1955 - You've Got It Coming (8 page)

“How are you going to get them?” he asked. “Hijack the van before it reaches the airfield?”

“Not a chance. They'll send them in an armoured car with a motorcycle escort. We'll never get near them. No. I'm going to hijack the plane.”

Ben stiffened. He saw by the way Taggart straightened in his seat that he wasn't the only one who was startled.

“Hijack the plane? How do you do that, for God's sake?”

“It won’t be difficult. That's why this job's a cinch. I have three seats booked on the plane that's to carry the diamonds. There will be about fifteen other passengers so your two men and myself won’t attract attention until it is too late. We take off after dark. The flight takes two hours. As soon as we have cleared the airfield, I'll go on to the flight deck, get the radio operator away from the radio, get the rest of the crew into the cabin for your two guys to look after. I'll handle the plane and land it in the desert. I want a fast car to be waiting to pick us up. I'll deliver the diamonds to wherever you want them to be delivered, and that will be that.”

Ben sat back, his shrewd, cunning mind busy. As a plan, this was bold and ingenious. It could succeed, but everything depended on Green. If he lost his nerve, if he made one mistake, it would flop.

“Can you handle the plane?” he asked.

“Of course,” Harry said impatiently. “I flew every kind of kite during the war.”

“You'll have to bring it down in the dark. Thought of that?”

“Look, you don't have to worry about my end. I know my job. I'll get the kite down all right. With any luck there'll be a moon, but if there isn't, I'll still bring her down. Do you want to handle the stuff or don't you?”

Ben found he had let his cigar go out: something he rarely did.

He threw the cigar out of the window.

“What do you want out of this again?”

“You take the diamonds, pay your men and give me fifty thousand for the job.”

“It's too much. I may have to keep the diamonds a couple of years before I get rid of them. I'll give you ten.”

“It's fifty thousand or nothing. I'm taking the risk: you aren't. The police will have a description of me. I'll be on the run: you won’t. Your cut from this should be around two million with no risk. If you don't think fifty grand is a fair figure, then tell your driver to stop the car and I'll get the hell out of here.”

“Thirty?” Ben suggested, bargaining for the sake of bargaining. “I'll give you thirty, but not a nickel more.”

Harry felt a surge of triumph run through him. He knew he had Ben on the hook now.

“Do I tell your driver to stop or do you?”

Ben allowed himself a thin smile in the darkness.

“Okay — fifty then: in cash when you deliver the diamonds.”

“No. I want two certified cheques for twenty-five grand given to me on the afternoon before the take-off. I've got to be convinced the money is safe before I get into the plane or I don't do the job.”

Taggart could contain himself no longer.

“Do you want me to tap this punk, boss?” he growled, half turning round.

“Shut up!” Ben snarled. “Keep out of this!” He looked towards Harry. “You'll get the cash when the diamonds are delivered and not before!”

“No! Why should I trust you?” Harry's big hands turned into fists. “What's there to stop one of your thugs shooting me in the back when you've got the diamonds? The money's got to be in my bank before I do the job or I don't do it!”

“I could persuade you to do it,” Ben said, his voice suddenly vicious. “I don't take orders from punks like you.”

“Go ahead and persuade me.” Harry felt sweat on his face, but he was determined to have his way. “Persuade me to bring the kite down in the dark and see how you get on. I don't threaten easily, Delaney, and I'm hard to persuade.”

The driver slammed on his brakes, pulling to the kerb, while Taggart swung around, a gun in his hand. He was about to reach over and take a swipe at Harry when Ben said violently, “Hold it! Who told you to stop? Drive on! And keep out of it, Taggart!”

The driver lifted his shoulders and sent the car moving forward again. Taggart turned away with a grunt of disgust. Neither of the men had ever heard anyone talk to the boss like this and get away with it.

But Ben realized that Harry held the cards. The more he thought about this job the more he liked it. Two million profit! It was cheap at fifty grand.

“What's to stop you double crossing me if I give you the money?” he demanded.

“You'll stop me, won’t you?” Harry said. “What are you worrying about? Your man will give me the two cheques. He'll come to the bank with me. He'll stay with me until the job's done. If you can't trust your man to see I don't double cross you, you'd better take care of me yourself.”

