The Steel Hit p-2

by Richard Stark

  It was now nearly four o’clock, Friday morning. The diner was closed and there was practically no traffic on route 9. Handy kept the watch in his hand, looking at it by the dash light, and Parker gunned out of the lot. He had to go south first, make a U-turn, and then north again. There were only two traffic lights along that stretch of 9, and they slowed when they reached the first one, to be sure they caught it red.

  When it changed, Parker jumped to fifty and they flew past the second one. He had to slow to make the turn to 440, where there was a looping circle that went away to the right after 9 passed under 440. The turnoff came up a rise and stopped at 440, and you could make either a right or a left. There was a stop sign, and they would have to make a left.

  They stopped, though there was no traffic, and Handy counted slowly to ten, looking at the watch hi his hand. Then Parker made the left and they coasted at forty-five, the speed limit here, to the next light. They reached it just before it turned green, and had to come to a complete stop.

  “Fifteen next time,” Handy said.

  “Right.”

  Next, there came a circle, and then another light, which turned red when they were about fifty yards away.

  “This one’s going to be a bitch,” Handy said.

  “I’ll be going through the other one faster,” Parker said. “I’ll hit it little heavier coming around the circle. Thirty instead of twenty-five.”

  “It’ll be daytime. There’ll be traffic.”

  “It’s a bitch doing it this way,” Parker said.

  Ordinarily, they would have made this dry run on a Monday morning at eleven o’clock, but either Alma or Skimm would have seen them at it and wondered what they were doing.

  When the light changed, Parker drove on down to the bridge but didn’t bother to go across. There were no more lights from here to the turnoff. He circled around and went by the first light. When it changed to green, he pulled away back to the diner, once again making sure he was stopped and was making fifty by the time they passed the diner.

  “Seventeen seconds,” Handy said.

  “All right.”

  They went around again, waited for the light to turn red before coming back down. Parker tore into the gravel parking lot, squealing the brakes at the last second, and swung around in the position they’d be in during the job.

  “Thirteen,” Handy said. “Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.”

  Parker made the trip again, out of the diner, south to the U-turn, then north. They went through the first light and Handy looked back at it, counting. It changed ten seconds after they went by. They went through the middle of the second light, made the turn to 440, and Handy counted to ten again, because the timing was different now. They went through the first light just after it went green, and the second one just before it went red.

  “That’s all right, now,” Parker said.

  “If the lights work the same in the daytime.”

  “They might change them at rush hour. Not at eleven in the morning.”

  “Still–-“

  “I’ll try it once more tomorrow morning, just to be sure.”

  Parker drove Handy back to his place in Newark, then turned around and went back to his motel. He wrote a note asking to be called at ten o’clock, and dropped it through the mail slot in the office door. It seemed as if he was barely asleep when the woman who ran the motel was knocking at the door.

  He got up and showered and ate breakfast and drove to the diner. Skimm was stationed in the furniture store parking lot and he went over and talked to him for a few minutes, leaving the Ford parked beside the diner. Then he went back over to the Ford, backing out of the parking space so he was in the position he’d be in during the job.

  He paused to light a cigarette, watching the road. Traffic went by, headed south, and as the leader went by, Parker pulled out of the lot and fell in behind him. He went over the course again, and the lights worked the same in the daytime.

  Satisfied, he went to the farmhouse and let Stubbs out in the air for two hours. Stubbs was surly and nervous. He’d refused to talk for the last two days, and he still refused to talk. The tic in his left cheek that had started yesterday was worse.

  Chapter 7

  SATURDAY, Handy went shopping around in different stores and pieced together a dark blue guard’s uniform. That afternoon, to keep Skimm and Alma happy, they all got together and made a timed dry run of the getaway.

  Alma and Skimm jumped into the Dodge and went bumping off into the scrub back of the diner, and Parker and Handy pushed the Ford south on 9. They were to go south on 9, turn right on 516 to 18 and then left on Main Street and on to the farmhouse. Alma and Skimm were coming around the back way, down the Amboy Turnpike. That’s the way it was being done today, with everybody playing games and being serious about it, and Skimm the only one who thought it was for real.

