That Old Gang Of Mine

by Leslie Thomas

  Bruce put the gun into his shirt. He was glad he had not misjudged the older man's nerve. 'We've got some associates,' he said carefully. 'Just a few. Already we've tried out some things and they worked, well almost. They would have worked even better if we'd had someone with experience and luck. We figure you could be that someone. The pickings are good George, real good.'

  I didn't like iI in South Carolina State,' said George, shaking his large head. 'In fact, I really disliked it a great deal. I

  167

  don't reckon Florida State Penitentiary's any goddamn better. It's worse from what I understand.'

  Ossie leaned forward and tipped over the chair. He ended on his knees by the bed. 'You don't have to pray,' observed Zaharran. 'Those measures are unnecessary.'

  Embarrassed, Ossie got up and balanced himself on the chair again. 'If we get caught you could just say you're of unsound mind, you're mad. At your age it sounds plausible.'

  The eyebrows, thick as twin moustaches, went up. 'Thanks a million,' Zaharran said. 'So I end up in the state asylum. That's a great consolation.' He paused, then thought he had gone far enough. 'Okay,' he said. 'What's in it?'

  Boyish joy lit Brace's face. He leaned forward eagerly. 'You mean you'll consider it? Oh, that's terrific.'

  Zaharran sighed. 'Well, to tell you guys the truth, I was lying here, like when you knocked on the door of this salon, wondering what to do with the rest of my life. Maybe, I thought, I could go pearl-diving, or get out to Africa and catch lions and tigers and crap like that, or walk the tightrope in a circus. The possibilities were just endless. On the other hand, I thought there was quite a good chance I might just lie here and rot. And then they'd take me out and stuff me into a hole in the unholy ground and that would be that for good old George. So what you have proposed seems reasonable enough to me.'

  'Great,' put in Ossie. 'Just great.' The chair overturned and he tumbled forward as he held out his hand. 'Everything will be great from now on, I know it will,' he said.

  'Why from now on?' said Zaharran sagely. 'So far not so good?'

  'Not so good,' Ossie admitted for Bruce. 'We've done three operations to date and we're showing a loss.'

  'Oh, that ain't good,' agreed Zaharran. 'That ain't good at all. If there's anything that should pay, it's crime. What's the next thing you got in mind? Can you tell me?'

  'Sure, but later,' said Ossie. 'We'd like the others to be there.'

  'They're good,' Bruce assured him. 'They've had lousy luck, but believe me they're real good.'

  168

  "They sure sound like it,' said Zaharran scratching bis belly.

  Zaharran's fist, the size of a plucked chicken, indicated the plan pinned on Molly's wall right next to her photograph of her Melford and the Elks. 'The US National Trust Bank,' he said in his heavy voice, 'is located on Broward, right here on this corner of the block. At the rear of the bank is a narrow street and pretty much opposite the rear door of the bank is another door that gives into Meggison's Funeral Parlour.'

  'That's where I'm going,' nodded Molly conversationally at Katy.

  'Soon, if you don't button up,' said Ossie, but so nobody heard.

  'Meggison's you'll know because it has a kinda slogan over the back door giving the name and the words: "Trust Us With Your Loved Ones".'

  'That's why I'm going,' whispered Molly to Katy. 'I think that's so nice, don't you?'

  Ossie kept his teeth firmly together and Gabby looked at him as though she hated him before cautioning her grandmother to be quiet. Molly pouted a little, but dropped obediently into silence.

  Zaharran continued. 'Now I know, and I'm not telling anybody how I know, that every Tuesday morning at nine o'clock there's a consignment of cash, all used notes, that comes in from small banks in the country areas. Our aim is to ... er, obtain .. yes, obtain this money and transport it out of the area by means of one of Meggison's funeral hearses. We figure a slow but safe getaway.'

  He watched the faces suddenly brightening around him. He was like a new general propounding strategy to a previously defeated and deflated army. Ari the Greek and Lou the Bar-bender looked at him with dawning admiration, Sidewalk Joe creased his eyes and nodded affirmatively over his his cigar. Katy touched Molly's arm and whispered: 'You'll get to ride with Meggison's sooner than you thought.' Molly smiled appreciatively. Gabby and Ossie watched the reactions and

  169

  Bruce grinned all around with proprietorial smugness.

