by David Barry
‘Hello, Frankie. ‘
The man turned to look at Bill, and seemed not to recognise him.
‘Who are you?’ he said. Any congeniality that had been put on for Jean’s benefit, had vanished.
‘This here’s my cousin Jean, Frankie. ‘ said Bill. Then turning to Jean, he told her, ‘This is Frankie Marshall. Frankie acquires women to work in one of his, shall we say, houses of ill repute. ‘
Jean’s mouth fell open. ‘He told me he was a theatre producer. ‘
Bill laughed humorlessly. ‘It’s his opening gambit. The only thing Frankie produces is women for clients. ‘
The pimp regarded Bill with loathing, and squinted as he tried to place him. ‘If I knew who you were, I’d tell you to mind your own business,’
Unruffled, Bill told him, ‘I worked for the Dutchman a few years back. I remember you provided girls for him. These were some of the classier types. Not your usual three dollar hookers. And don’t tell me to mind my own business, Frankie. Jean’s my cousin. And it is my business. ‘
Perhaps it was the mention of working for Dutch Schultz that did it, but the pimp shrugged hugely, and said, ‘Okay. No offence, pal. No offence. ‘
He patted Bill on the shoulder, as if they were the best of friends, then vanished into the throng that were milling about waiting for the next dance.
Jean stared at Bill for a long time before speaking, and he could tell there were dozens of thoughts flitting through her mind connected with the incident.
‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘for rescuing me. That man I take it was a pimp. ‘
Bill nodded. ‘One of the lowest of maggots in this big apple. ‘
‘And what about you, Bill?’
He raised his eyebrows quizzically, and waited for what he knew was coming.
‘How is it you seemed to know him so well? Did you sell him some life insurance?’
Bill grinned at her. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I tell you about it over dinner. ‘
Chapter Twelve
June, 1933
Jean lay with her head on Bill’s shoulder and gently kissed his skin, her fingers idly twirling the hairs on his chest. She could feel his deep contentment in the way he was breathing, which was like a gentle breeze, calm and cooling in what promised to be another scorching day.
‘Bill,’ she whispered, ‘that was terrific, honey. It gets better and better. ‘
‘It was wonderful. ‘ he acknowledged. ‘Out of this world. Although words seem feeble to describe the way I feel when I make love to you. ‘
She giggled playfully. ‘Some people have a way with words. Shakespeare, for instance. He said, “increase of appetite grew by what it fed on. ‘
‘What exactly did he mean by that?’
‘That was Hamlet describing the way his mother loved his father.‘
‘She must have loved him deeply. ‘
‘Actually, she betrayed him a month later. ‘
She felt Bill’s body stiffen as he stopped breathing evenly. She sat up and leant across him, staring deep into his eyes.
‘That’ll never happen to us,’ she said. ‘I promise you, Bill. I love you too much. You know I worry about you, every time you go out on the street. ‘
‘I know you do,’ he said.
And it was true. She liked to accompany him wherever he went. She knew if she was with him he was less likely to be apprehended, because they looked like any normal couple going out together, and he stood less chance of being spotted by a vigilant policeman.
She smiled wistfully and stroked the back of her hand across his cheek. ‘You don’t regret telling me. ‘
‘Of course not. I trust you, Jean. ‘
He had told her about his escape from Sing Sing before she moved in with him. He needed someone he could trust. He knew he was taking a risk, but as he had no intention of making life complicated for himself by being unfaithful to her, he had no reason to worry about her loyalty. And she had already guessed that he worked on the wrong side of the law, as he had aroused her suspicions when he’d rescued her from the pimp during their first meeting. But they trusted each other. And they had a great deal in common. She came from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Her father was a supervisor in a cigarette factory and, like Bill, she hadn’t got on particularly well with her parents. She had two younger brothers, and being male they were considered to be much more important in the pecking order. She did well in English and literature at high school, and she was expected to work in an office as a secretary, where she would no doubt meet some eligible young man, then settle down and have a family. But her love of literature and plays had given her a taste of something different, something important and life enhancing, and she became ambitious, and dreamed of fame and fortune in New York City. Her parents disapproved and she arrived in New York without their blessing. Not long after her escape from Harrisburg, she found herself working as a dime-a-dance hostess at Roseland, hoping like many other attractive girls to hit the big time. But after attending a few auditions over the next six months, fame and fortune seemed as elusive as they had been back in Harrisburg. Then, when she met Bill on that first dinner date, she discovered his love of books, and a shared love of Charles Dickens in particular.
Right away they hit it off, and Jean’s optimism returned.
Although he’d been honest in telling Jean about the bank robberies and his escape from Sing Sing, Bill still couldn’t bring himself to be entirely open with her. He neglected to tell her about his marriage to Louise and about his baby daughter. He didn’t feel particularly guilty about this, as it was more a sin of omission than a downright lie. Life was complicated enough as it was. And it wasn’t as if he was able to make contact with Louise. Their life together was over.
