Chapter 3
At ten minutes to ten he was standing beside the tree opposite the Shalimar Tent and Awning Company. It was a kind of a funny place for a holdup, he thought, but he really didn't know why it was so funny at that. They did a big business, all over the country, and they had a weekly payroll of ten thousand bucks or so. After all, what the hell was the difference what kind of a company it was, so long as there was ten thousand dollars in it? That was all that mattered, really. The ten G's....
But even as he stood there, before it had happened, he was thinking about the next one; the next one was going to be a bigger one. A bank maybe. Or maybe even something like that Brink's deal. That was a couple of million, wasn't it? Well, it was a guy with no more on the ball than he-maybe even less-who engineered that one. Anything they could do he could do better.
A little gleam came into his eyes, and he thought of Carola, her full lips bursting with scorn. Well, all Carola needed was buying, and he was going to have enough to buy her ten times over....
He let his eyes roam around. Up to the corner of Verona and back. No sign of Sweeney. Well, Sweeney was such a dumb bastard he wouldn't know what to do anyhow. Sweeney wouldn't even know what had happened until it was all over. Still, he was glad he had been smart enough to do something about Sweeney. By now Sweeney ought to be sneaking a quick one in the back of Pop Venizia's place. And he wouldn't know that, although it was Squarehead Johanson who tempted him, the five bucks that Squarehead used to buy the drinks came from him, Sal. Well, Squarehead owed him a lot of favors, and here was a way he could pay some back and no questions asked or answered by anyone. That was a neat little bit of detail work, and Sal was proud of how he had taken care of it; how he had taken care of Sweeney by way of Squarehead Johanson. His eyes were darting everywhere, and it was almost ten o'clock. Pete Koscki was down at the far end of the plant, where he was supposed to be. That was all right. Only Pete was looking down at the Passaic River, like the dumb bastard he was, instead of watching the front of the plant. Then Shoney showed up. He was carrying a lunch pail and was walking west, toward the plant entrance, on Verona. Sal smiled to himself. The lunch pail idea was his and he thought it was a good touch. Nobody but a real bright guy would have thought of the lunch pail. Nobody would ever question him-not that there was going to be any time for that anyhow. He wondered if Pete and Shoney had remembered the Halloween masks.
Shoney began slowing up, so that he wouldn't be caught in the position of actually waiting on the steps. That might foul things up, if somebody questioned him. Well, nobody would question him; why should they? The payroll was delivered this way every Wednesday in the year and nothing ever happened; there wasn't anybody to do any questioning. There weren't any guards at the awning works, and the only guard would be the special cop who would ride up with the girl cashier and walk into the front office with her.
It was that guard he had to look out for. He didn't want anybody getting hurt.
Now he saw that Pete Koscki had turned a little so that he could see what was going on. That was a little better. Shoney had stopped at the west corner of the plant, fishing in his pockets for something. He pulled out a cigarette, tried to light it, but it took him four matches before he could get it going. What was Shoney, scared or stalling? Sal thought he wasn't smart enough to stall; he was probably nervous.
His eyes went to the clock on the service station. It was two minutes past ten. Damn, why didn't they get here? He began to feel a cold sweat in the palms of his hands. Was he scared himself? What could he be scared of? He knew what he was doing. This was like shooting ducks in a bathtub. Anybody could do it, if he planned it this way. But where in hell was that car with the girl cashier and the cash?
He saw Pete Koscki change his position, noting that Pete had become tense. Tense for him, that was. The big dumb son of a farmer bastard. And then he saw the company's car swing into Verona, just like it did every Wednesday, with the girl cashier driving, and the special cop sitting beside her, with his cap tilted over his eyes. Shaw, the cop's name was. George Shaw. Not that it mattered any, but Sal had found out what the guy's name was. It was one of the details he had figured he ought to check. He also found out that Shaw was a drunk, who often went out on these things half-loaded or with a hangover, which was all to the good, but nothing you could count on.
He saw the company's car pull to the curb and stop; he also saw that the special cop had taken no note of Shoney, at one end of the plant, or Pete, at the other. The girl cashier was reaching into the back of the car for the satchel that the company used to carry its payroll.
