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.
Showered, the men shaved, and me dressed in new duds and new wig, we prepared to sally forth to the banquet Jack Donohue had promised. It was then close to 8:00 P.M.
‘Hey,’ Dick Fleming said, ‘if we’re going to hit the road tonight, why don’t we pack now? If we get tanked at dinner, we won’t feel like it when we come back. The rocks and the guns will be j ust as safe inthecarasthey are here.’
Donohue thought that over for a few seconds.
Good idea,’ he said finally. ‘As a matter of fact, let’s check out now. Weil have our dinner and then take off.’
So all the new suitcases were filled with our purchases and stacked in the Ford’s trunk, along with the old suitcasies and the loot. The carryalls went into the back seat, the guns under the seat, and we piled in.
Jack got behind the wheel and pulled up to the motel office. He beeped his horn twice and the clerk came out. He was a tall, shambling gink with no chin. But to make up for it he had an Adam’s apple that looked like an elbow. A fine figure of young louthood.
‘We’re checking out,’ Donohue said, smiling and holding the keys out his opened window. ‘Many thanks for your hospitality. Nice place you got here.’
‘Yeah?’ the clerk said in great surprise. ‘Well, you come back again, y’hear?’
‘We certainly will,’ Black Jack said, and he said it as though he meant it. I mean, you could believe this man. ‘Any idea where we could get a good dinner around here? Steak, roast beef-like that?’
The clerk hesitated.
‘That would be Uncle Tom’s Tavern,’ he said. ‘On the road to Camden. Not real fancy, but real good. Take a left on the highway. It’s about two miles. You’ll see the neon sign on your right.’
‘Much obliged,’ Donohue said politely. ‘Keep up the good work.’ Then, after we had pulled out and turned onto the highway, he said, ‘Uncle Tom’s Tavern? Jesus, can you believe it?’
But it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Larger than we expected. A big parking lot, well filled, and a rambling, one-story building that someone must have thought looked like a colonial tavern. The interior decor carried out the theme: exposed beams in a whitewashed ceiling, two brick fireplaces with lighted gas logs, and oak tables set around with captain’s chairs. There was a long mahogany bar down one side, antiqued mirrors behind it and stools in front upholstered in red vinyl. The bartenders and all the waitresses wore colonial costumes, and the maitre d’ was dressed in knee breeches and a powdered wig. He looked abashed, as well he should.
‘Jeez,’ Hymie Gore said, beaming, ‘this is cute!’
The food was not bad. Not great, but not bad. We all ordered the same thing, figuring it would take less time. The Little Neck clams were fresh and cold (Hymie had a dozen), the salad was crisp, the French bread hot and crusty. When the entrees were served, there was plenty of sour cream and chives for the baked potatoes, the ribs of roast beef (bone in) were reasonably tender, and the string beans had been cooked with bacon. Ersatz bacon, of course, but who cared? Warm apple pie for dessert, with a slice of American cheese on each wedge. A big pitcher of hot coffee set in the middle of the table.
It wasn’t the Four Seasons, but for Camden, NJ, it was a pleasant surprise. Or maybe we were all in a mellow mood from the drinks: two rounds before we ordered, another with the clams, two bottles of California burgundy with the beef, cognac with the coffee.
By this time Hymie Gore was burping like a maniac, tapping a knuckle constantly against his lips, and muttering, “Scuse. ‘Scuse. ‘Scuse.’
‘And now,’ I said, ‘if you gentlemen will pardon me. Nature calls.’ They looked at me blearily. ‘No, no,’ I said, ‘don’t get up. I’ll manage.’
I found the women’s lounge, peed, repaired my makeup, resettled my wig, and headed back to our table. The restrooms were up two stairs at the rear of the dining room. As I came down the steps, I glanced towards the noisy bar. Almost every stool was taken; the bartenders were hustling.
In the mirror behind the bar I spotted a familiar face. A man sitting at the far end. I almost stopped. But if I could see him in the bar mirror, he could see me. I continued my slow walk back to our table, looking at my companions and smiling. I was so goddamned nonchalant, it hurt.
I slid into my chair, pulled closer to the littered table, picked up my napkin. Jack Donohue was seated on my right. I leaned close to him, smiling, put a hand on one of his.