Ben had already arranged in his mind to let Borg take care of Harry. There wouldn't be one man, but three, as well as Borg. He had no misgivings that Harry would have a chance to double cross him. But he didn't want Harry to think he was gaining an easy victory.

“Well, okay. When's the plane due to leave?”

“On the twentieth.”

“What time?”

“I'll tell you that when I have the money and not before.”

“You don't trust easy, do you?” Ben said and grinned. He was beginning to gain a little respect for this odd fat man who talked as if he had no roof to his mouth. “Okay, Green, it's a deal. At noon on the twentieth my man will give you two certified cheques for twenty-five grand each. He'll stick with you until you're on the plane. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“I'll get you two good men to go with you on the plane, and a third to handle the car.” Ben went on. “You can work out the details with my man Borg. I'll send him along to you tomorrow night. Where are you staying?”

“Lamson's.”

“Okay.” Ben leaned forward and tapped the driver on his shoulder. “Stop here.”

The driver pulled to the kerb and stopped.

“This is where you get out,” Ben said to Harry. “If the job fails, you'll return the money: understand? Plenty of guys have tried to double cross me in the past. They're all dead. Some of them took a long time to die. I have means of finding a guy no matter where he hides and I'll find you if you run off with the dough without delivering. No diamonds: no dough. Understand?”

Harry got out of the car.

“Yes.” He hunched his shoulders against the rain. “You'll get them all right. You don't have to worry about that.”

“I'm not worrying,” Ben said, a snarl in his voice. “You're the one who's going to do the worrying.”

Leaving Harry standing in the rain, the car drove rapidly down the street and disappeared into the darkness.

IV

O
n the afternoon of the nineteenth, Ben sent for Borg.

For the past two years Borg had been in charge of all Ben's illegal activities. Ben completely depended on him to carry out his instructions, handle the gang, take care of the rough stuff, organize a killing if a killing was necessary, and see there was no drop in the vast income that came to Ben from his vice and extortion rackets. ,

During those two years, Borg had never made a mistake and had never failed to carry out an order: no matter how difficult the order had been. Looking at him as he sat like a big fat toad in the chair opposite Ben's desk, Ben marvelled at the deceptiveness of Borg's appearance. He knew him to be a cold-blooded and utterly ruthless killer who thought no more of taking a life than he thought of killing a fly. He knew him to be as swift as a striking snake, incredibly fast with a gun and an expert shot. There was no other member of his organization who could handle a car as Borg could. He not only drove at fantastic speeds, but his sense of anticipation and judgment of distances were incredible. Ben had been with him when he had been ambushed by the Levinski mob. Two cars, spraying gunfire, had converged on them, and Borg had got away only by brilliant and unbelievable driving.

Unable to beat the other two cars for speed, he had swung off the side streets into the thick traffic of Figueroa Street and Ben had never forgotten that drive, and never would as long as he lived. Moving at sixty miles an hour, Borg cut through the traffic as if it didn't exist, leaving Levinski's cars standing. He had darted all over the road wherever there was an opening and shooting up on to the sidewalk when there wasn't. The ride had lasted three minutes. It had been the most shattering experience of Ben's life, but he knew Borg was saving him from certain death. No one got hurt, no car got smashed, and when Borg whipped the car again into the side streets, having shaken off Levinski's cars, he had been as placid and as unmoved as he always was.

It was difficult to guess Berg's age: he might have been thirty or even forty-five. He was a mountain of soft, white fat. His complexion was greenish-white like the belly of a toad. His eyes were hooded and black, as expressionless and as hard as knobs of ebony, His black hair looked like a piece of astrakhan draped over his skull. He had a black moustache that drooped like a rat's tail either side of his mouth.

Although Ben paid him a thousand dollars a month, plus a percentage on his vice and extortion rackets, giving Borg a considerable income, he never looked as if he owned a nickel. His clothes were stained and shabby and invariably too tight for him.

His shirt was always grubby. His hands and nails were so dirty that Ben, who was fastidious, often complained.