  'Our colleague Ari the Greek, although I could not at the time enlighten him as to why, has contacted his young friend who is a hearse driver for Meggison's and has learned that next Tuesday morning a loaded hearse, if you'll pardon the expression, will be waiting in the Meggison garage to take a deceased body to the cemetery. That funeral is timed for eleven o'clock. We have to make sure we drive it out of there in plenty of time. There won't be anybody at Meggison's except a clerk who arrives about eight-thirty - and, of course, the deceased in the coffin which will be already loaded into the hearse. It will be necessary to make sure the clerk is immobilized, of course, so that we have time to get away with the funeral. But nothing violent. We only want one body.

  'Our entry into the bank will be as follows ...'

  On Monday evening Molly Mandy, suitably attired in faded coveralls and mop cap, arrived at the side door of the bank just behind the group of half-a-dozen cleaning women who regularly entered the bank at that time. 'Nearly late,' she confided to the security guard who let her in without a murmur. She went briskly to the third floor of the building and locked herself in an executive bathroom. She was equipped with sandwiches and a flask of coffee and she slept fitfully on the carpet. No one disturbed her and at seven o'clock the next morning she went casually down the stairs and put a gun in the back of the security guard on duty at the back of the building. At her suggestion he opened a rear door and into the bank came Bruce, Ossie, Gabby, Sidewalk and George. Katy with her resounding whistle was placed at a strategic point on the block as a look-out. Ari the Greek and Lou the Barbender, wearing boiler suits and carrying window-cleaners' buckets, were entering Meggison's Funeral parlour.

  They found the hearse as expected, standing ready to leave, with the coffin already aboard. A second funeral car stood behind it. A man came towards them from an office in the corner of the garage and Ari produced his Russian pistol. The employee gaped. 'The bank's across the street,' he said hurriedly. 'You guys have got the wrong block.' They tied and

  170

  gagged him neatly and put him back in his office. Then they took off their boiler suits and brushed down the decent black mourning clothes they wore underneath.

  Bruce and Ossie entered the bank carrying the components of the Russian rocket launcher which had for so long been an adornment of Molly's sideboard. Wearing their hoods they went swiftly but quietly to the panelled office of the manager, Mr Walter J. Smithly, where they set up the weapon on the desk, its unpleasant mouth facing the door.

  When the staff of the bank arrived at eight-thirty each one was admitted by the security guard and then accompanied to the safe-deposit room by the masked Gabby and Sidewalk, each holding a gun. Nobody argued.

  At eight forty-five Mr Smithly himself arrived for the day's business and, upon entering his office, found himself confronted by a Soviet Dov Anti-Personnel Missile Launcher Mark III.

  The weapon was intended to look much more threatening than a mere hand gun and it had the desired effect on Mr Smithly who was only a year from retirement. I have to tell you that if you do not obey our orders, this weapon can take your head off,' said Ossie quietly from below the mask. 'You understand that?'

  'I really don't want that to happen,' Mr Smithly told them mildly. 'I'm playing golf this afternoon.'

  Zaharran blinked in admiration below the mask. He wondered if they made bank managers like this anymore. Ossie motioned the man to sit down in a corner chair and Bruce turned the rocket firer a fraction to cover him. 'That's been outmoded these
five years,' said the bank manager, nodding with interest at the weapon. 'It's amazing how this old hardware gets around.'

  'It still shoots,' said Ossie briefly.

  'Right. I bet it does. Be quite difficult to patch a guy up after a hit with one of those,' agreed Mr Smithly. He was a tanned, fit-looking man and he had not gone pale. He began to practise short-pitch golf shots in the chair, closing his knees together and making economical sweeping movements with his hands.

  171

  'I guess it's the ten o'clock Wells Fargo you're after,' he said. 'Sometimes they're late. They stop for coffee at the second bank. But they shouldn't be too long.'

  Ossie said: 'You're pretty cool about this, mister.'

  'Oh, I am,' said Mr Smithly. 'And why not? There's no way I'm going to have my head taken off by that thing. I'm due to retire to Boca Raton next year. I'm looking forward to uninterrupted golf. There's some real nice golf at Boca.'