Sal whistled. It was not a loud whistle, but it was low and clear, and he saw Pete and Shoney putting their masks over their eyes. Shoney dropped his lunch pail in the process. But in the meantime Sal had his own mask on and his .38 revolver in his fist. He was running across the cobblestones and he saw that the special cop had seen what was coming and was trying to get his gun.
But Sal was at the side of the car before the cop got it and when the cop saw the barrel of the .38 poking through the window he didn't try any longer..
The girl was screaming. Sal gave her a push in the face but she screamed all the harder. Sal hit her in the jaw with his left fist as hard as he could and she slumped. She didn't scream anymore, and the satchel was lying in her lap. Sal grabbed it.
"Now look, copper," he said with a razor edge in his voice. "There's three of us so don't try nothing. Just sit still and nobody is going to get hurt." He grabbed the cop's gun and, hesitating for a moment as to what to do with it, threw it as far down the street as he could. He had no place to put it and he didn't want a cop's gun on him. But mainly, he wanted it out of the way. The cop's jaw was tight and his eyes were bloodshot. He just sat there, and Sal began backing away with the satchel in his hand. As he got nearly across the street, Pete Koscki, the dumb bastard, suddenly broke and ran after him. The cop, wider awake and with more guts than Sal had figured him for, went out the back door of the sedan as though he had been shot out of a catapult, tackled Pete, and they went down together on the cobblestones. Sal was over the curb, at the side of the tree, watching, and in a second the cop was up and he had Pete's gun. Pete, too, staggered to his feet and began running blindly and then, spotting Sal, headed for him.
The cop opened fire with Pete's gun. He had got back to the car and was using it for cover, firing across the. hood.
"Get out of here!" said Sal. "What in God's name did you run across the street for?"
"I-" Pete's explanation was lost in the barking of the two pistols, the coppers and Sal's. Sal got behind the tree and what happened to Pete Koscki he didn't know. Pete Koscki just disappeared. But the cop was still shooting and Sal fired back. He heard a bullet nick the tree beside him, and he saw one of his own shatter the glass in the sedan. That was way off the mark, and he could see that the whole crazy business, Pete breaking and running, the copper grabbing the gun, had upset his aim.
He leaned against the tree, sighting carefully, squeezing the trigger. He thought he had the sights right on the cop's ear, and then he saw Shoney making a break for it, heading west, ducking in and out of passageways, like he was supposed to do. His eyes came back to the sights and the pistol went off. But nothing happened to the cop. Instead the front door of the car opened and the girl cashier fell out head-first on to the cobblestones. He could see blood gushing, and he knew he hadn't done that with his fist.
"God," he said.
Then he turned and ran. He ran between two old houses standing on the opposite side of the street from the awning factory and up one side of the Erie Railroad embankment and down the other, and when he got onto the next street he began walking as slowly as he could. But the cop would be after him in a minute. He dropped the mask, kept walking up the street to where his old jalopy was parked. He dumped the satchel into the back, got in himself, started the car and took off. He was heading north toward Belleville when he saw in the rear vision mirror the cop, without his cap but with Pete's pistol in hand, run out into East Sylvan Avenue.
He kept on driving; he was sure the cop had never had time to spot the car, or even to realize that he was in it. And now he was glad that, when he got this old jalopy, he had had the presence of mind to use a phony name and address. If, by any chance, the cops should take it into their heads to start looking for him, they wouldn't have any license number to go on. Anthony DiCarlo of Summer Avenue would mean nothing to them. He had got a driver's license with the same name. Well, that was one of the long-range things he did; he was proud he had been smart enough not to get into a spot where they could nail him with a license number....
He turned east on the Belleville Turnpike and began driving toward New York City. He cut his speed down and tried to look nonchalant. The open highway, he figured, was the safest bet for the moment. Then he would swing back, and go where he had planned to go. He had figured that out, too; where to go.
The smartest thing to do was keep on the move, and yet not really take it on the lam. If he were just driving around like any dope, nobody would notice him. Later he would show up at Pop Venizia's long enough so nobody could actually say he had vanished, and then he would get out on the road again. Take it easy, don't panic, that was the mainspring of the plan. Be nonchalant.
