We made the turn and started looking. Just Donohue and I. The two hulks in the back seat were still out, Hymie Gore snoring gently, an occasional soft moan coming from Dick.
We passed up at least a half-dozen hotels and motels, including a Holiday Inn and a Howard Johnson’s Motor Lodge. Then Jack found what he was looking for. It was called Flo-Mar’s, from which I deduced the owners were Florence and Martin. Or maybe it just meant the toilets worked but the bowls were stained.
An old-fashioned place: a one-story, U-shaped chain of contiguous units. The big advantage for us was that you checked in at the office, then drove around the U and parked right outside your room. Three steps and you were inside. No parking lot, no lobby, no bellhops.
Donohue said, “Leave the motor running,” and went into the lighted office that had a big VAC-NCY sign flashing on the roof. He was out in five minutes and climbed in beside me.
“Perfect,” he said. “Two adjoining doubles with empty rooms on both sides. Numbers 8 and 9. I signed us all in.”
“Our real names?” I asked.
“You kidding?” he said. “I paid in advance. No questions asked.”
“How do we divide up?” I said, trying to keep it casual.
“I figured you and Hymie Gore could share Number 8,” he said, just as casually. “Don’t worry about a thing, babe. He’ll be a perfect gentleman. I guarantee it.”
“But he snores!” I cried.
“Naw,” Donohue said. “Just breathes heavily, that’s all. You’re so worn out, you won’t hear a thing.”
It didn’t make me feel any better to know the son of a bitch was right.
“And you and Dick share Number 9?” I said.
“Just for tonight. We’ll switch around. Listen, this isn’t fun-and-games time. All we want is a good night’s sleep.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Here,” he said, fishing in his pocket. “Something I picked out of the take. In case the neighbors get curious tomorrow. I think you better wear it from now on.”
It was a gold wedding band, braided, very delicate and very lovely. He took my left hand, slipped it on the third finger. It fit loosely but well enough.
“Does this mean we’re married?” I asked him.
I saw his brilliant grin.
“I like you, babe. You’re all right. Now let’s wake up the clunks, get out of sight and into bed.”
“Two beds in each room, I hope.”
“What else?”
We took the suitcases and guns in with us. There wasn’t a single lighted room in the motel except ours. And we were all in bed, our lights out, doors locked and chained, within ten minutes. I was asleep in eleven.
Jack was right: Hymie Gore was a perfect gentleman, even if his undershorts had small rosebuds printed on them. And if he had any plans to rape a sleeping woman, that was his problem.
I wish I could tell you that I had nightmares of a knife in my ribs, people shooting guns at me, dying men murmuring, “Bullshit.” But the truth is, I had a deep, dreamless, wonderful sleep, and awoke a few minutes after 11:00 A.M. on Saturday morning, knowing exactly where I was and what had happened.
Hymie Gore was gone, and when I peeked outside I saw the car was gone, too. It never occurred to me that I had been deserted. I assumed they had left for some good reason, and didn’t worry about it. I don’t know why I had such faith in Jack Donohue, but I did. Maybe that’s why he was such a successful bunko artist.
I took a hot shower and realized I didn’t have a toothbrush or toothpaste. That I worried about. I was just finishing dressing when there was a knock on the outside door.
“Who?” I called.
“Dick.”
I let him in. We looked at each other.
“How did you sleep?” he asked.
“Rocksville,” I said. “You?”
“Babe in arms,” he said. “I thought I’d have nightmares, but I didn’t.”
“Same here. Where’d they go—you know?”
“Jack said he wanted to scout around with Hymie. I offered to go along, but he said to stay close. Guard the jewels and guns. We could make a run for it now, Jannie—if you want to.”
“Do you?”
“No. Do you?”
“No. We’ve crossed the Rubicon. What are they scouting around for—did Jack say?”
“Not exactly. To buy some stuff, he said. He made out a list.”
“I hope a toothbrush was on it.”
It was. Donohue and Gore returned around noon with two new suitcases filled with purchases: toothbrushes, toothpaste, aspirin, razors, shaving cream, cologne, powder, two bottles (scotch and vodka), cigarettes, candy bars, boxes of crackers, instant coffee, a quart thermos jug, etc., etc.