‘Jack, darling,’ I cooed, ‘we may have trouble. Come towards me, smile and laugh like everything’s okay.’
I didn’t have to cue him twice; he responded immediately. He slid his free arm across my shoulders, pulled his chair closer.
‘You two guys go on drinking,’ he said to Fleming and
Gore out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Don’t look up. Don’t stare at us. What is it, Jannie?’
And all the time he was laughing, nodding. To an observer thirty feet away, everything would look copacetic: a nice friendly, somewhat drunken dinner for four.
‘Don’t look now,’ I said. ‘A guy at the far end of the bar. Standing. Youngish. Baldish, wearing a black patch over his right eye.’
Donohue took his arm from my shoulder, still smiling. He shook a cigarette from a pack on the table, lighted it, put his head back to blow a plume of smoke upward. I saw his eyes dart.
‘Got him,’he said.
‘Know him?’
‘No. Looks like a fink. Who is he?’
‘Owner of the last jewelry store I hit. Didn’t haggle. Paid what I asked immediately. In cash. Asked if I had any more merchandise like that. Very anxious that I should return.’
‘I see,’ Donohue said slowly. ‘I see.’
Dick Fleming and Hymie Gore had been busy with their coffee and brandies. But they had been listening.
‘It could be a coincidence,’ Dick said. ‘Maybe he’s waiting for a date. Maybe he’s just here to have Saturday night dinner by himself and is waiting for a table.’
‘Oh sure,’ Jack said. ‘A Philadelphia jeweler drives across the bridge, through Camden, just to have Saturday night dinner by himself in Uncle Tom’s Tavern. Some coincidence! What did you do after you left his place, Jannie?’
I thought back, trying to remember.
‘It was the last place 1 hit. After I left, I walked two blocks, caught a cab, went back to the parking lot.’
‘Was he the only one in the store?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. There was a back room, curtained off. There might have been someone in there. He was the only one I saw.’
Jack Donohue sighed. ‘I don’t like it. He could have smelled something. Decided to tail you. Followed you back to the shopping center. Waited. Then tailed us to the motel and here. It’s possible.’
‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ I said humbly.
‘Not your fault,’ he said shortly. ‘Mine. I should have warned you. I should have had my head on a swivel, watching for a tail.’
‘Jack, you don’t know,” Fleming said in an urgent whisper. ‘It might be entirely innocent. It might be just a coincidence, like I said.’
‘Might, might,’ Donohue repeated. ‘Anything might be.’ He was silent a moment, then: ‘All right, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to signal for the check, pay it, leave a tip. Then we’re all going to get up and move slowly toward the door. Slowly - get it? We’re all talking and laughing. Not a care in the world. Now, the moment we’re outside, Jannie, you and Fleming and me, we hightail it for the car, get in, go screaming out of the lot. Hyme, you fade into the shadows. Dig? Somewhere on the lot or over to one side. Somewhere where you can watch the door. No
w if that guy doesn’t follow us right away, then it’s just a crazy coincidence, like Dick says, and no harm done. But if he comes barrel-assing out after us, then you’ve got to take him, Hyme. You understand?’
‘Sure, Jack,’ Gore said. ‘I understand. You want I should step on him?’
I saw Dick Fleming’s face go white, and I clasped my hands to hide the tremble. The day had been fun, a lark. The dinner had been a celebration. Now here was the bleached skull behind the laughing mask.
‘Nooo,’ Donohue said slowly, ‘don’t squash him, Hyme. That would cause too many problems, too much heat. We got enough already. Just cold-cock him. Make it look like your everyday, run-of-the-mill mugging. Turn his pockets inside out. Take his wallet, credit cards, wristwatch. Try to leave him in his own car if you can. People coming by will think it’s a drunk sleeping. If not his car, roll him under any heap. I’ll come back for you in about five minutes. Got all that, Hyme?’
‘Got it, Jack. No sweat.’
‘Good,’ Donohue said. ‘Just remember, I’ll come back for you no matter how it turns out. Everyone knows what to do? Don’t look towards the guy as we leave. We don’t know he exists. Let’s go …’
He called for the bill, paid cash, left a generous tip. We all rose to our feet, laughing and joking. Moved slowly toward the door. Reclaimed our coats from the cloakroom, still chattering and smiling. Went out the door.