  When Parker and Handy got to the dirt road turnoff to the farmhouse, the green Dodge was already there, parked on the shoulder of the road; Parker stopped behind it and kept his motor running. He didn’t like the two cars together like this, so close to the time of the job.

  Skimm came over from the Dodge and leaned in the window. “How’d it go?”

  “Sweet,” Handy said. “No problems.”

  “We ought to run through it again,” Skimm said.

  Parker shook his head. He was disgusted because he had to play a part when he should be concentrating on the job.

  “Alma doesn’t want to either,” Skimm said.

  “She’s right,” Handy answered.

  “We’ll go into the farmhouse,” Parker said.

  Skimm went back to the Dodge, and Parker turned the Ford across the road and went up the dirt track and around the tree and down to the farmhouse, He parked in back, and he and Handy got out and stretched. Then Parker went inside and took the automatic from the card table and unbarred the door. He kicked the door and stepped back. “Come on out.”

  Stubbs came out. He didn’t have anything in his hands, and he wasn’t watching for a chance to jump Parker. He’d stopped all that four or five days ago, around the same time he’d stopped shaving.

  Parker had brought him shaving gear the third day, and for a while Stubbs had shaved every day or so, but now he’d stopped. His beard was spiny, dark brown flecked with grey. His mouth looked dirty too, with spittle caked white on the lips, and he kept his eyes half-closed against the light.

  When Parker told him to go on outside in the air, he shuffled, keeping his arms at his sides. His movements were getting shorter and more economical every day.

  When Stubbs and Parker came out, Alma and Skimm were standing with Handy, talking. Stubbs stopped and looked at them, blinking some more. He’d been at the farmhouse twelve days now, and this was the first he’d seen more than one person at a time.

  Parker held the automatic loose at his side. “Wait around,” he said, “but don’t go near the cars.”

  Stubbs walked around, in a large ragged circle. His shuffling made the white sand kick up around his feet. His shoes and pantcuffs were covered with sand, and his white shirt was almost grey. He’d stopped wearing the chauffeur’s jacket and cap, and his squat head looked naked, as though his hair was getting thinner. He shuffled around in a circle, head bowed and eyes looking at the ground, while the other four stood by the farmhouse and talked.

  They went over the job, what each of them was supposed to do and how long it would take. Who was supposed to be where when. Parker went over it, and then each of the others went over his part of it, explaining it as though the other three didn’t know anything about it. There were questions, mostly from Alma and mostly useless because they weren’t about Alma’s part of it, but the questions were all answered.

  Stubbs interrupted after a while, shuffling over and telling Parker he had to go out around to the other side of the farmhouse because of the woman. Parker went with him, and while he waited he listened to the drone of the three voices from around back.r />
  Shortly afterwards, they finished and everybody seemed satisfied. Alma and Skimm got back into the Dodge, and drove around the farmhouse and back up towards the road. Handy and Parker stayed a while longer, so Stubbs could have more time out in the air. It looked to Parker as though Stubbs might be getting sick, since he wasn’t shaving or trying to fight back any more. He wanted Stubbs to stay healthy.

  Handy said to Stubbs, “It’s almost over, partner. By Monday night, you’ll be away from here.”

  “It’s always night,” said Stubbs. It was almost the first thing he’d said, and his voice was low and flat, as though he didn’t care if anybody heard him.

  Handy felt sorry for Stubbs. He’d been inside and he knew this must be even worse than inside, because of being alone and no light. “Listen, there’s a flashlight in the car. Why don’t we give you the flashlight?”

  “For what?” Parker said.

  Handy shrugged. “To break the monotony.”

  Parker looked at Stubbs. It wasn’t easy keeping a man on ice, not for anybody concerned. But Stubbs had bulled in, complicating things. Parker’s concern for him was really limited — keep him healthy, and keep him on ice, until after the job; then go with him to Nebraska and square things with the cook, May. Then it was over. He didn’t have any interest in Stubbs other than that, so he’d never thought about giving him a flashlight.

