Women Crime Writers

by Sarah Weinman

  “Yeah. I remember.”

  Two yellow cats came in and rubbed themselves against Big Tom’s legs. Big Tom shoved them off with his toe. “If I had gone to gardening after that first hitch, it would have changed my whole life.” He mused over some begonias with reddish hairy leaves and a long spate of crimson bloom. He said, “What’s Snope want out of it?”

  “He’ll want the usual ten per cent.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’ll settle for the same. Ten.”

  “That’s not much.”

  “If what I think is there is there, it could be plenty. A half million wouldn’t surprise me none. Look, this has been going on for more than three years. You know the kind of lettuce they cut over there in Nevada.”

  “Could be.”

  Willy’s eyes had begun to gleam. He had a sudden vivid picture of himself at the track. The horses were parading to the post. He was all dressed up, and there was a wad of money in his hand. He’d just cashed a slew of tickets on a fifteen-to-one shot. Willy grew so excited under the compelling reality of the dream that he could scarcely stand still.

  Big Tom was studying quietly over something. “What’s been done so far?”

  “My punk nephew got acquainted with the girl. She just lives there, works for her keep. She told him about this guy named Stolz and the money. Skip’s got some wild idea he can pull it off with the help of another punk named Eddie Barrett. Believe me, this Eddie is from nothing. It’s going to fall on their heads.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Chrissakes, they don’t know anything!” Willy cried. “They think they’ll walk in there and tie up the old woman and heist the dough and take the girl with them when they walk out. Just like that!”

  “They might get away with it,” Big Tom said.

  “Look. If Stolz is big in Nevada, he’ll have connections here. Hot ones. You think he’ll sit still for it? Nuts.” Willy almost backed into the ferns. “He’ll peg out their hides in his lobby, that’s what he’ll do.”

  Big Tom said, “Well, let’s go inside and have a beer. We’ll talk it over. Before I’d go ahead with it I’d have to know more about the money.”

  “The girl’s going to find out about that.”

  “You’ve met her?”

  “Never. Don’t intend to. That’s what I mean about these punks not knowing anything. They’re careless; they even drive around and look the place over by daylight; they run around with the girl.”

  Big Tom led the way back, shaking his head sadly.

  Eddie went into the kitchen and looked into the coffeepot. There was a dark greasy cupful swimming in the bottom. He turned the gas on under it. From his mother’s room he heard the creak of bedsprings.

  “Eddie? You’re up? You want something to eat?”

  “I’ll get it, Ma.”

  “Tortillas in the oven, beans on the stove.”

  “I want some eggs.”

  “In the icebox.” She was in there resting, Eddie knew. Her heart bothered her a lot; she was short of breath, needed an operation for the goiter. The first thing I do, Eddie thought, thinking of the money—the first thing is the operation. Then some clothes for her, a good coat, maybe a fur one.

  He saw his father’s wine bottle on the sink and said to himself, For him, a kick in the guts.

  He was frying the eggs when he heard her in the doorway and looked around. She had on a blue cotton house dress, bedroom slippers, an old green wool sweater thrown across her shoulders. “Eddie, I’ve been thinking. You know, about the job you might get with Mr. Arnold.”

  “Arnold doesn’t do the hiring, Mama. He just works for the railroad like anybody else. Sure he’s a straw boss, over the metal-shop, but it doesn’t mean he could recommend me or anything. I’d have to fill out an application at the office and put down everything I’ve ever done. Including time I’ve served, and that would let me out right there.”

  He saw her desperate anxiety and pleading but closed his mind to it. “Sometimes I get scared. I think maybe you’ll do something you shouldn’t, maybe get into trouble again.” She tried to pry into his closed face.

  “I’m okay. I’m studying, I’ll find something. They need metalmen. Even with records, they need them.”

  “Sure.” The smile lighted her face; she half turned away. “You need money for carfare tonight? I could give you a dollar.”

  “Yes, I’ll need it.”

  Skip wouldn’t be there tonight, he was in Las Vegas. Eddie was to meet Karen and see what news she had, whether she’d gotten a chance to inspect Stolz’s room and count up any of the money.

