Stop This Man! (12 page)

At four in the afternoon Catell was back in shape and ready to leave for Smith’s place. First he had slept, then he’d gone to the Turkish bath, and then, after a hot meal, he hadn’t felt so bad. His muscles were sore, but there was hardly a mark on him. Topper must have been using a newspaper. The cut on his head was tender, and a round burn on his neck looked an angry red, chafing under his collar. Only his hand worried him. The pulpy hole in the skin had puffed up, dripping a little, and the edges had turned dark. There was no real pain to it, just that strange ache.

The Turtle hadn’t come home yet.

Catell picked up the gun he had taken from Topper in Lily’s dressing room and checked it. There were six short bullets in the cylinder. The gun looked clean, had an easy action, and it fitted the hand well. There was no extra ammunition around, but Catell didn’t figure he’d need it. He rarely carried a gun. If he had to use this one, six bullets were going to be plenty.

Catell went out, flagged a taxi, and gave an address in the Valley. Then he sat back and went over the whole thing again.

Meet at Smith’s for last briefing. That would be at five. Drive to San Pedro with the team of three. Cruise Ruttger Road, where the Maxim Loan Company office was. Do that twice, and then stop two blocks down. That would be at eight
P.M.
Drop off Smiley, the guy who was going to
help him. Drive another block and at eight-oh-five drop off the lookout. At eight-ten Catell would get out, carrying his suitcase, and walk the four blocks to the loan office. The driver was going to blow. At eight-twenty-five the lookout would stand in a doorway opposite Maxim’s. Catell would enter the side door of the large office, and at eight-twenty-seven Smiley would join him. Besides having left the side door open, the inside man would have wedged the alarm bell, marked the position of two electric eyes, and cut the wires to all overhead fixtures. If something should go wrong, at least nobody could flood the place with light. Then Smiley and Catell would knock over the safe. It was an old-time job, with an alarm that cut in when the door cleared a contact. Catell was going to try to burn the hinges, tape the contact before it could cut in, and then pry the door back just enough so Smiley could squeeze through. Smiley was five feet tall and weighed eighty-one pounds. It shouldn’t take too long. After Smiley handed out the bills, they’d leave the joint with the bills in the suitcase and let the loan office keep the tools. That would be at nine-ten. At that time the getaway car would pull up, having been parked two blocks down for the past twenty minutes. Now south, toward Laguna Beach. Halfway there, they’d gas up at a station in Corona del Mar. That’s where they’d switch the suitcase to another sedan. The two men in that car would leave for Burbank, to deliver the stuff. Simple.

If they were interrupted anywhere along the line, it was every man for himself.

When the taxi made ready to turn off Van Nuys, Catell told the cabbie to stop. He got out, paid his fare, and walked five blocks to an address he hadn’t given the cabbie.

The house sat far back from the street, behind a wall, a stretch of trees, and an open lawn. The big place looked empty, but the door opened as soon as Catell came up the broad steps.

“To the rear, last door on the left,” said the maid who had opened the door. She was a maid only because that’s what the uniform said. For a regular maid her legs were too good, her face was too much like a doll’s, and her hair was too blonde.

Catell walked back. The room was a big, dark thing with leather chairs, carved tables, and a fireplace like a cave. A plaster stack of electric logs was plugged in there, giving off a steady red glow.

“You’re prompt, Catell. Sit down.” S. S. Smith waved his hand at Catell but stayed near the window, rocking on his heels.

When Catell sat down, the door opened again and two more men came in. One was a sullen kid with yellow hair and high cheekbones. The other was Topper. They sat down opposite Catell.

“Where’s Smiley?” Smith wanted to know.

“Haven’t seen him,” said the kid with the cheekbones.

Topper looked across at Catell and grinned. Catell nodded. There was no expression in his face.

Then Smiley came in. He opened the door and held it for the girl in the maid’s uniform. She carried a tray with five highballs, gave one to each of the men, and turned to go.

“But you just came, Rose,” Smiley said. He held her arm.

“Let her go. This is business.” Smith’s voice was cold.