  'You don't say?'

  'I do. And in any case, I'll certainly get some glory from this. It's not every bank manager gets robbed at the end of a rocket launcher. Pictures in the newspapers. My grandchildren will be tickled pink. And to think I thought this was going to be just another day at the bank.'

  Mr Smithly chatted on amiably while they waited. He even produced some photographs of his grandchildren, which the masked Molly moved forward to view until Sidewalk ushered her back. He told them there was a coffee machine outside and gave Gabby a handful of quarters for the coffee. 'That's a nice hand for a bank robber,' he observed as she took the coins. Ossie bit his lip between his teeth beneath his hood.

  But then, for once, things began to go right. The security van turned up promptly at ten and the cases of used bank notes were brought in through the side entrance. Gabby went to the safe deposit room and returned with Mr Smithly's bespectacled secretary. She sat staring into the bad end of the rocket launcher while her boss went into the outer office and calmly signed for the consignment of notes. One hundred thousand dollars.

  'Looks like a real nice day, Mr Smithly,' said one of the visiting guards as the cases were checked.

  'It usually is in these parts,' replied Mr Smithly easily. 'It seems you can't get used to Miami after Cleveland, John.'

  'You're right, sir,' said John jovially. 'I wake every day expecting it to be snowing. But it never is." He took the papers. 'Thanks Mr Smithly,' he said blithely. Smithly had written: 'We are being held at rocket point by robbers.' on the consignment sheet but the breezy John didn't notice He put the papers in his pocket and went out into the shining street.

  172

  'Have a nice day,' he called over his shoulder.

  Ossie looked down at the assembled boxes of money. His heart was rising. 'Mr Smithly,' he said, keeping his voice as level as the bank manager's had been, 'I want to tell you it's been a great pleasure. You're a nice man, and brave too. If I ever need some financial advice I'll come to you.'

  'The US National Trust Bank is here to serve,' recited Mr Smithly with the trace of a smile. 'I'd like to shoot the lot of you, but since it's you who has the hardware there's no way I can do that. And I'm not risking any lives in this bank for the sake of a few thousand dollars. There's plenty of dollars around.'

  'Very sound, very sensible,' put in Bruce.

  'We are going, taking the money with us of course,' continued Ossie. 'Everybody is to remain in the safe deposit room downstairs for ten minutes. You are to stay here. I'm afraid we're going to have to take your secretary along with us to make sure this is done.'

  The girl gave a frightened start and for the first time Mr Smithly reacted. 'What about me?' he said. 'Take me. I'm just as good a hostage.'

  'No, we'll take her. But don't worry. She's not going to be hurt. Not if everything's kept quiet. We want ten minutes start, that's all, Mr Smithly. If nobody bugs us she'll be dropped on the Tuttle Causeway. You can have her picked up from there. If they do bug us you can pick her up from the harbour. Okay, let's go.'

  The last words were directed at the gang. They moved swiftly, picking up the boxes and carrying them towards the rear door. Bruce stayed crouched behind the rocket launcher. Gabby took hold of the secretary's arm and silently led her towards the door of the office. When she reached it the secretary suddenly turned back and kissed Mr Smithly full on the mouth. He reacted with an amazement he had not shown throughout the entire drama. He looked at the masked Zaharran and raised his eyebrows with a touch of pleasurable anticipation.

  'Goodbye Mr Smithly, darling,' said the girl when Gabby got her to the door again. 'I will always remember you.'

  173

  'Don't worry, Freda,' he said, wiping his mouth. 'You'll be back in no time. We won't call the police until we know you're safe. I'm sure these gentlemen will keep their word.'

  Gabby took the girl out of the office, the gun a foot away from her girdle. When they were almost at the rear door and out of Mr Smithly's view, she abruptly turned her and made her go downstairs to where the rest of the staff were in the safe deposit room. Gabby opened the door and nudged her in with the rest.

  Ossie nodded at Molly. She went out and into the street. Katy was on the other sidewalk. Molly waved and the wave was answered. The two old ladies went towards the rear door of Meggison's.

  Ari the Greek and Lou the Barbender were standing in their funeral clothes beside the hearse and the second car in Meggison's Funeral Parlour when Molly and then Katy came carefully in through the side door.

