Chapter 7
Instead of blowing the five hundred dollars on nonsense I hoarded it. Oh, I did buy a few new-styled shirts and some wide neckties and a good pair of shoes but the rest of the money was passed over into my household as 'earnings.' That temporary office job I held was not for me. So when assignments were offered I turned them down but pretended to Barbara that they were accepted. Thus, I left the house every morning, supposedly to go to work. I visited museums, went to the cinema, took walks, spent time in the library reading and in general examined my conscience and my life. At the end of the week I flashed a little money, telling Barbara I had just gotten paid.
The boys next door became friends and they told me how they operated. Jack and Alan were, as Barbara and her ballet friends figured, gangsters. Not members of any big-time gang but just two loners, pulling off robberies and living on the proceeds.
Each carried guns, besides the .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson revolver, a big Colt .45 automatic because it was a real frightener. Then they would change their clothes, alter hair styles, paste fake moustaches on their upper lips, wear black glasses and go out to steal two cars.
One car would be left a short distance from the place they intended to rob and the other stolen vehicle would be driven to the actual scene of the robbery. They would march in to say a large store, seek out the manager and show him their guns.
"A stick-up," they would whisper. "Hand over your cash."
Supermarkets, cinema houses, used-car places, radio and television stores, finance companies, liquor stores and so forth, always in far-out sections of the city, meaning at the end of the Bronx, Brooklyn, Staten Island and Upper Manhattan.
"The best place is Harlem," Jack would say. "There's so much crime there, blacks holding up cigar stores for pennies, that the police don't even bother looking. When we walk in, two white guys, the managers are always surprised. They never expect a hold-up. If we would be black, okay, but two white men have got to be coming there on business. It always works out fine."
"Ever shot anyone?"
"Never. And don't intend to. These guns are to frighten the crowd, that's all. Now and then we put a bullet into a ceiling but that's as far as it goes."
"What about banks?"
"No, no!" They shook their heads violently, almost angered by the question.
Jack said: "That brings the Federal government in since banks are Federal property. Then we would have the F.B.I, coming after us."
Alan agreed. "We can handle the city or state cops. Some of them expect to be paid off if they catch you but the F.B.I, is something else."
"What's worse are the Italians, oohh man!" Jack urged his partner to tell about a team of Mafia men who were hunting them.
"Oh, yeah, that's because of this stick-up out in Las Vegas. A gambling joint run by spaghetti eaters. It was early in the morning, all the players and croupiers gone, just two house managers counting out the take and a guard near-by half-asleep. We waltzed in with silencers attached to our guns and put a couple of slugs in the wall and the desk to let them know we meant business."
"We did not have to say a word," Jack said. "They put eighty thousand dollars into three canvas bags and handed it over. We were dressed like Mexicans. Dark skin, black wigs, fake moustaches. Man, we tore out of there, abandoned the car right in the streets of Las Vegas, switched to our getaway car, changed clothes, lost that car and walked back to our hotel."
I had to whistle. "Some achievement."
"The cops were worthless but phone calls were made and the entire area was swarming with Italian killers looking for two Mexicans. We couldn't get on a plane because the authorities search you to see if you're carrying weapons. So we stuck around, doing a little gambling, swimming in the pool, fucking the call girls. Then we caught a bus to Los Angeles, bought a car there and drove East."
"Those wops are still hunting us."
"Were you ever caught?"
"Sure! We each did about eight years in prison. I pulled a stretch of two down south, in Louisiana. A three year rap in Texas and I went in for a five to ten in Colorado State prison but got out after three years."
Alan said, "I did four in Sing Sing, a year out in California, one in Ohio and two with him, in Louisiana."
"How long have you been in this game?" "Ohh, Jesus, eighteen years for me." Jack laughed. " "Twenty is more like it for me," said Alan. "And you'll go on like this?"
"We have Swiss bank accounts. In that drawer you saw me open the other night," said Jack, "is about twenty-five thousand. We add to it weekly since we go to work two to three times a week. Sometimes we drop in a few hundred, other times several thousand."
"But..." I couldn't see the sense of this. "Suppose you get caught? The police will search your apartment. That money won't be taken to the station house, it'll go into their pockets."
"We been thinking of that." Jack rubbed his chin and looked at Alan.
Alan's face was hard. 'That's where you come in, kid. We are going to give you a key to this apartment If we get caught you'll know about it soon enough.
Take that money out, plant it in a special bank account and go to a lawyer whose name we'll give you."
"But...it's stolen money. I'll be an accessory and liable to a jail sentence too."
"True enough, that's why we'll give you a share, make taking the chance worth your while."