  Handy got the flashlight out of the glove compartment of the Ford and brought it over to Stubbs. Stubbs took it as though it was a piece of wood, and just let it dangle in his hand at the end of his arm. Then he went off and shuffled around in his circle again, holding on to the flashlight. Just before they put him back in he tried the flashlight and it worked. He looked at the circle of light on the ground and smiled. Then he went back inside and Parker barred the door.

  Chapter 8

  YOU DON’T do anything the day before a job. You just lie around and take it easy. Parker went to a movie in the afternoon and another in the evening, then had some beer in a bar. He wanted to take a six pack back to the motel, but in New Jersey you can’t buy a pack after ten o’clock at night.

  He was up at seven Monday morning and drove up to Irvington to Skimm’s place. Skimm had the Dodge. He gave Parker the Sauer and the .38, keeping the .32 for himself, and they took the two cars to Newark and picked up Handy. Handy rode with Parker, and Parker gave him the .38.

  They picked up the good truck, and Handy drove that. All three of them went back to the Shore Points Diner, where Alma was already at work. The parking lot on the side they wanted was empty. They put the Ford in the spot where the armoured car always parked, and the good truck to the right of it, on the side away from the road. Handy went into the diner, and Parker and Skimm went back up to Newark again in the Dodge.

  They got the other truck, the bad one, and Parker drove it down 9 to the other side of the Raritan River and then parked on the shoulder and took out a road map. He sat studying the road map. Skimm stopped a little farther south, at the bottom of a long curving grade, where he could see a long way back. He also spent some time studying a road map. It was five minutes to ten.

  They were all in position now. The good truck was where it would be during the job. The Ford was next to it, parked at an angle so it blocked where the armoured car would be and where the bad truck would be, so no other customers could take those places. Skimm and Parker were two miles north, waiting for the armoured car. Handy was in the diner, having a cup of coffee.

  At ten after ten, Alma told Benjy to mop up the right side. She put a chair across the aisle and a cardboard sign on it saying, “Section closed”. There was one couple in a booth on that side, but they left at quarter after ten, when the ammonia from Benjy’s mop got to them. Handy left right after them, and sat in the Ford, taking a while to get a cigarette lit.

  At twenty-five past ten, Skimm saw the armoured car top the rise way behind him. He started the Dodge, pulled out on to the highway and drove south at the speed limit, fifty miles an hour. When Handy saw him go by, he backed the Ford away from the diner and drove south after him. As soon as the armoured car passed Parker he put the road map away, fought the gearshift into second, and followed. Skimm, south of the diner, took the first U-turn and came back north again. Handy went on to the second U-turn and then came back.

  The armoured car pulled in to the diner and stopped in its normal place, next to the good truck. The driver got out and went to the back and let the guard out. They locked that door and went into the diner. As they were going through the door, Parker showed up in the bad truck and slid it into the slot to the left of the armoured car. He got down from the cab and went into the diner. He sat on the stool nearest the cash register, and ordered coffee.

  Skimm came north again, passing the diner to make sure the bad truck blotted out the view of the armoured car, and kept going north. At the junction with 35 he did the loop-the-loop and wound up going south again. He stopped just shy of the entrance to the diner parking lot, and got out his road map. He left the engine running.

  Handy came north, took the first crossover, went by Skimm in the Dodge, and drove around behind the diner. He already had the blue pants on, and now he changed to the blue shirt and put on a tie. He strapped on the belt and holster and slid the .38 in the holster. He put on the sunglasses, but held the garrison cap in his hand.

  Inside the diner, Parker saw the driver and the guard getting ready to leave. He was at the register already, so he paid before they did, and went outside. When they came out, they saw him kicking at the right front tyre of the cab, standing between the cab and the armoured car. Then he walked back and looked at the double rear tyres of the cab on the same side, and shook his head. When the driver and the guard were almost to him, he moved again, and studied the double tyres at the back of the trailer. He shook his head angrily and said, “I’ll be a son of a bitch.”