The moment it closed behind us, Donohue, Fleming and I walked rapidly to the Ford. Jack unlocked the doors, got behind the wheel. Dick and I piled in. We pulled out of the parking lot with a chirp of tires. Hymie Gore was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared somewhere between the parked cars. We didn’t look back.
‘What time is it?’ Donohue asked harshly.
I was in the back. Fleming was in the passenger seat next to Jack. Dick held his wrist close to the dash.
‘About seventeen to eleven,’ he said, a tremor in his voice.
‘All right,’ Donohue said, ‘keep an eye on your watch. When it’s a quarter to eleven, let me know.’
We drove slowly toward Camden. Dick leaned forward, watching the minute hand move around. No one spoke.
‘A quarter to eleven, Jack, Fleming said finally.
Donohue let traffic go by, then made a screeching U-turn and headed back to Uncle Tom’s Tavern, still driving slowly.
Hymie Gore was waiting for us on the verge of the highway; we didn’t even have to turn into the parking lot. I opened the back door, he climbed in. Jack accelerated, speeding toward the Turnpike.
‘Got his wallet, watch, credit cards,’ Hymie said. ‘Just like you told me, Jack.’
‘Then he came after us?’
‘Oh, sure,’ Gore said. ‘Like a bat out of hell. I took him just as he was getting into his car. He’s in there now. Sleeping.’
‘Nice work, Hyme.’
‘A piece of cake,’ Gore said. ‘Everything’s all right now.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Jack Donohue said. Then: ‘We should have killed the cocksucker.’
SKIN OF OUR TEETH
It all turned hard. Up to that moment it had seemed like a game, a gamble. And we had won: The hairbreadth escape from New York, the jaunty selling of the jewelry - all had gone well, with grins and laughter.
Now we sensed the presence of an implacable enemy, everywhere, a nemesis.
‘I get so goddamned sore!’ Jack Donohue burst out. ‘We made the score; why don’t they leave us alone?’
Foolish? Irrational? Of course. But I think that’s the way we all felt. Maybe all criminals feel that way. Our planning and daring and bravery were for naught; we were being condemned and hounded. The cops were unfair, the law was unfair, life was unfair.
We drove south on the Turnpike, keeping to the speed limit. I couldn’t stand the silence.
it wouldn’t have done any good to kill him, Jack,’ I said. ‘He might have already called someone, told them about us.’
‘No,’ Donohue said definitely. ‘If he had done that, there would have been four hammers in that restaurant instead of just him. But he’ll sure as hell gab when he comes to.’
‘The Corporation?’ Dick Fleming asked.
‘Who else? An FBI man he ain’t.’
Silence again while we all thought of what had happened and what it might portend. I had a sudden, depressing vision of a wild flight south, an endless succession of scrubby motels, pickup meals in out-of-the-way diners and second-rate fast-food joints. And all of us, heads on swivels, looking over our shoulders for the pursuers.
. ‘Hyme,’ Jack said, ‘if you were tailing and got the word we had been spotted in Philly, what would you figure to be our next stop?’
‘Baltimore,’ Hymie Gore said promptly. ‘Right, Jack?’
‘Right,’ Donohue said, nodding. ‘I think that’s what they’ll figure. So this’ll be just a short trip; we’ll hole up for the night near Wilmington, get some sleep, drive through to Baltimore around noon. Give us a better chance to look around. And maybe, if they don’t get a sniff of us in Baltimore tonight or tomorrow morning, they’ll follow their noses to Washington.’
‘Jack,’ Dick Fleming said hesitantly, ‘I know it’s a crazy idea, but if they’re on our tail, the Feds and the Corporation, and are figuring our route and stops, wouldn’t it make more sense to double back to New York? They wouldn’t be expecting that.’
‘Never work,’ Donohue replied immediately. ‘Too many eyes in New York, too many big mouths, big ears. Where would we hole up? How would we peddle the rocks for walking-around money? And then what would we do - I mean eventually? How would we get out of the country? No, Miami is our best bet. We’ll get there; don’t chew on it.’