"Why not give your lawyer the key?"
"What a joke! It'd be like throwing that money out the window. No, we sized you up and see you are a pretty fair guy. Marrying that skinny young girl was stupidity on your part. And the way you go crazy about every woman is also stupid. But we feel you can be trusted."
A key was handed over along with the name of their lawyer. I was told to take a third of whatever was in the drawer for myself. "If it comes to thirty thousand I get ten, right?"
"Right. If it's only eighteen thousand left you take six. If it's just three grand, well, then you're sticking your neck out for just a fast one thousand."
We said no more about it but I returned to my apartment floating on air, paying no attention to Barbara or her crazy friends.
A week later Barbara's parents dropped in. It was the one day when the apartment was empty. At once her father started lecturing me on getting a proper job, acting like a man who knows what responsibilities are.
He went on and on, with his bitch of a wife adding her comments. And all the time sweet Barbara just sat there, nodding her head or smiling.
"Suppose you have a child," the old man snarled. "Why, this, this temporary position you hold down, typing bills or letters for various firms, that is for a high school girl."
"And that newspaper!" The mother shrieked. "God almighty!"
"Yes, that yellow journal. 'Raped in a toilet' or 'Giant Man Wants to Set Up House with Midget Woman'. Ye Gods! No, no, that cannot go on."
"I am open to suggestions."
"Find yourself at an employment agency bright and early tomorrow morning. State that you wish to become a trainee with an insurance company or a bank."
"The meat plant," chirped his wife, "tell him about that."
"Goddamn right I will. Barbara's aunt, you know her.. . "
Indeed I did, the big fat nymphomaniac who was a first-rate stinking bitch. "So?"
"She owns a meat plant out in New Jersey. She will hire you to work there, as a supervisor of sorts if all else fails."
"What the hell do I know about meat except eating it? Do you expect me to freeze my behind off in cold storage rooms?"
"I expect you to support my daughter properly."
"Meat plant, eh? Well you have got rocks in your head, you old bastard. I didn't want to marry Barbara in the first place so let her go out and get a job instead of fucking off pretending to be a dancer."
"You...ungrateful pig!"
"Jesus, I was doing all right, enjoying life until I took up with her."
"Enjoying the bodies of women married to other men, you mean. Listen, no one talks to me this way. You will do as I say or face trouble." "Bull shit!"
"This is a country of law. The courts will force you to support Barbara. We shall see to it, her mother and I. Fortunately, we can hire the best lawyers to make you toe the line, young man."
Barbara started crying, her usual routine. Her mother went to soothe her, saying: "There, there dear, don't worry, we'll assist you."
My temper was up. "Why all this worry about Barbara? A while back you left her down there in Greenwich Village among drug-takers and pimps and hippies to get along as best as she could. Now, all of a sudden she is the young and innocent daughter who must be protected."
"She has fallen, and you alone are responsible for that fall."
"Get out," I screamed. "Get to fuck out of my house!" I snatched up a vase, spilling flowers and water all over the rug.
The father leaped to his feet, shocked. The mother being the more sensible of the two reached for the portable radio, ready to hurl it at my head. I flung the vase at her, missing her by a scant inch. She dropped the radio as if it was something flaming hot and ran to her husband.
Barbara, true to her nature, just sat there, looking at first one face then the other. Somehow her parents in stunned silence took her, the father holding her right arm, the mother holding her left arm and led her into the bedroom.
Angry, I went at the whisky bottle, pouring myself a good slug. Meat plant! Then, snarling, I threw myself into the armchair, switched on the radio which still worked despite the fall and listened to some announcer discuss the latest difficulties of Richard M. Nixon.
They were helping her pack a suitcase, I sensed it. Good. Let them cart her little ass to hell out of this apartment and out of my life. Nothing would be more satisfying. The father returned to the living room, cleared his throat and like a preacher addressing his congregation spoke in measured tones.
He warned about the hell and damnation that awaited me, about the devil calling me into his flock, that I would end my days, drunk and alone, spending my days in misery.
"My lawyers will be in touch with you."
"I am waiting for them."
"Heh, don't think you will get off so freely. Don't forget this furniture belongs to Barbara. It can be pulled out. See how you like living surrounded by four bare walls."
"Drop dead, will you."
Barbara offered a last remark. "One week, Frankie, that is what I'll give you to come to your senses. Then I expect a decision."
"Don't wait a week, baby, you can have it now: we are finished!"
They left They left me to my peace and man, I never felt so happy in my life.
I cooked up a meal, an omelet and potatoes, made a large pot of black coffee, selected a book to read, something light and settled in the softest armchair again. Ohh, man, this was paradise!
