That Old Gang Of Mine

by Leslie Thomas

  'Oh, roughly about five hundred dollars,' said Ossie.

  'Approximately that,' confirmed Bruce as though trying to share the blame.

  'Big time eh? You could have sold the guns for more than that.'

  'Right. Okay. But we'll need the guns again. And next time we'll be after bigger fry,' said Ossie.

  'What's it to be next time? Busting into a juke box?'

  'Listen,' said Ossie leaning forward and touching her arm with his can of beer, 'you just joined.'

  'Sure, he's right,' said Bruce. 'We were only waiting for you before going into the big-time.'

  'Just as well I got here,' she said, ignoring the sarcasm. 'Seems like it wasn't a minute too soon.'

  Ossie looked at her squarely with such concentration that she had to lift her head and return the look. 'One thing, baby,' he said slowly. 'One thing you're not going to do and that's take over.'

  She converted her calm stare into a shrugging laugh. 'Okay. Okay,' she agreed. 'I'm not going to spoil your party. You Tarzan, me Jane.'

  'What about me?' said Bruce.

  'There's only Boy left,' said Gabby.

  Gabby and Ossie both laughed at Bruce's lost face. Ossie tapped him on the head with his beer can. 'Don't take it too hard, son. It's our gang. She's just been co-opted.'

  'Our Gang is right,' commented Gabby. Before they could reply she had lapsed into her thoughts again.

  Bruce opened three more beers. The last three. 'What are

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  we supposed to be thinking about?' he asked the other two.

  'The next target,' said Ossie patiently. 'Where the ODDS strike next.'

  'What's the ODDS?' asked Gabby almost absently. 'What's it stand for?'

  'Ocean Drive Delinquent Society,' replied Bruce smugly. 'Don't you think that's a smart name?'

  'It is, it is,' agreed Gabby, forestalling any further argument. "The Lostra Nostra.'

  Ossie opened his mouth but she got there first again. 'There's a three million dollar house at Palm Beach,' she said thoughtfully. 'It's called something Spanish, Casa Velentia, that kind of place. I saw it in the Miami newspaper. They're having some sort of gala night there for charity. Why don't we just look into the possibilities. If we can get in during the extravaganza ...'

  'What's an extravaganza?' asked Bruce.

  'The night,' Ossie said. 'It means the charity night, see?'

  'Why didn't she just say?' sulked Bruce.

  'If we get in,' she went on, ignoring the exchange, 'while all the guests are there, we might find there's some pickings. Maybe from the people themselves - they're bound to be loaded at that sort of party. Or maybe we can hook on to a few treasures from the house itself. It will be a matter of finding out what the possibilities are.'

  'Casing the joint,' said Bruce smugly. 'Reconnoitring.'

  'Just so,' agreed Gabby easily.

  'When's the charity night?' asked Ossie grinning at them. 'How long do we have for planning?'

  'In a couple of weeks, I seem to remember,' said Gabby. 'I'll check with the newspaper. How does it sound?'

  'Sounds okay,' said Bruce like a military tactician. 'Worth taking a look I'd say.'

  'What's the charity?' asked Ossie. He leaned back for some more beer but realized it had all gone. 'How: many beers have you drunk?' he asked Gabby.

  'Jesus, I don't know,' she said. 'You hand me them, I drink them. The charity is the Senior Citizens' Goodwill Fund.'

  'What better?' said Ossie. 'We qualify right away.'

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  SIX

  The members of the Ocean Drive Delinquent Society gathered in Molly Mandy's room. It was their third meeting that week, and they arrived, their excitement and expectancy scarcely contained in their expressions. Carefully they moved the Russian flame thrower from the sideboard and all stood around while Ossie opened a drawn plan. Gabby and Bruce stood slightly behind him.

  'It would seem, ladies and gentlemen, that if we're lucky, this operation at Palm Beach is tailor-made for us.' He looked around like the chairman at a board meeting. 'We have given you time to familiarize yourselves with the surroundings of the house, Casa Velentia, and here we have an architect's drawing of the place, which Katy managed to extract from the municipality at Palm Beach without the municipality being aware of it. Good work Katy.'

  Katy blushed and, half standing, gave a little old-fashioned bow. Th-Th-Thank you,' she said. 'I just went in there and said I was an interior designer and I needed the plan, and they gave it to me. They were real nice.'