Looking at him now as he sat slumped in the chair, his dirty hands folded across his gross belly, a cigarette drooping from his thick, almost negroid lips, ash on his vest, the buttons of which threatened to fly off under the strain of keeping the gross body controlled, Ben thought he had never seen a more unpleasant and disgusting object.

“Well?” he said. “Let's have it.”

His ebony eyes staring up at the ceiling, Borg began to talk.

His voice was hoarse and breathless. All the time he talked he seemed to be struggling to breathe. From where he sat, Ben could smell his stale sweat and his dirty clothes. He fancied he could smell the threat of death in him.

“This guy's a phoney,” Borg said, speaking hoarsely and softly. “He has no background. He doesn't exist as you and I exist. Suddenly, out of the blue, is Harry Green. There are no records of him. The Army Air Force don't know him. The cops don't know him. No one knows him. I haven't dug into any guy's background as I've dug into his and found so little. I've traced him from New York, though he says he comes from Pittsburgh. No one knows him in New York. As soon as he hits Los Angeles, he starts making an impression. He tips a taxi driver five bucks. He has his photograph taken and starts a fight with the photographer. He gets tough with Lamson. He goes to the same bar every night and talks big and tough. He brags about what a hot pilot he was and how he wants to get into the air again. He acts like a man who wants to be remembered. That stinks to me. A guy who is planning a three-million-buck steal doesn't act that way unless he's crazy or has a damn good reason for doing it.”

Ben knocked the ash off his cigar while he stared at Borg.

“Think we can trust him?”

Borg lifted his massive shoulders.

“I guess so. He won't get the chance to double cross us. I’ll take care of that. I think he can handle this job. But he isn't Harry Green. It's up to you whether you care who he is or not. If he delivers, it doesn't matter who he is. If he doesn't, then it does. He's being smart. He is taking care of himself. It's my bet when the job's been pulled, Harry Green will vanish because Harry Green doesn't exist.”

Ben nodded.

“Yeah, that's the way I figured it. Maybe it'll be a good thing if he does vanish. If the cops catch him, he might squeal.” He stared into space for a long moment. “I don't give a damn who he is so long as he delivers. Have you any dope on the diamonds?”

“They exist. The Far Eastern Trading Corporation is run by a guy called Takamori, who represents a big industrial group in Japan. He has bought three million dollars’ worth of industrial diamonds. He has got government permission to release the diamonds and he is shipping them to Tokyo from San Francisco. This is the consignment Green is talking about. The diamonds are there all right. It depends on Green if you get them or not.”

“What about the three guys who are to help him?”

“I've got them fixed, Joe Franks and Marty Lewin will ride with him. Sam Meeks will handle the car.”

Ben frowned.

“Who are they? They're not our men, are they?”

Borg shook his head. Ben could almost hear the thick fat around Borg's neck creak as he moved his head.

“We don't want our guys on this job. These three will be seen by the crew and the passengers. They could be identified. We don't want to give the cops any trouble. I picked them from San Francisco. They go back as soon as the job is done. We don't want the cops to hook us to the job, do we?”

“That's right. They're okay?”

“They're okay.”

“So you think we're going to get away with this job?”

Borg lifted his black, heavy eyebrows.

“It depends on Green. If he isn't a bluffer as well as a phoney, we will get away with it.”

Ben nodded.

“He may be a phoney, but I'll stake my life he isn't a bluffer. He's just as keen on this job as I am. I think he'll pull it off.”

Berg's fat, puffy face remained expressionless, but there was an edge to his breathless voice as he said, “He'd better pull it off.”

“You've been over his plan with him?”

“Sure. He's certainly got it figured out. The guy's smart. He's taken care of everything I can see. It depends if he can bring the plane down without a smash-up. He says he can, but if it's dark, he'll have a job. He's picked a good spot. I've been out there. The sand's hard and flat. It's about thirty miles from Sky Ranch airport. I'll meet him at the airport and collect the diamonds. Our three guys will fly from there to San Francisco. I've fixed for them to go in an air taxi. Green says he's arranged his own transport.”

Ben grunted, brooded for a long moment, then asked, “Did you get anywhere with Glorie Dane?”