He glanced at the bedside clock. It was late in the morning and he had an important meeting at noon. Sensing his sudden restlessness, Jean said, ‘What time are you meeting this man?’
‘I’m meeting Eddie in an hour. So I’d better get a move on. ‘
‘I worry about you going out on your own. ‘
‘I’ll be fine. ‘
Bill pecked her on the cheek, climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. As he began to lather his cheeks and gazed at his reflection, he knew he’d have to be really unlucky to get caught by someone identifying him. Sure, the added precaution of going everywhere with Jean offered him extra protection, but he could hardly bring her in on his meetings with Eddie, that would have made her an accessory to their next bank job.
He’d been lucky bumping into Eddie Wilson after all these years. Eddie was one-hundred per cent trustworthy. It was with Eddie he’d done the job on the safe with oxy-acetylene back in 1924, the job that got them both sent down for a five stretch. On his release, Eddie dabbled in small-time crime, and hadn’t been caught for so much as a parking ticket since then. They were planning to hit a bank on the Lower East Side, but this time Bill wanted a third man, someone to pull up in a delivery vehicle of some sort outside the bank just before it opened, so that they could make a quick getaway, then switch vehicles in a quiet part of Brooklyn. Eddie told Bill he knew a driver who was reliable. His name was Joe Pelango. Again Bill had misgivings about working with an Italian. Loads of Manhattan cops were Irish, and if Joe Pelango was picked up, Bill could imagine them saying: ‘Okay, let’s work the guinea over. ‘ The Irish were brutal where Italians were concerned. But he needed a driver, and although he had Eddie’s word that Pelango was reliable, he felt he ought to check the Italian out for himself.
Looking every inch the successful businessman, Bill caught a cab to Wall Street. Although he was heading for the Staten Island Ferry, he was taking no chances. Just in case the cabby recognized him, he got out across the street from the New York Stock Exchange, paid the cab fare, then walked briskly down Broad Street, vanished w
ith the busy lunchtime crowds into Exchange Place, then walked briskly towards the ferry.
It was a blazing hot day and he was perspiring profusely by the time he reached the ferry. As soon as he boarded the boat, he leant over the rail at the stern, and watched the seagulls gliding and swooping over the Statue of Liberty. As the ferry chugged across the water, the sea breeze was refreshingly cool, and he began to feel relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, even though the meeting was to assess their getaway driver and make final preparations for a bank robbery that would have all the papers screaming that it was another Willie the Actor job, for he planned on using the same method, this time wearing a police uniform.
Eddie Wilson’s apartment on the island was on the top floor of a four-storey red brick building. It had been a considerable walk from the Ferry Terminal, so that by the time Bill reached Eddie’s front door, he had to lean over to catch his breath and recover before ringing the doorbell. But before he could ring the bell, he heard some female voices, and the door swung open. The girl who was just leaving the apartment started when she saw Bill.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just recovering from the walk and the four flights. I’ve come to see Eddie. ‘
She was a stunning looking redhead - probably no more than twenty, Bill guessed. Her fingernails were bright red talons that matched her lipstick. She wore expensive jewelry and flashed Bill a perfect set of teeth.
‘You must be Bill,’ she said. ‘Eddie’s told me all about you. I’m Lydia Romano, Eddie’s girlfriend. ‘
Before Bill could reply, another young woman appeared in the doorway. She also had red hair, but it was a less-startling auburn color, and she was more of a natural beauty.
‘And this is my sister Nina,’ said the first girl.
Bill nodded. ‘Pleased to meet you both. ‘
‘Bill! Good to see you. Come in,’ boomed Eddie’s voice suddenly. He stood framed in the doorway, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Although he was in his thirties, he still had a boyish eagerness about him. He was very clean shaven, and had sandy hair, with a longish fringe which fell over one eye, and he had an annoying habit of intermittently brushing it to one side.
‘See you later girls,’ he called after the sisters. ‘Don’t spend too much money. ‘
His girlfriend waved a goodbye without turning round. He clapped Bill on the shoulder and brought him inside the apartment and into the living room.
‘Let me introduce you to Joe Pelango,’ said Wilson. ‘Joe, this is Bill Sutton. ‘
The Italian was slouched in an easy chair and he acknowledged Bill with a laid-back military salute.
Bill nodded. ‘Good to meet you, Joe. ‘
He tried to take Pelango in at a glance. Dark and Mediterranean looking, olive skinned with high cheekbones and warm brown eyes, and at least five or six years younger than Bill; but his demeanor suggested the studied nonchalance of a tough guy. Bill was immediately on his guard. .
‘Yeah, and you,’ Pelango said, after the two men had sized each other up. ‘I been hearing from Eddie what a great plan you got for doin’ this bank in the Financial District. ‘
Bill had expected a trace of an Italian accent. But there was none. It was nasal Bronx.