“Aw, come on, S. S. Just to look at. You know, an ornament. I ain’t seen Rosie—”

“That’s enough, Smiley. And you may leave, Rose.”

They all held their highballs, not looking very comfortable, waiting for Smith to talk.

“You’ve gone over this deal enough times to do it in your sleep. If there are any questions, ask them now.”

Nobody asked anything.

“All right. You know your places, you know your schedule. Catell and Smiley to knock the place over; Swensen, you’re the lookout; Topper drives. I repeat this to make you understand one thing: Each has a job, one job and only one job. Do it, and the deal works. Muff it, and every other man is no better than a body minus a head. From now on, Catell takes over. His word goes for the rest of the operation. All right, Catell, it’s all yours.”

“There’s just a few things. Once we hit that car, I don’t want a lot of chatter. You know your jobs; there’s no need to talk. Until you get on your stations, keep clammed up. Swensen, don’t read a newspaper on your job. Looks too much like you got time to kill or just hanging around. And don’t smoke. Same reason. Topper, any cruising you do, drive normal speed. Don’t creep along, attracting attention, making it easy to remember you. Also don’t ever gun the car. No two-wheel turns or any crap like that. Smiley, I’ll talk to you once we’re inside. That’s all. Questions?”

No questions.

“All right, drink up and let’s go. You got fifteen minutes.”

Then they sat back and relaxed a little, but there wasn’t much to talk about. Swensen offered Catell a cigarette and they said a few words. Topper went to the garage, turned on the motor of the limousine, and left it running. Smiley excused himself and disappeared down the hall. Smith smoked a cigar.

“How’s it look to you, Catell?” Smith had walked over.

“O.K. Shouldn’t be bad.”

“Good. Think you can keep on schedule?”

“Should. If the dope on the safe is right.”

“Good. All right, everybody. Time. Where’s Smiley?”

Smith walked to the door when Smiley stepped in.

“Where the hell you been?”

“Time, S. S., I been making time.”

When the four men passed through the front hall, Rose came the other way. Her apron was on crooked and her dress looked as if it didn’t fit any more.

The kid who was going to be the lookout said, “They call him Smiley just to be polite. His real name is Mink. You get it, Catell? Mink.” He laughed with a short, dry cackle.

Nobody talked on the way to San Pedro. Topper smoked one cigarette after another, drove the car well, and paid no attention to Catell, who was sitting beside him. Catell’s suitcase was between his legs. When they cased Ruttger the first time, they didn’t see anybody except a few pedestrians. When they drove past Maxim’s the second time, there were a few pedestrians again. One of them had been there the first time.

“Slow down,” Catell said.

“The time schedule—”

“Shut up, you sonofabitch, and slow down.”

The short guy near Maxim’s was the Turtle.

“Pull over.”

“If you say so, Catell, but—”

Catell’s left hand snapped across Topper’s Adam’s apple, making the man gasp with pain.

“Do only what you’re told, Topper. Now pull up.” The gun was in Catell’s hand.

Catell opened the window and leaned out. When the Turtle came up, Catell said, “Wait for me two blocks down, fifteen minutes. All right, Topper, get going.”

The rest of the drive went on schedule. Topper drove well, kept to himself. He looked bland.

When Catell came to the corner, the Turtle fell in with him. They walked, nodding and smiling at each other, and sometimes waving an arm.

“What’s up, Turtle?”

“I don’t know, Tony. I’m not sure. Christ, I’m sorry if I muffed something for you, but I couldn’t get to you sooner. I knew you’d get here today, but I couldn’t—”

“Whaddaya mean, couldn’t get to me sooner?”

“Since that time at the Pink Shell I had a time shaking a couple of guys who was after me. Christ, did I have a time! Coupla Topper’s men, on accounta that snatch I pulled on him, I think.”

“That all?”

“Something else. I picked up a word something was cooking with you and Topper, so I tried to follow it up. Christ, did I have a time, with those torpedoes on my tail!”

“Hurry up, Turtle, what else?”

“I don’t know for sure, Tony. Something about Topper getting to you. I couldn’t get the details.”

“Never mind. He got to me. That was yesterday. Now blow. I’m turning off here.”