While I relaxed, reading slowly, enjoying the adventures of a James Bond-type spy, the radio reported the latest news. Again, Richard M. Nixon and Watergate and those shitty tapes. Local news followed, higher cost of living, increase in city taxes, etc. Then the gossip, which Hollywood star was getting divorced or how much money Onassis spent to make Jacqueline happy. Then the crime report. Muggings and knifings and shootings in Harlem. Murder in Brooklyn. Puerto Ricans rioting on the upper east side. Italian mafia boys confronting each other in a bar off Broadway. Some kidnappings, some rapes and robberies...good old New York City.
Suddenly, a couple of names were announced and I sat up, tossing the book away. Two hold-up men had been killed during a daylight robbery, shot by an armed guard. I listened intently, repeating the names until realization possessed me.
Jack and Alan, my next-door neighbors, had been shot to death! The room went went spinning around me and I fell back in the chair, feeling weak. They were dead! Those two guys who had helped me and taken me into their confidence were wiped out.
A stiff drink sent the blood flowing more steadily through my arteries. I got up, biting my lips and pacing the floor, thinking, thinking, thinking. Then, I broke into a sweat and fled the apartment, hurrying down the hall. My hand trembled to locate the key given me by the boys and it took an eternity to work it into the lock. Then-the door was open and I was in the bedroom scooping the stolen money into a suitcase.
The minutes that it took seemed like hours. I was drenched in perspiration and near fainting as I locked the suitcase and carried it back to my flat. It was set down in the middle of the living room and I stood there, looking at it, trembling.
How much was there? I did not dare to look. And it was mine, all mine. Not one third as previously agreed upon but the entire amount. The boys were dead and nothing had to be given to a lawyer.
I opened the window and threw the key far out into the street. Then I took another drink to calm myself combed my hair, straightened my tie and left the apartment carrying the suitcase.
The elevator was in use, rising. I fidgeted, waiting and then figured, what the hell. Just as I started to go down the stairs the elevator reached my floor. I turned as the door burst open and saw a beautiful girl leave followed by two men, both big, tough-looking.
It was the call girl Victoria and two bulls or else two gangsters. They were headed for the apartment rented by Jack and Alan. "It's right here," I heard her say.
They had no key but as one of the big men put his shoulder to the door his partner explained to the lousy prostitute, "It's okay if we break in, we got an order to search."
The door was splintered and the three of them leaped in with Victoria's voice ringing high: "A whole drawer full of money. I saw it!"
With that I was down the stairs, out the building and racing around the corner for a ,taxi. I went directly to the bus station at 42nd Street and 8th Avenue and deposited the suitcase in a locker. Then, sweating like a pig, I went down the brightly lighted street past one movie house after another until I hit a first-run theatre on Broadway where The Great Gatsby was showing. I did not care for Robert Redford and I couldn't stand Mia Farrow. But it did not matter. I sat there in the darkness, seeing the film over and over until some attendant shook me awake.
"It's two o'clock in the morning, Mac. Time for you to go."
I got up, rubbed my eyes and stumbled from the theatre. Home might be a trap. Victoria night have discussed my friendship with the police. They could be there, waiting.
So I wandered. Up Broadway to 59th Street and Columbus Circle, across, past Central Park West to 5th Avenue and then down, all the way down to Greenwich Village. At four o'clock I found a cafeteria open, an all-night place, and there I sat over several cups of black coffee thinking about a wonderful and new future.
I would open a safe deposit box in a bank and leave the money there, taking out enough to live well until that time when I could leave the country. No one must know anything and that meant breaking off contact with everyone. Barbara, Jeannette Cosmo, acquaintances, Bob Manners and his scandal journal...everyone.
There were relatives up in New Hampshire, an aunt and uncle and three teen-aged kids. They would take me on as a paying guest and after a week or two, when
I felt cool enough, I would slip off to Europe. Not Paris or Rome or the Costa Brava like most tourists but some place off the beaten path, like Greece.
When dawn came up, followed by the sun, I found myself more alive than dead. The homeless crowd, drunks, drop-outs, psychos, etc. were reeling about the streets of Greenwich village but I ignored them as I headed toward a Finnish sauna.
One hour in the steam followed by a massage and a shave, and I went off to phone my relatives long distance. They weren't too happy to hear from me but when I named the price I would be willing to pay then they changed their minds.
"See you tonight," I said, hanging up.
The bus for New Hampshire left at six in the evening. I checked my watch, and saw that I had more than eight hours in which to conduct my business. Time enough.
I started a new life.