“Like a picnic,” I said. “You pick up any newspapers?”
“Yeah,” Hymie Gore said. “Show them, Jack.”
They had bought the Enquirer. We were on the front page “$1M N.Y. Gem Heist.” The brief story said that New York police were investigating “several leads.”
“One million?” I said. “Who they kidding?”
“The cops,” Donohue said. “You didn’t expect Brandenberg and Sons to admit they were holding two mil in stolen ice, did you? Y’know, I got to laugh every time I think of it. Crooks ripping off crooks. What a switch! Well, let’s get some breakfast. We found a McDonald’s right down the road.”
It was our first hot meal in I couldn’t remember how many hours, and we all had two helpings of everything. Except Hymie Gore: he had three. We sat in a corner booth. I noticed that Jack Donohue positioned us so he could watch the door. Maybe he thought crooks robbing crooks was funny, but he wasn’t playing it for laughs.
We were finishing our coffee when he asked us how much cash we were carrying. I had a little over a hundred. Dick had about forty, Hymie had sixty-five. Jack said he was holding almost two grand, proceeds from the jewelry he had sold and pawned in New York before we left.
“Not enough,” he said. “We got to spend the day collecting. Here’s how we’ll handle it …”
He spelled it out for us, going over it slowly, in detail. We would head into downtown Philadelphia, all of us in the Ford. Then, at some rendezvous point—say a parking lot in a shopping center—we’d separate and go different ways on foot or in cabs.
Dick Fleming would take men’s watches, the beautiful, engraved antique pocket watches and hunters in the Brandenberg loot. He’d select as many as he could comfortably carry—maybe a half-dozen or more—and peddle them in jewelry stores that bought secondhand gold. He would sell one watch in each store he hit. His scam was that the watch belonged to his father, was a family heirloom, and he was selling it regretfully, only because he needed some ready cash.
“Think you can handle it?” Donohue asked, looking at him closely.
“Sure,” Dick said.
“Sure you can,” Donohue said. “I know you can. Don’t volunteer any information unless they ask. Then tell them what I just told you—nothing more.”
“Use my right name?” Fleming asked.
“Only if they ask for it, which they probably won’t.”
“How much should I ask?”
“Five hundred,” Donohue said promptly. “They’ll laugh and say there’s no demand for watches like that. Bullshit. Those watches are works of art; nuts collect them. Come down to two hundred if you have to. If they offer anything less, start to walk out. They won’t let you go; take my word for it. The gold in those watches is worth more than that. Jannie, you hit the same type of store. You’ll be hawking wedding rings. Solitaires and bands. If they ask, you just got a divorce and don’t want anything your sonofabitch husband gave you. If possible, ask them to make the first offer, then you demand fifty percent more. Haggle. Get as much as you can. Clear?”
“Sure,” I said. “I can fiddle it, Jack. Can I sell two rings in one store—say a plain band and a diamond?”
“Why not?” he said. “Lots of women have more than one wedd
ing ring. You’re a smart twist; I’ll leave it up to you.”
“Don’t call me a twist,” I said. “What will you and Hymie be doing?”
“I saw some men’s rings in that heap: pinkie rings and heavy gold cufflinks set with diamonds and rubies. Hymie will try his luck in taverns. Bartenders are suckers for a hot buy. Me, I’m going to take some of the bracelets, pins, brooches, cocktail rings—flashy stuff like that.”
“Who’s going to buy?” I asked him curiously.
“Whores,” he said, grinning. “And their pimps. They can’t resist the dazzle. And there used to be some good cathouses in Philly. If they’re still there, I’ll clean up. Now we’ll go back to the motel and load up with merchandise. Then we’ll get moving. I want to be on the road as soon as possible.”
He was a been-around man, no doubt of that. He knew Philadelphia as, I presumed, he knew every big city in the country. We parked the Ford in the lot of a shopping center and agreed to meet there again at 5:00 P.M. If anyone was more than thirty minutes late—goodbye, Charlie; it would be assumed he had been nabbed and the Ford would take off.