‘We need a driver,’ said Bill, ‘who can manage to be outside the bank at the appointed time, but not before. ‘
Pelango shrugged. ‘That’s no problem. I used to be a cabby. ‘
‘And get us away from the bank with a minimum of fuss. In other words, positive driving but no daredevil stunts. ‘
Pelango grinned as if he was enjoying a private joke. ‘Unless the cops get onto us,’ he said.
Eddie laughed, and brushed the hair away from his eyes. ‘Joe’s your man,’ he told Bill. ‘He worked a whiskey run across the Canadian border and he ain’t ever been caught. ‘
Bill stared at Pelango. ‘That must be a good living. And if you’re good at it, and have never been caught, why something as risky as armed bank robbery?’
‘Because they reckon Roosevelt’s gonna change the law. No more prohibition; no more smuggling. ‘
‘Talking of which,’ said Wilson. ‘Anyone fancy a beer?’
Wilson fetched cold beers from the kitchen, and all three drank thirstily. Bill talked over the finer details of their plan, going over it many times. By doing so, he was actually testing the young Italian, to see if he became impatient with the repetition. But Pelango seemed quite easy-going and was able to recount the plan in detail, even the hold-up inside the bank which wasn’t relevant to himself. But, as Bill realized, Pelango knew he was being vetted and was trying to make a good impression.
As soon as it appeared that Bill had finished discussing the robbery, Pelango glanced at his watch.
‘If we’re all through here,’ he said, ‘I said I’d visit my mother. It’s her birthday today, and we’re having a family celebration later. ‘
‘Sure. Go ahead,’ said Bill.
As he left, Pelango gave him another affected salute. Once he’d gone, Bill sighed deeply and shook his head.
‘What’s wrong?’ Wilson said.
‘It’s just his manner. Something about him. He acts like a movie hood. ‘
Wilson laughed. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Regular little James Cagney. At least he’s good to his mother. ‘
There was a long silence, both men thinking about the enormity of the undertaking, and whether they were doing the right thing by using Pelango. Eventually, Wilson broke it.
‘Look, he’s a good, bright guy. He’s just a kid, and they like to put on an a bit of an act. ‘
‘What worries me,’ said Bill, ‘is whether he can separate that act from reality when it comes to crunch time. ‘
‘Believe me, he comes with a great pedigree,’ Wilson said, stabbing a finger in the air for emphasis. ‘I promise you, Bill, he’s reliable. We’ve done a few jobs together - nothing major, admittedly - but he’s good. I wouldn’t hesitate in giving him a platinum reference.’
Bill thought about it, then decided he’d give the kid the benefit of the doubt. After all, not once had he referred to Bill as Willie the Actor, which would have impressed most young men trying to act like a hoodlum.
‘Okay,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll use him. ‘
Because Roosevelt had just signed the National Recovery Act, the fastest bill ever to get through congress, the robbery hadn’t made the front page of the New York Times. Bill found it at the top of the second page, folded the paper, and handed it across the table to Jean. He watched carefully as she read. He had suggested she go out and buy the paper while he fixed breakfast, because he knew she would find out about the robbery sooner or later.
WILLIE THE ACTOR STRIKES AGAIN
Yesterday an armed robbery took place at the Union Bank of America in the Financial District of Manhattan and thieves got away with an estimated sum of more than $80,000. The robbery bore all the hallmarks of William Sutton, still at large following his escape from Sing Sing prison last November. Two men, disguised as uniformed policemen, bluffed their way into the bank an hour before opening time and held staff up at gunpoint as they arrived for work. Eyewitnesses saw the two men escaping in a blue delivery van, which was later found abandoned in a side street near Prospect Park in Brooklyn.
Jean placed the paper on the table by her coffee cup. Bill’s police photograph stared up at her from the paper, daring her to believe she was calmly sitting at breakfast with New York’s most wanted man. Her breakfast of ham and eggs remained untouched.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘ so now you know. ‘
She avoided looking at him, as if she was afraid he might harm her, although she knew he wouldn’t. A tinny sound came from the radio, the volume turned very low, but it was still too much of a distraction in the atmosphere. She
got up and switched it off. Although she had known almost from the start of their relationship how Bill made his money, it still came as something of a shock when forced to realize that she shared her bed with a man who might be sleeping in a police cell the very next day. At first the prospect of living with a bank robber had excited her. She had seen it as a great adventure. But now that she had grown to love him, she knew she faced the very real danger of losing him.
When she returned to the table, she looked him straight in the eye. He gave her a reassuring smile.
‘I wondered,’ she began slowly, ‘why you shaved off your moustache two days ago. ‘
‘I wanted to be a clean shaven cop. I’ll re-grow it now. ‘
He saw that her hands were clenched tightly and she seemed to be struggling to control her emotions. ‘How d’you feel?’ he asked gently.
‘Nervous. ‘
‘I guess that’s only to be expected. ‘