  'Gee, you look neat,' said Molly to the men. 'Real sad.'

  Katy kissed Lou earnestly. 'You look like you're dressed for a wedding,' she whispered.

  Lou blushed. 'One day, sweetheart,' he answered throatily.

  The two ladies looked into the hearse at the bright coffin. 'Who is it?' whispered Katy. 'Anybody we know?'

  'No names,' said Ari, shaking his nose. 'We don't want no sentiment entering into this. You'd better get a move on, girls.'

  The feathery pair hurried away to a small ante-room and there, surrounded by vases of flowers and wreaths, they reversed their street clothes, the bright Miami colours turned to reveal black linings which became their mourning dresses. In two minutes they were sitting sedately and sombrely beside Ari and Lou in the rear seats of the car to follow the hearse. They waited expectantly. On time the side street door opened and Gabby, Ossie and Bruce came in, followed quickly by Sidewalk Joe and the lumbering Zaharran. Ossie and Bruce dismantled the missile projector and, casually lifting the coffin lid, placed it carefully alongside the body of the late citizen lying there. Ossie wondered if some archaeologist of the distant future might conjure some intriguing theories of

  174

  how an old man came to be buried with such a lethal weapon beside him.

  The money was in three canvas bags and these were put into the second funeral car, under the feet of the mourners. The gang were all now rid of their masks and they changed their clothes standing alongside the hearse, reversing anything and everything so that in a few minutes they were all rigid in burial black. They made the change smoothly and without hurry.

  Bruce sat at the wheel of the hearse and, glancing at his watch, nodded. Sidewalk drove the second car. George operated the street door of the garage, got into the second car and the two vehicles slid reverently out into the Florida day.

  The drove at a dead march pace, ten miles an hour, around a one-way street and past the front of the bank. With great caution nine pairs of eyes swivelled to take in the scene. The bank was silent. Nobody had moved to give the alarm.

  The funeral sailed serenely by, hardly noticed by anyone on the sidewalk. Bruce steadied his hand on the wheel. He leaned over to Ossie.

  'Listen pal, where are we heading? Is this a Jewish funeral or some other kind?'

  'Jesus,' said Ossie. 'I forgot to ask.'

  'Great,' muttered Gabby. 'Now what do we do?'

  'Go to the Jewish cemetery,' said Lou almost below his breath. 'And if they don't expect us there, go to the o
ther goddamn place.'

  T vote we leave this wagon train by the side of the road and beat it,' said Bruce. 'It ain't going to make any difference to the guy in the box.'

  'We can't,' protested Katy. 'Not just leave the poor man.' But it was unconvincing. She added: 'Maybe we can ... but ... somewhere ... nice.'

  They pulled to a stop in the car park of Miami's Hialeah Race Course. At that time of day the vast area was deserted. I promised we'd take them back, said Ari. '1 told the guy. I said he could have them back in time for the funeral.'

  'We'll pass him another hundred dollars,' said Ossie. The quicker we get clear the better. Okay?'

  » 175

  They left the hearse and its coffin parked decently and getting into the second funeral car they drove away. It was a big race afternoon at Hialeah and the coffin remained there until nightfall, the centre of interest and speculation for thousands.

  'One hundred thousand bucks,' breathed Ossie. 'At last we got it right!'

  The loot was piled on the table in Molly's room, like a haphazard wall, the notes in wrinkled bundles of a hundred. All around the members of the Ocean Drive Delinquent Society sat as if attending at some shrine.

  'And it's all real,' said Bruce, easing forward to touch the notes. 'Every goddamn buck. And all ours.'

  'More than ten thousand each,' breathed Katy. 'A girl could get married on that.' She rolled her eyes at Lou. He coughed and grinned sheepishly.

  Gabby said: 'I suggest we deduct ten thousand dollars for expenses. For this and for future operations. Anyone object?'

  No one did. 'Well, I guess we'd better start giving out the Christmas presents,' said Gabby. 'Ain't no good just looking at the stuff.' She broke a section from the wall of the notes and counted it into each lap, starting with Katy and ending with George. Only Molly seemed unsure. 'I still think it seems just a little dishonest,' she whispered to her granddaughter.