Donohue told Dick and me the best downtown streets to canvass. He saw us into a cab, my purse jammed with rings and Dick’s pockets sagging with watches. He waved as we drove away.
“Fun,” Dick said.
I looked at him.
He was laughing and excited; that was obvious. He was eager, anxious to test his bravery and wit. He had always been—well, I guess effete is the best word to describe him. But the events of the past twenty-four hours had remade him. He seemed more positive, more thrusting. He leaned forward, a half-smile on his lips, eyes bright and blinking.
I almost asked him about last night, about him and Jack Donohue in Room 9, if anything … But how can you ask a question like that?
In all honesty, Dick wasn’t the only one enjoying this test of his criminal talents. I admit to a kind of don’t-give-a-damn mood. Perhaps because of what had happened, what I had done or participated in. But it was more than that. It was a wild freedom, an absolute kicking over of the traces. Maybe every criminal feels that way; I don’t know. All I can do is describe it as an exhilarating madness. With all shackles of habit, logic, and morality thrown off and discarded, you want to see how far you can go. You want to fly, just go with it, push it to its limits: lie and cheat and steal and, if need be, kill.
It’s civilization turned inside out. No becomes yes, and black is white. Anything goes.
It went, for me, like a hilarious dream. The first jewelry store I hit was a mom-and-pop shop that had a sign in the window: “We Buy and Sell Gold, Diamonds, Silver.” I took off the wedding band Jack Donohue had told me to wear, slipped it into my purse, put on the Mt. Everest of solitaires set in what I guessed to be platinum, but could have been white gold.
“Yes, lady?” the proprietor said, coming forward, smiling. “Can I help you?”
“I want to sell this,” I said, sticking out my left hand.
He held my fingers, peered down at the ring.
“Let me take a look,” he said, neatly slipping the ring away. It came off easily. “Too big,” he said.
“I’ve lost weight.”
“It happens.”
“It should happen to you,” his wife mumbled, hovering nearby.
“Sha,” he said, going behind the counter. He adjusted a lamp, screwed a loupe into his eye, bent over the ring.
“Why should you want to sell this?” he asked casually, inspecting the diamond.
“I just got a divorce. I don’t want to own anything that reminds me of that monster.”
“He beat you?” the wife asked, horrified.
“You wouldn’t believe,” I told her.
“Jake, you hear?” the wife said.
“I hear,” he said, turning the ring this way and that. “That also happens. Count your blessings.”
“Some blessings,” the wife said scornfully.
“Well?” Jake asked, looking up at me. “How much were you thinking of asking for this little stone?”
“Five thousand,” I answered bravely.
“Five thousand? Lady!”
“That’s what my husband—my ex-husband told me he paid for it.”
“He said. Believe me, lady, if he paid more than one, they saw him coming. I could give you maybe five hundred.”
“Five hundred? No way. Give me my ring back.”
“Sha. Sha, sha—Don’t get angry. Let’s talk like civilized people. The ring is worth maybe a thousand in today’s market. Retail. All right, fifteen hundred tops. But can I buy it for that? Of course I can’t. My rent: seven-fifty a month. Insurance. Utilities. My clerk, he should drop dead already, a cousin yet who refuses to come in on weekends, another thousand a month. So I give you retail price, and what do I get? Bubkes, I get. All right, you’re a nice lady. For you, seven-fifty.”
I caught on; it was a game. He was enjoying it. To tell you the truth, I was too. I knew he wanted the ring. I had made the sale, the only question that remained was, how much?
We went at it hot and heavy, Mom chiming in now and men when the argument flagged. He pointed out a small scratch on the setting. I pointed out the exquisite cut of the stone. He came up slowly; I came down just as slowly.
Finally we struck a bargain: one thousand, six hundred and fifty.
We smiled at each other, both satisfied.
“In cash,” I said.
His smile faded.
“Cash? Look around you, lady. Does this look like a store I get that much money maybe in a drawer? Under the rug? My check is good. Believe me; good as gold.”