He thought of driving right into New York and losing himself there for a while, but then he thought about the toll gate at the Lincoln Tunnel. That was a man-trap. He didn't want to be checked by any toll gate cops. Anyway, he didn't want to upset his plan-he was too smart to be thrown by kid impulses. So, halfway across the marshes, he turned the jalopy around and headed back.
Sal stood at the bar for a minute, and then ordered another double scotch.
"Say," said Steve, "that's a lot of scotch for you."
"Don't let it bother you," said Sal. "Are you worried about how much scotch I drink?"
"Oh, no," said Steve, shutting up like a clam.
Sal took the double scotch at a gulp, and this time he didn't take any water after it. It felt warm in his stomach; he felt better.
He turned to go, and he could feel Steve's sharp eyes on him, and he could see the bad look come up in Pop's jovial eyes, too. What the hell, did they know anything? How could they know anything? All they knew was that he had had some double scotches.
"Rape them all but six," he said to himself. "All but six."
He went out the door, feeling the eyes upon him.
At the newsstand underneath the Erie tracks he bought an evening paper and went back and got his jalopy out of the old stable yard behind Pop Venizia's. He laid the paper on the seat beside him and took off up the road that went through the park, beside the river. He could see the blooms on the cherry trees; he could see them with his eyes but not with his mind. His mind was a mess.
He got farther up in the park, opposite the isolation hospital, and parked his car. He had to read that story in the paper and he read it. The girl's name was Rosa del Valle. Kind of a ginny name, like his own, he guessed. She was described as red-haired. That gave him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach; his mother had been red-haired. But he saw at once that this was no road to let his mind travel, and he shut his jaw tight and let his eyes become slits. He read on. They called it a twenty thousand dollar payroll robbery. Well, the dope he had was that it was ten thousand, but he hadn't looked. He hoped the paper was right on that point but he doubted it. He would count it later, after dark, not now.
The paper said there were three holdup men, wearing masks. The police had no clues, but they were picking up everybody and his brother. No clues. That could be merely what the cops told the reporters. Sometimes the cops did that. Sometimes when they really knew who did it they told the reporters there were no clues, so that who did it wouldn't get frantic and take off. However, it was reassuring.
The paper described the gun battle, and told how Special Officer George Shaw went running between the houses and over the Erie embankment, trying to catch one of the three men. But he disappeared, said the story; there was no mention of an old jalopy heading north toward Belleville. So far so good. But that, too, could be a fake. A copper's trick.
He started the jalopy and drove around the park for a while, killing time. It was darker than mere dusk now, and he turned on the headlights and drove along the park road running beside the Second River. Right about then, he began to think about getting laid. What better way to celebrate his success than with a little pussy?
He knew that he couldn't go over to Angela's place, because the fuzz might be hanging around. A few moments later, he found himself pulling up to Patricia's apartment. There was a good chance that she'd be up for a little hugging and munching and sucking and licking and....
"Oh, hiya, Sal," she said, preparing to lock her door. "I was just going down to the disco. Ah, you wanna go, maybe? Huh?"
Sal just grinned. "Why don't we just disco at your place for a while? Wouldn't you like that?"
Patricia smiled back at him and they went back into her apartment. "I know this dress makes me absolutely irresistible," she kidded.
Sal reached boldly into her revealing halter dress and squeezed her warm tits hard.
"Yeow!" Patricia wailed. "Go gentle into that good night!" Patricia protested. They made their way into the dark bedroom and Patricia started to flick on the light switch.
"Don't touch that dial!" Sal put out his hand to stop her. "I want to do it in the dark."
"Sounds good to me," Patricia said surrendering her lips to Sal's excited tongue. They pressed their mouths together, probing and sucking into the deep recesses. Sal brushed Patricia's face with his fingers. She grabbed hold of his hand and pushed some of the fingers into her mouth, running her lips and tongue along them as if she were sucking his cock.
"OOOOOO, baby ... I bet you do real nice work!" Sal told her, feeling his prick start to harden.