  At eight o’clock Eddie was in the hall outside the typing room, waiting for the break. When Karen came out he gave her a shy smile, not quite sure how to act toward her in Skip’s absence. She was Skip’s girl. He wanted to be friendly, not in any way fresh. She seemed young and to Eddie terribly inexperienced. “Hello.”

  She looked at him blankly and started off. They went down to the end of the hall where the big double doors stood open to the terrace and the outside stairs. Lights bloomed here and there, illuminating shrubbery and paths. She turned on the terrace to face him. For the first time Eddie noticed her manner, how tight with strain she seemed, how excited.

  She put a hand on his arm. “I saw it.”

  For a moment he failed to understand. Then he remembered. “You found the money?”

  “There’s too much of it! I couldn’t begin to count it. I’m scared. I’m afraid Skip won’t leave it alone.” She trembled; her hand quivered on Eddie’s arm. “It’s tied up in paper bands, stacks and stacks, and somehow it’s not like real money at all.”

  Some of her keyed-up mood communicated itself to Eddie. “It’s really there.” He moistened his lips with his tongue, staring off into the dark.

  “You’ll have to explain to Skip—it’s too big. There’s too much of it, and taking even a little would be dangerous.”

  “How could I tell him?” Eddie said reasonably. “He’d say I was crazy. Don’t you know anything about him? Don’t you see the way he is?”

  She gazed at him as if trying to understand what he wanted to tell her. “It’s not like real money at all,” she said, wanting to make that point. “There’s too much, it’s just like paper. Like green, printed paper.”

  He shook his head, feeling sorry for her. “It’ll seem real enough to Skip.”

  She wanted to draw back and didn’t know how. She wanted to get Skip’s mind off the money and still keep him interested in her. She was scared because she had told Skip about what was hidden in the Havermann house, and now nothing on earth could stop this thing from happening that was going to happen.

  The wind touched her dark hair, blowing it in feathery streaks across her face. Her eyes were young and frightened. Eddie tried to find words to comfort her, but it was too late. It had been too late the first time she had opened her mouth to Skip about that money.

  Chapter Six

  AT SEVEN o’clock Skip stepped off the bus at the depot in downtown L.A. He felt stiff, tired, and gritty. He went into the coffee shop adjoining and had a cup of coffee, sitting hunched over it, his mind a blank. His only desire was to get home and have about eight hours’ sleep. Then he’d gas up the jalopp and run over to see Eddie.

  He passed Mr. Chilworth’s big house and walked through the overgrown yard to the rooms above the garage. He looked around, in case his uncle was about, but saw nobody. He went up the stairs, the zipper bag swinging from his fingers, and opened the door. Uncle Willy was there and so was someone else, a big old man with a pale freckled face and a great shock of gray hair. Skip said, “Uh. Hello.” He tossed the zipper bag to his bed.

  “Sit down, Skip. We want to talk.” His uncle nodded toward the other man. “This is Tom Ranigan. Big Tom to his friends.”

  “Hiya,” said Skip. He sat down and pulled off his shoes and scratched the back of his neck.

  “How did you do in Las Vegas?”

&
nbsp; Skip’s head jerked up. He fixed his gaze on Big Tom. “Hey,” he said.

  “That’s right. Big Tom knows all about it.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Cook me for crowbait,” said Skip incredulously.

  “It’s this way, Skip. You and Eddie are a couple of inexperienced young punks. You’ve got hold of something here, maybe. Maybe not. If it’s real and there are possibilities in it you’re going to find yourselves with a wildcat’s tail in your mitt.”

  “Now let’s get this all straight,” Skip said between his teeth. “You’ve brought in this old gazoo to run things?”

  “Now don’t speak disrespectfully of Big Tom,” Willy advised. “He’s a man with a great reputation. Earned it hisself, I might add.”

  Skip was staring evilly at Willy. “I oughta bust you in the snoot. Tipping my plans to some broken-down has-been. What is it, really? You figuring on a cut for yourself?”