  He said it loud, and the driver and the guard looked at him and grinned.

  When they had disappeared from Skimm’s sight behind the bad truck, he had put the road map down and shifted the Dodge into first. He drove slowly into the parking lot and stopped, facing the woods behind the diner, his left front fender next to the rear of the good truck and his left rear fender next to the rear of the bad truck.

  When Handy heard Parker say, “I’ll be a son of a bitch,” he put his garrison cap on and walked around the side of the diner towards the good truck.

  The driver took out a key and turned it in the back door of the armoured car. Then he stepped back and the guard took out another key and finished the job of unlocking the door. He pulled the door open as Parker came walking forward, and when he started up into the back of the armoured car Parker clipped him with the butt of the Sauer.

  Just then Handy came around the back of the good truck, with the .38 in his right hand and a small pocket-knife in his left. He put the point of the gun in the driver’s back and pricked the side of his neck with the knife.

  “Hold very still,” he said, low and flat. The gun was the real threat, but the knife was psychological. Most people were more afraid of a knife than a gun.

  The driver shivered, and his eyes widened. Parker said to him, talking low, “Go on up and have the other guard open the door for you.”

  Handy moved his left hand down and pricked the knife gently into the driver’s hip. “One wrong move,” he said, “and I castrate you.”

  Skimm got out of the Dodge, bringing the rope and gags. He and Parker tied and gagged the unconscious guard, and carried him to the side of the good truck. Parker opened the door, and they tossed the guard inside. Then he went around to the other side of the armoured car to help Handy.

  The guard in the cab of the armoured car saw the driver, and caught a glimpse of another uniformed figure behind him. He opened the door on the driver’s side, and saw a flash of reflected light as the driver went down. Then Handy had the .38 on him. “Come on out!”

  The guard hesitated. He could see the driver ly
ing on his face on the gravel. He swallowed, and came carefully out of the armoured car.

  Parker sapped him as he stepped down. He and Skimm tied and gagged the driver and the second guard, while Handy started moving the sacks and boxes from the armoured car to the Dodge. Parker and Skimm tossed the trussed two into the good truck with the first guard, and then Parker locked the door while Skimm went to help Handy. When the door was locked, Parker helped finish the transfer from the armoured car to the Dodge.

  Inside the diner, Alma walked across Benjy’s wet floor while Benjy glared at her, and looked out the window. She saw they were finishing, so she went through the kitchen and out the back door, slipping a paring knife into her purse.

  Skimm got behind the wheel of the Dodge, and Parker and Handy walked back around to the Ford. The job had taken three minutes. Alma came out as Handy was changing his shirt, and said, “See you at the farmhouse.”

  “Right,” said Handy. Parker was behind the wheel of the Ford and didn’t say anything.

  The Dodge came around the corner of the building, its rear end low because of the weight in it now, and stopped. Skimm slid over, and Alma got behind the wheel. The Dodge shot off along the dirt road.

  Handy finished changing his shirt and came around to get into the Ford on the passenger’s side. He tossed the blue shirt and the belt and holster and the garrison cap on the floor behind the front seat. Parker started the Ford and they went around the diner and paused near the two trucks and the armoured car.

  Traffic went by, headed south, and then there was no traffic. When the traffic started again, Parker joined it and they went over the course with no trouble, catching all the lights. They went across the bridge and paid the fifty-cent toll at the Mission-style tool booth and went around the circle to 440. They felt easier now, because they were in a different state, but Parker still drove fast. There was a car far ahead of them, nothing behind them. One car went by in the other direction, towards the bridge.

  When they got to the spot they’d chosen for the trap, Parker turned left through the gap in the mall. He shifted into neutral, put on the emergency brake, and got out of the car. In the truck were sunglasses and a red baseball cap and a red flat and a large metal sign that said, “Detour”, in black letters on a yellow background.