We crossed the Delaware River, came into Farnhurst, just south of Wilmington, and saw signs pointing to Interstate Highway 95. Jack Donohue laughed delightedly, the first time in the past hour.
‘Dear old Route 95,’ he said happily. ‘We can take that mother right into Miami. We’re heading home!’
We came down 95, turned off, and found a suitable motel just east of Elkton, Md. It was called something or other. I didn’t care, and it wasn’t important; it was just a place to sleep. Donohue signed us in for two adjoining doubles. This time, he said, he and I would share one, Fleming and Gore the other. No one objected.
We checked entrances, exits, possible escape routes. We brought in the luggage and guns.
‘Uh,’ Jack said, almost embarrassed, ‘the situation’s changed; I think maybe we should start carrying when we go out, and on the road. Jannie, you and Fleming know how to use these things?’
‘We can learn,’ Dick said.
‘Sure you can,’ Jack said. ‘Hymie will show you how. It’s easy. Hymie, give them the automatic pistols. Just put off the safety and pull the trigger; that’s all there is to it.’
So that night, before we all went to bed, Dick and I were issued loaded pistols and shown how to use them. You switched that little dingus up, pointed the gun at what you wanted to hit, and kept pulling the trigger until the pistol was empty. You held on tightly because the gun would jerk in your hand, and also you had to be prepared for the loud noise and not be startled by it.
‘It seems simple enough,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ Hymie Gore said. ‘Nothing to it. You’ll get the hang of it right off.’
Later, Donohue and I in our separate beds, lights out, I called softly, ‘Jack? You asleep?’
‘Can’t,’ he said. ‘My brain’s churning. So much to figure. We’ll have to ditch the Ford.’
‘Why is that?’
‘It’s got that goddamned sticker of a rental car on it. And maybe the license plate. Can the cops make a rental car from the license plate like they can a cab?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Anyway, the Feds will have your photograph sooner or later. It’ll probably be in the papers and on TV. The rental agency guy might spot it. You rented under your own name, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So then they’ll get out a bulletin on the car. That’s why we’ve got to ditch. We’ll pick up another heap in Baltimore and just walk away from the Ford. Then we’ll make tracks.’
Silence in the darkness. I saw him light a cigarette, so I lighted one.
‘Jack,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Something I’ve been wondering about: Why did you bring Smiley into the deal? I thought you owed him money?’
‘That’s why I had to bring him in,’ he explained. ‘I told him I was going to score big and he’d get his five G’s. But he wanted to protect his investment, so he declared himself in. It was the only way I could stall him. The bastard didn’t trust me.’ . ‘Oh.’
‘Well, he got his,’ Donohue said vindictively. ‘I hate people who don’t trust me.’
The aggrieved plaint of the confirmed liar, con man, cheat: People don’t trust him. What was so unbelievable, even to me, was that knowing this, I still trusted him. And so did Hymie Gore, and so did Dick Fleming.
I wondered if we loved him. It was possible. You never love people for their virtues. It’s their shortcomings that make you lose control.
After a while we put out our cigarettes. We lay awake in the darkness. I could hear him stir restlessly. I thought I heard a groan.
‘What is it, Jack’?’
‘I been on the con all my life,’ he said, as if speaking to himself. ‘I admit it. A grifter since I was ten years old. I had to be to survive. Listen, I worked hard at it. Lost my cracker accent. Learned how to wear clothes, order from a menu, who to tip and who to grease - like that. You know?’
‘I’m listening.’
‘So, being on the hustle as long as I can remember,’ he went on, ‘it’s become my whole life. I mean, I could have been someone else. I keep thinking that with the breaks I could have been someone else. I mean, I’m not a monster, I know how to behave and I got a brain. I know I got a brain.’
‘I know you do, Jack.’
‘So, with a break or two I could have been something. Instead of busting my ass on the con every minute. Hitting and moving on. Always moving on. Jesus, what kind of life is that? But that’s not the worst of it. The worst of it is that the con, the hustle, the scam has become such a big part of me that it’s a habit. I mean, when does it stop? Am I conning myself? That’s what’s worrying me. Is this the biggest hustle of my life - swindling myself?’
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