  Ossie and Bruce both smiled fondly at her, causing her blush to surface again. 'In this operation - which Gabby will explain in detail in a moment - we need three inside helpers and the rest will have their own responsibilities in carrying out the raid.'

  Molly Mandy shyly raised her hand. 'Ossie,' she said quietly. 'Could I please be one of the ones who wears a hood this time?'

  'Everybody will get a chance to wear a hood in time,' said Ossie.

  He paused, circled the faces. Molly smiled her motherly smile, Sidewalk adjusted the bright buckle on his spats, Katy crossed her legs, Ari's eyes looked a long way behind his nose and Lou worked the strength of one set of fingers against the others, bending them one way and another, like a man wrestling with himself. Katy glanced at his hands affectionately before going back to the strategy unfolded on the plan.

  'We've discussed this matter in great detail,' said Ossie. 'We

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  want it to go right and we want to make sure we come out with a profit. So if you'd give your attention to Gabby, she will run through the plan for the operation.'

  Gabby stepped forward and there was an endearing little round of applause for her, originating from her grandmother but being taken up generously all around. 'The girl's got brains,' confided Molly Mandy in a loud whisper to Sidewalk Joe. 'That's what this outfit needs ~ brains.' Bruce and Ossie looked at each other and winced.

  Gabby performed a short bow. Ossie observed her closely. So did Bruce. The tight shirt over the excellent breasts, the brown arms and brown arched neck, the face beautiful and sure.

  'Ladies and gentlemen,' she said, 'I want to tell you the general outline for our plan for the Robbery of Casa Velentia...'

  'Can I wear the hood this time?' put in her grandmother at once. 'Please?'

  'You just have got to wait, grandma,' said Gabby. 'Everybody will have an important part to play.'

  'I'd still like to wear the hood,' muttered Molly. 'After all, I made them.'

  'I made the gloves,' nodded Katy. 'Crochet-work - it's a lost art.'

  Gabby sighed and ignored them. 'There's going to be a lot of good things going for us in this operation,' she said. 'A lot. For a start, the charity gala is in aid of the Senior Citizens' Goodwill Fund of Palm Beach. The house belongs to Mr and Mrs Peter Van der Vatt and they plan to have a few tame old folks present to give it some atmosphere. Like exhibits. We have arranged that two of our members will be among the tame old folk. That will be pretty useful when it comes to creating a diversion.' She looked along the faces, each watching her pointedly. 'We'll require two people with strong acting ability for that part,' she said.

  'I was an actress, you know,' put in Katy with modest enthusiasm. She glanced around. 'Well, a chorus girl anyway.'

  'I still want to wear the hood,' muttered Molly doggedly.

  'Grandma,' threatened Gabby, 'button up or I'll put the hood on now.'

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  Molly looked chastened and fixed her upper lip deliberately across the lower as though charging it with the responsibility of silence. Her eyes remained firmly and fondly upon Gabby.

  Gabby continued. 'We've carried out a little research on Casa Velentia,' she said. She picked up the architect's plan. 'It's a real nice place. The main reception will be in the salon which opens out on to the garden, the swimming pool and the beach. The room we are most interested in is the room directly above this salon.' She brushed a slim fawn finger like a feather across the
map. Bruce and Ossie watched the beautiful finger intently. Gabby glanced up, saw their expressions and pursed her lips as if cautioning them to pay attention to the map.

  'In the room above the salon,' she said, returning to the drawing, 'there is a safe. There are a lot of goodies in the house itself but the real sweet things are in that safe.'

  'What kind of safe?' asked Sidewalk Joe. 'There's all kinds.'

  'Yeah, what kind? How strong?' confirmed Lou professionally.

  "That's where we've stalled,' admitted Gabby. 'We don't know as yet. All we do know is it's concealed. It's in the wall or maybe the floor.'

  'It's a long time since I busted a safe,' said Sidewalk. 'Safes have changed.'

  'On the other hand,' said Gabby, 'our information is that no new safe has been fitted in the house for at least fifteen years.'

  'If it needs strength, I've got strength,' said Lou. He looked at his fingers as though counting them. Kate glanced at him and then at his powerful hands with soft admiration. Lou caught her eye and blushed through his elderly tan. 'Sure I have,' he repeated.