"As if you didn't know," Patricia chided him.
They let their hands roam freely, feeling each other out like a couple of high school kids. Sal loved the soft full curves of. Patricia's hips and breasts and she enjoyed the lean hardness of Sal's body.
"I've missed that sweet little pussy of yours," Sal told her.
"Don't give me that! I bet your cock's had more snatch than it's known what to do with." Patricia said squeezing Sal's hard-muscled thighs.
"That don't mean it hasn't missed you!" Sal said, savagely licking her ears.
"Ooooo...." Patricia cooed as she clutched at Sal's cock. "I'm kind of in the mood for a cock flavored ice cream cone."
"Help yourself, my dear," Sal told her, unzipping his pants and further exposing his bulging dick.
Patricia knelt there in the dark and slipped Sal's pants off his hips and down to his ankles. She reached into his silk shorts and readily located his swollen tool.
"Feel free to dig right in," Sal said, a shudder passing through his body in anticipation.
Patricia pressed her tongue into his hairy balls and flicked it quickly back and forth between the two of them. Then, she licked both of her hands and placed them on his meaty shaft. Sal thought he might lose his wad any second, but he forced himself to think about Newark. It seemed to work. He bent over to massage and caress Patricia's neck and shoulders while she went down on him and he could feel the beads of perspiration popping out on his furrowed brow.
"Suck that motherfucker!" Sal breathed out as Patricia's sucked his bulky rod deep into her throat, massaging his balls with her busy fingers. She pressed her face into his pubic bush and inhaled his rich, musky man scent. She let her tongue play along the length of his penile shaft and then rubbed the base of it with her hands.
As Sal fought to keep his jizm from exploding, he was suddenly filled with a desire to roll naked against Patricia's shapely body. He pulled her reluctant mouth from his rock hard penis and gently slipped off her halter dress. She stood there, facing him in her flimsy lace panties and Sal noticed the growing wet spot in the crotch. The two lovers sunk down into the thick, plush carpeting and Sal moved his face up to Patricia's moistened panties. He lapped at the soggy crotch and she writhed in delight.
"Ooooooo ... baby...." Patricia moaned.
Sal pulled her panties down with his teeth, holding on to them savagely as he sought to reveal her glistening cunt. He could smell and almost taste it, just by biting into her underwear.
"Please ... puu ... put your tongue...." Patricia sighed and squirmed seductively.
When Sal had removed her soggy panties, he lunged at the surprised woman's clit with an animal-like ferocity. He nibbled and sucked that oily love button, till Patricia thought she would either go mad or explode. Then, Sal let his tongue tickle her cervix, flicking it in and out and biting her labia to keep her guessing.
"Oh my God ... SAL ... FUCK ME!" Patricia screamed, going wild.
She pushed Sal gently over onto his back and climbed quickly on top of him.
"Hey, babe, are you sure you want to do it this way?" Sal asked, since he was used to the rather conventional but effective missionary position.
"YES!" Patricia wailed, positioning her vagina close to his crotch so that she could guide his penis inside her. Sal felt her vaginal walls envelope his dick and the sensation of warmth was exquisite. Patricia moved up and down on his dick, grinding her clitoris into him for added stimulation. Sal placed his hands firmly on her hips and they established a slow, steady rhythm that increased in speed and intensity as their arousal reached its peak.
Patricia was like a bucking bronco on top of Sal, riding him harder and harder and trying to retain some sort of control.
"Mmmmmmm ... ARGH!" she screamed as her orgasm approached.
"Yeah, baby ... fuck me ... Fuck ... ME!" Sal wailed, suddenly letting go of an enormous load of hot cum.
Patricia was not deterred by her partner's climax and she continued to work her soggy snatch up and down on his diminished dick and to grind her aching clitoris into his pelvis.
"I ... think ... I'm going to co ... AH!" Patricia wailed as she went over the edge. The orgasm ripped through her body until she finally collapsed, exhausted onto Sal.
Having accomplished his task though, Sal's mind shot back to the stolen money. He dressed quickly and kissed Patricia goodbye, offering a vague explanation for his sudden departure.