“I’m sure it is. But the banks are closed today. I’m leaving for Miami tonight. I need the cash.”
“Jake, did you hear?” the wife chimed in. “Miami. The children. That’s where we should be—Miami.”
“Cash,” he said dolefully. “I’m sorry, lady. That kind of cash I don’t have.”
“How much do you have?” I asked. A mistake.
“I could maybe scrape together one thousand five,” he said. “Possibly.”
So I walked out of there with one-five. Both of them escorted me to the door and wished me the best of luck in my new life in Miami. I knew when I was beaten.
Still, my first sale had netted fifteen hundred dollars. And my first thought was of how proud of me Jack Donohue would be. My second thought was that I wasn’t the only thief involved in that transaction. Admittedly I was selling stolen goods. But, in a way, they had stolen, too. Maybe they guessed it was a hot rock. But in any event they had taken advantage of my ignorance and had paid a pittance for a ring I was certain was worth much more.
My other sales weren’t that easy, and none yielded as much. In two stores I was turned away rudely when I couldn’t produce proof of purchase. A few others offered “take it or leave it” terms, and I accepted. Two others offered checks and refused to pay cash.
The last place I entered was interesting. The proprietor, a youngish, baldish man with bad breath and a black patch over one eye, immediately paid in cash the price I asked for a Victorian gold wedding band engraved with vines and leaves.
“Happy to do business with you, miss,” he said with a ghastly smile. “If you have any, ah, comparable merchandise to offer, I’ll be happy to take a look at it. Top prices.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I may take you up on that.”
“Then I can expect you to come back?” he asked hopefully.
“We’ll see,” I told him smiling sweetly.
Are we all thieves?
By that time my feet were aching. I had unloaded seven rings and was carrying almost five thousand dollars in my shoulder bag. It was then getting on to 4:30 P.M., and I figured it was time to start back. I walked two more blocks, caught a cab, and arrived at the shopping center parking lot well before the deadline.
Dick Fleming was leaning against the Ford with a watermelon grin.
“How’d you make out?” he asked me.
“Almost five grand.”
The grin faded a little.
“My God,” he said. “I did two and thought that was great.”
“My stuff was worth more,” I comforted him. “Easier to peddle.”
We were exchanging stories of our experiences when Jack Donohue and Hymie Gore pulled up in the same cab. They paid off the driver and walked over to us. I could tell things had gone well by the way Black Jack walked: a jaunty, bouncing stride, his arms swinging.
“Have a nice day?” he asked, flashing his dazzling smile.
“About seven grand between us,” I told him.
“Lovely,” he said. “Beautiful. Much better than I had hoped. A couple of ripe ones, you two are. What nobblers! Hyme and I did all right, too. Unloaded almost everything and were invited to hurry back with more. But we won’t be greedy. Not in this town.”
“How much?” I asked him.
“I figure we’re carrying close to twenty. What a sweet payday this has been! Well, tomorrow’s Sunday, and on the seventh day we rest. Let’s go back, stash the green, and get cleaned up. We’ll find us a nice, classy, expensive restaurant, have a steak and drinks, and relax for a few hours before we hit the road. How does that sound?”
We all agreed that sounded just right.
But the stores and boutiques of the shopping center were still open, and I asked Donohue to give me thirty minutes, no more, for a quick and necessary shopping trip. He agreed to thirty minutes, no more.
So about an hour later I hurried back to the Ford, burdened down with boxes, bags, packages. I had made a whirlwind tour and picked up things I needed: cosmetics, tampons, sweaters, skirts, two simple shirtwaist dresses, a fleece-lined jacket, a velour bikini (for Miami), and even a nylon wig in a strawberry shade a little less frightful than the one Donohue had bought for me.
I thought he’d be furious at my tardiness, but Hymie Gore had had the foresight to bring along the bottle of scotch, and it was obvious the three men hadn’t been bored during my absence. They were in a festive, almost roistering mood, and we headed back to the motel with the firm conviction that God was where He should be, and all was right with the world—or at least our small part of it.
Caper Page 20