  'Concealed safes,' said Sidewalk, 'are pretty much the same. They ain't got enough room to be too fancy. If we can't open it by hand we can always blow it open.'

  "That will be very noisy,' said Molly thoughtfully, 'blowing it open.'

  Sidewalk nodded patiently. 'It will be,' he conceded. 'Real noisy.'

  Bruce looked across at him. 'You can get some explosive?' he said.

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  'I guess so,' nodded Sidewalk. 'Me, I can always get explosive.'

  Ari the Greek looked at him with long-standing admiration. 'He always could get things,' he said half to himself. 'Sidewalk Joe. Always could.'

  'We'll fill in more details before Wednesday,' nodded Gabby. 'Just now I think maybe we ought to fix who is going to do what.'

  The gang leaned forward in anticipation. 'Katy and Ari ought to be our plants,' said Gabby decisively. 'We thought this out and - in the event of us needing a diversion - one of them has got to throw a good, realistic heart attack. Okay?'

  'That's Katy,' said Ari firmly. I don't like pretending those things. Not heart attacks. Like it's tempting Providence.'

  'Sure,' agreed Katy. 'I'd like to do that. Can't say I ever had much scope for tragedy. Not as a chorus girl.'

  'You don't,' agreed Lou sagely. 'Not in the chorus. Not as a general rule.'

  They waited for him to finish. He looked around, embarrassed, muttered, 'Well you don't,' and shut his mouth firmly.

  'Okay, that's agreed,' said Gabby. 'And we need a waiter. I have a thought for a waiter - Bruce.'

  'Me?' exclaimed Bruce, backing away. 'A waiter? But I drop things.'

  'Sure,' said Gabby sarcastically. 'That's going to be a great help. But we need you, Bruce, to keep things coordinated on the lower floor, in the salon and to help Katy and Ari get clear if we blow the job. It won't be difficult to get you in there as a waiter. Just try not to start dropping trays until it's time, that's all.'

  Bruce nodded. 'I'll practise,' he promised.

  'We need a look-out,' continued Gabby. 'Someone to keep watch for trouble outside, while we're working in the house. That will be you, grandma.'

  'But my hood. What about my hood?' insisted Molly plaintively. 'You promised.'

  'We need you as a look-out,' said Gabby firmly. 'Because you can whistle real loud. And we need a look-out who can whistle if there's trouble coming.'

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  Molly smiled. 'Sure can,' she said. She put her fingers into her mouth and let go an ear-wrenching whistle.

  They all fell away from her, consternation on their faces. 'Sounds like some crazy bird,' said Sidewalk staring at her.

  'I can whistle too,' put in K-K-K-Katy quietly. She put her fingers to her lips and after a hesitation not unlike her habitual stutter let go an even louder shriek. It was like Molly's, only longer. The gang held back, amazement, admiration and protest on their faces. Katy smiled sweetly. 'At one time,' she said confidingly to Gabby, 'all American girls could whistle.'

  'It's a lost art,' agreed Molly.

  'Let's not search for it,' suggested Gabby. 'Okay. Check. We've got the look-outs and we've got the plants, we've got the waiter. The others - there's Lou, Sidewalk, Ossie and me -we'll do the job on the safe.'

  'Maybe I could ask a question,' said Ari.

  'Sure, questions are welcome.'

  'Why do we have to rob the safe with so many people in the house? Maybe it would be easier just to get in there when there was only the family at home.'

  Sidewalk Joe looked at him impatiently. 'AH the best house robberies used to be done when the place was full of folks,' he said. 'Nobody notices a few more faces around and a little noise nobody notices. And a lot of folks is like a smokescreen when it comes to getting away too. Get it?'

  Ari looked abashed and said: 'Yes, I see, Sidewalk. I was only a no-good bootlegger. I was never in the big time. But I see the point. Believe me, I see the point.'

  'Anything else?' put in Ossie.

  Bruce said: 'One thing we ought to get right is the raid party. The guys who are going to get into the upstairs room will all be dressed like they're going to the gala.'

  'In fact they will be going to the gala,' added Gabby. 'Tuxedos, everything. We'll have some tickets specially stolen. They won't know. It's going to be easier getting into that room from inside than out. But we'll need to get away through the window, so somebody will have to be outside with a rope ladder to throw it to the window. That should be the look-out.' She

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  regarded her grandmother doubtfully. 'Could you throw a rope up to the window, grandma?'

