. Slater. That’s the worst kind, that’s the truth.”
Earl realized he was being baited, but Ingram’s conciliating smile threaded his anger with a frustrating confusion. He felt hot and prickly all over, as he tried to sort out his feelings. “Yeah,” he said at last, “yeah, that’s right. You’re pretty smart, I guess.” But the words struck him as foolish and pointless.
“Well, thank you,” Ingram said, bobbing his head.
“Sit down, Earl,” Novak said. “Might as well be comfortable.”
There was only one seat left in the room, an overstuffed armchair beside Ingram. Earl looked at it for an instant, then smiled faintly and said, “I guess I’ll stand.”
He leaned against the door, and pushed his hat back on his head.
“Okay,” Novak said quietly. “The bank we’re taking is in a sleepy little town in southeastern Pennsylvania. It’s called Crossroads. Maybe you’ve never heard of it. But after this job, you’ll know it like the palm of your hand.”
As he described the features of the town, and the roads and highways leading into it, Earl drew on his cigarette and watched the Negro from the corner of his eye. The sense of relaxed well-being he had enjoyed was gone; now his chest was tight with pressure and a relentless little pain was throbbing in the middle of his forehead. Why had they brought a colored guy into it, he thought, with a heavy anger.
“About the split,” Novak said, “I’m laying out dough for this job. I’ll take that out first. Afterwards we split what’s left four ways—right down to the penny.”
“Maybe you’d better explain to them about the expenses,” Burke said.
“I was coming to that.” Novak took a sheet of paper from his back pocket, and studied it for a moment or so. “It’s all itemized; you guys can go over it if you want to. First, there’s two cars. One’s a station wagon you’ll use on the job. It’s nothing to look at but the engine is souped-up and she’ll go like a bat. The other car is an ordinary black sedan we’ll use for the getaway.”
“We switch cars after the job,” Burke said. “That throws off anybody tailing us.” He sipped his drink and grinned. “The whole deal is smooth as oil.”
“Sure,” Earl said. “Afterward even-steven. Everybody equal.”
“That’s right,” Novak said, nodding slowly. “Let me tell you something; most jobs go wrong after the hard work is done. Brink’s is an example. That Merchants Bank job in Detroit last summer is another. Beautiful jobs, planned by experts. Everything smooth as silk.” Novak stared around the room. “But all these experts are in jail today. You know why? Because they shaded somebody on the payoff. That’s where the trouble starts. You got a sorehead who can always blow a whistle on you. He took the same risks as everybody else, but he didn’t get the same kind of payoff. When he’s broke and has a few drinks, it all boils over and he talks. That’s how the experts get their big smart tails kicked into jail. But it won’t happen to us. Everybody in this deal is up the same frigging creek if something goes wrong—so everybody is going to get the same share of the loot.” Novak stood and put his empty glass on the dresser. “I’ve spent time and dough looking for this particular bank, and I don’t want any trouble—now or later. In the next three weeks I’m going to make robots out of you. Every step you take is on a split-second timetable. I’ve done the thinking; all you guys have to do is follow orders. Now here’s how it starts…”
Ingram lighted another cigarette as Novak began to explain the details of the job, outlining each man’s particular role and responsibility. Ingram was preserving his look of poised interest with a physical effort; it took all his control just to sit quietly and listen to Novak’s hard, efficient voice. The Texan’s cold, contemptuous smile made it impossible for him to concentrate on what Novak was saying; the words simply broke into meaningless fragments in his mind.