  “Don’t get excited.”

  Skip was full of a cold rage. He went on to describe in detail just what he should do to Willy, and what Willy could do with Big Tom. The two older men listened for a short while in silence; Willy in a warning stillness and Big Tom biting his lips. Then Big Tom said, “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  “You’d better listen to us,” Willy warned. Skip went on with the bitter tirade, and Big Tom stood up on his chair and all at once there was a gun in his hand. It was a shining and well-kept-looking Luger, not new but quite businesslike. Big Tom walked over to Skip, and Skip’s words died in his throat.

  “It’s like this, kid.” Big Tom whipped the gun against Skip’s face, not edgewise but cupped flat in his hand. The skin burst in a few places and Skip spun sidewise, catching himself at the rim of the bed. He felt as if the bones of his jaw and of his face in front of his ear had snapped to splinters. He sucked a breath in agony. He saw Big Tom through a whipping red haze. “Now that wasn’t anything,” Big Tom said, “but just a tap. I can do better if I have to, lots better. I like bouncing punks around. If you weren’t Willy’s kin I’d show you how I like to do it.”

  Skip pushed erect and touched his face with a shaking hand, not sure there was anything but pulp there. His head still rang from the blow, the blow that hadn’t looked like anything when he’d seen it coming. It occurred to him that this man called Big Tom had a freakish strength and power in his hands.

  There was something else here, too, something that frightened Skip more than the blow. The old man exuded a terrific authority. He was boss, kingfish, top banana, and he knew it. Skip tried to feel his way past that bulwark of power, and couldn’t. There was no softness, no pity. The old man stood over Skip with the Luger balanced in his palm and he had Skip under control as he would have controlled a puppy.

  Skip crouched, rubbing his aching head, and stared across the room at Uncle Willy. Willy looked back with a sort of mild sympathy, as if he was sorry that Big Tom had had to do what he had done. Skip tried to figure out where his uncle had located this character so quickly, and came to the conclusion that Willy must still have some connections with his old organization. He had dug Big Tom out of his past, and now the job was being taken away from Skip and given over to this old con. Skip thought he would have pegged Tom for an old con even in passing him on the street.

  Willy said mildly, “Now straighten up, Skip, and listen to reason.”

  Skip said nothing. Words boiled in his mind, but he knew what he would get in return if he spoke them.

  “He’ll be all right now,” said Big Tom, putting the gun back into his belt at his belly. “He just needed a little lesson.”

  The ringing was leaving Skip’s ears. The pain remained at the side of his skull. He looked from Willy to Big Tom and thought, There’s going to be a way to pay this back.

  Big Tom sat down again. “I want to talk to you about this Eddie Barrett.” He waited, as if he might expect some remark from Skip. “I want to know what he expects out of this thing.”

  “Money,” said Skip gratingly.

  “Don’t get sassy with me,” Big Tom warned. “I mean, what’re his plans? What’s he want to do afterwards?”

  Skip blinked, then lowered his eyes. He knew that some importance attached to his answer. He wished he knew in what way so that he could reply in a way to screw things up. Everything he could do now, short of outright rebellion, he meant to throw in their way.

  Finally he thought, It’s too soon. I don’t know enough yet. He said, “Eddie’s mother is sick. He wants to help her, pay for a doctor or something. The old man drinks and raises hell. Eddie wants to get away from him. At least, that’s what he talks about.”

  “What does he want for himself? Clothes? A car?”

  “Yeah, a car.”

  “Does he have a girl?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Big Tom sat in silence, as if digesting this information. Willy said, “Tell us about Las Vegas, now. What did you find out?”

  “Stolz is over there. He’s a partner at the Solano Sea.”

  Willy nodded. “One of the big ones. Well established. You saw plenty of play in the casino, I bet.”

  Skip said, “Yeah, it looked okay.”

  Willy moistened his lips. “The next step, the girl. You’ve got to make sure this Karen knows where the money is, how much it is, how long before Stolz might get back. When will you see her? Not before tonight?”

  “I’ll see her in class.”