  Molly looked scornful. 'Sure I can. I can throw a rope like I can whistle.' They backed away quickly in case she whistled again but she did not. She just smiled and said, 'I'll throw the rope.'

  Gabby nodded. Lou said: 'I got my own tuxedo. It's smart, real smart. I'd like to wear that'

  'Right, that's okay,' agreed Bruce. 'There's nothing like a well dressed gang. But everybody, the waiter, that's me, the tame old folks, Katy and Ari, the look-out and the safe gang will all have their hoods with them, okay? If it all hits the fan and you can get your hood on, then get it on smart. Then run like hell.'

  Charity begins in everybody's home in Palm Beach, Florida. There are few weeks in the season when there are no benefits or galas in aid of some worthy cause. These are invariably well patronized and always by the same people. Some are not especially generous in either heart or pocket, but it is socially required to attend such functions, to note who is missing and who is present, how much they give, and then to host a richer and more ostentatious charity ball or benefit at a later time.

  Mr and Mrs Peter Van der Vatt, an elegant, wealthy couple in their thirties, had planned for half a year, organizing the details of their gala night for the Senior Citizens' Goodwill Fund. Casa Velentia, their expensive and expansive home, was ideal for such an event. Its neo-colonial arches and verandas looked out serenely over inch-clipped lawns to a swimming pool like a bevelled turquoise and then down the gentle slope to the ocean, a limb of it captured in a stone boat dock where their several boats were tethered. At night amber lights and lanterns oozed from the house, there were diffuse illuminations among the flowered shrubs and burning brands along the ocean shore. All around the elegant Florida palms bowed in the night breeze as though approving every touch and detail.

  Two hundred guests were expected, at a hundred dollars a plate, and as they strolled about the grounds an hour before the scheduled start of the event, watching the musicians setting up

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  their music, checking that the chefs were abreast of time, and that the barbecue was glowing, that the glasses were shining, the Van der Vatts experienced only one regret. It was a pity, they agreed, that their own household servants were insufficient to fulfil the needs of so many guests.

  It had been necessary to import outside help and some of the temporary staff looked anythin
g but the correct thing in such surroundings. There was, Mrs Van der Vatt noted particularly, one young, tall, fair man - obviously uncomfortable in his waiter's suit, who had already knocked a salver of glassware sideways and now, even as they walked from their measured lawns towards the wide terrace doors of the house, was scraping a trembling pile of vanilla ice cream from the seat of a chair. He looked up as they approached and had the grace to blush.

  'It kinda slipped,' he said apologetically. 'Ice cream does.'

  Mrs Van der Vatt winced as he picked up a great gob in his hand and dropped it back into the dish. She rolled her eyes at her distinguished husband but said nothing. Taking his sympathetic arm she went with him into the house.

  The sight of the main room reassured them. It was a salon with fine proportions, copied from one of the most famous colonial houses in Virginia, dominated by an exquisite chandelier especially made for the Van der Vatts by Claudio Picci in Florence. Below this, sitting like a stalagmite under a stalactite, was an ornate cake of great girth. It was iced and curled and embossed. At its summit were two miniature old people, the man in a frock coat, the lady in an old-fashioned dress, each supported by a walking stick, the other hands coyly touching. Around the third layer of the cake was inscribed 'Palm Beach Senior Citizens' Goodwill Fund'. It was an impressive work of charity. It was intended to be.

  There were some tasteful paintings riveted to the walls and some good drawings tucked away into modest niches. A portrait of Mr Van der Vatt's father (for it was he, Cornelius Van der Vatt, who had bought Casa Velentia for them as a wedding present ten years before, sat regally above the carved fireplace.

  It was in this room, penned in a small minstrels' gallery, that the musicians would play, with an additional Cuban guitarist

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  strumming down by the shore for the enrichment of any romantic moments that the guests might enjoy there. He was also keeping an eye on the boats. At the last party some high spirits had taken one of the more sumptuous craft and rammed the dock wall with it, causing it to sink immediately. The Van der Vatts did not want that sort of expensive unpleasantness again.

  'Honey,' said Peter Van der Vatt, 'I want to tell you, I think it's just perfect. I don't see how it could be improved.'