  Big Tom said, “We want to ease this Eddie Barrett out of it. Can you handle it?”

  “I don’t know. Suppose I can’t?”

  “It would be better for him if you do it,” Big Tom said.

  “He’s going to be surprised,” Skip said. “I don’t know how he’ll take it.”

  “This is the way he’d better take it. He’ll forget he knows Karen or ever heard of the money. He’ll think you changed your mind.”

  Eddie might believe he’d changed his mind, Skip thought. He might even want to believe it. Eddie wasn’t nearly as keen on the job as Skip was. But Skip made a mental note: he wouldn’t follow any directions in regard to Eddie. Eddie might turn out to be what Skip needed. He could be the one to foul them up, if Skip could plan it. “Oh, he’ll go along,” Skip said to Big Tom. “I’ll convince him it wasn’t a good idea, there wasn’t any money there after all, or something like that.”

  Big Tom said, “You let us know exactly what he says, how he takes it.”

  “Sure. Sure.”

  “There are going to be two other men in this. You won’t meet them,” Big Tom continued. “I’m just telling you about them so you’ll understand about the split. We’re letting you in for ten per cent.”

  Skip said nothing. His rage was already throttled down; if anything, this lessened it. He saw with a cold certainty how Willy had rooked him, conned and betrayed him. Willy had taken the great golden opportunity, the once-in-a-lifetime chance, and turned it over to his friends. For what?

  As if Willy knew what he was thinking, he said, “That’s what I get too, Skip. Between us—twenty per cent. Twenty per cent of possibly a million. Nothing to do, just sit tight.” He leaned forward as if trying to rouse some hint of enthusiasm from Skip. Or perhaps an uneasy warning stirred in him, the knowledge of what Skip was like when he was frustrated or crossed.

  Skip didn’t look at his uncle. He said to Big Tom, “Are you cutting Karen out, too? She gives you the information and you leave her there with nothing, leave her for the old woman and the cops? Karen’s kind of young. She’s liable to squawk. She’ll squawk about me. For ten per cent, I’m the pigeon?”

  “You don’t have to be,” said Big Tom easily. “You can handle her the way you do Eddie Barrett. Tell her it’s all off, you’ve changed your mind. Or if you want, take her away somewhere when the job comes off.” He made an emphasizing gesture, lifting a hand, the thick fingers curled above the fleshy palm. Skip noted the broad and powerful wrist. “There’s this, though. When she leaves they’ll look for her. T
hey find her, they’ve got you then. They’ll work on your alibi. It had better be a good one.”

  “In the can on drunk and disorderly is best,” said Willy.

  “I’m not crazy about it,” Big Tom argued. “Still, they can’t blink away a jail booking.”

  Skip got the complete picture now. He was going to be paid off to keep out of it, to build an unassailable alibi in case he was picked up. Willy would be paid for information given. The girl and Eddie were to be brushed aside as expendable. They would have no knowledge of Big Tom, represented no danger, had nothing with which to trade. The hog’s share of the loot would go to Big Tom and his two faceless helpers; plus, Skip suspected, something put aside for the organization.

  “Why won’t you use me on the job so I could rate a bigger cut?” Skip begged, testing them.

  Big Tom nodded in judicious approval. “In anything smaller I’d do just that. For Willy’s sake. But, kid, I’ve got experienced men I’ve worked with before. I know just how good they are and, even more, that in an emergency they won’t lose their heads and goof off. They’ll never break where the bulls are concerned, either. They’ve been tested.” His eyes mocked Skip with a wolfish humor.

  “Skip,” said Uncle Willy, as if making a last plea for understanding, “it’s not just the job. It’s the beef, the squawk afterwards. Things can go haywire in a hell of a hurry. Somebody’s singing your name to the wrong folks before you even know it. Now just picture it, because I know you never did, but try: you and Karen and Eddie with all that dough. What were you going to do afterwards?”

  Skip didn’t answer. He had nothing at all to say to Willy. He looked at Big Tom politely and said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep now. I’ve been up all night and I’m beat.”