“No, Tony, that wasn’t it. Yesterday wasn’t it. I know he took you for a ride, but the word is there’s a cross on.”

“Frame?”

“Could be, Tony. Listen, this heist—”

“It’s coming off as planned. Don’t argue. When I cross over now, keep walking to the end of the block. Stay
there. After ten minutes, take the other end of the alley next to Maxim’s loans. After twenty minutes, the other end of Ruttger. Watch for Topper and the sedan two blocks down at nine. That’s nine sharp, Turtle. He’ll pull up here ten minutes later. Got it?”

“Check.”

“See the kid in the doorway, reading the billboard? He’s our lookout. Now blow.”

The Turtle kept walking down the block and Catell crossed to the alley. He turned once and looked at Swensen. Catell pointed with his finger at the Turtle, then made a circle with thumb and forefinger. Swensen nodded. Then Catell was at the side door and turning the handle. No hitch. The door opened and Catell stepped inside. For two minutes he stood in the dimness without moving. Then Smiley came in. They stood another five minutes, close to the door. Half a foot away, on a wooden railing that ran from the side of the door to the middle of the large room, there was a chalk cross. The two men dropped to the floor and lay flat on their backs. Pushing with hands and heels, they snaked their way along the railing, away from the door. Once past the chalk cross, they got up and walked.

“That eye was close to the door.” Smiley was whispering. “Did you see it?”

“No. Just the cross. Good job. I guess we beat it through. Nothing happened.”

Just before they reached the large safe door, built flush into the wall, they saw the second electric eye This one didn’t need a marker. The post with the light and lens stood two feet from the wall to the left of the safe; the post with the photoelectric cell was opposite, on the right of the safe.

“Man, that’s close.” Smiley wiped his forehead.

Catell was sweating too. He had been dragging the heavy suitcase and the hand with the sore was throbbing. He didn’t know whether he was nervous about the job, but he didn’t feel so good. Almost feverish.

“That eye’s too close, Smiley.”

“You’re telling me! The diagram said eight feet.”

“That’s what comes from not doing your own casing. That jerk who mapped this layout is going to be one sorry-looking bastard.”

“Whatcha gonna do?”

“I gotta figure this. It’s risky, but I could work inside two feet. No good, though. Once that door falls, the beam’s cut.”

“Jee-sus!”

“Open that bag, Smiley.”

“O K. Now what?”

“There’s a pencil flashlight in the pocket. Take it out. Now turn it on. Got it? The button, stupid, the little button. Now step close to the eye, point the light at it, and slip the flashlight up in line with the beam. But be ready to run, Smiley. I’m going to cut my hand through the beam back here, and if you hear a click in that thing, bolt! Understand? Fast now, go!”

Smiley slipped the flashlight in line with the eye fast, but steady. Nothing happened.

“Hold it now, Smiley. Here I go,” and Catell swung his hand through the beam from the post

They listened tensely, Catell feeling the cold sweat run down his back. He shivered. No click.

“Once more, Smiley. Here goes.”

Catell stepped into the beam. No click.

“It works. Now listen, Smiley. You’ll have to hold that
thing from here on. I don’t care if your hand drops off, but keep that light steady.”

“Got you, Catell. Get to work, and good luck.”

Catell pulled his tools closer and laid them out in a small half circle. After a swift study of the door, he changed his mind about the hinges and went to work on the tumblers. He stuck chisels, hammer, and probes in his pocket. Then, standing close to the door, he went to work on the lock with a drill.

“Keep looking out the window now and then, Smiley.”

Catell worked without pause.

“How’s your arm?”

“Dead. You getting anywhere?”

“Little more. Just keep that light steady.”

After a while Catell put the drill down and used the chisels. The lock cover and a few disks came off. Then he went to work on the tumblers. Catell’s movements were deft, sure, but he kept shaking his head.

“How’s the arm?”

“Let’s not talk about it. What I wanna know is are we gettin’ anywhere?”

“I’m fixing the tumblers. It’s going O.K.”

“Whyn’t ya use the soup?”

“And trip the alarm? This job wasn’t laid out that way.”

“Well, they tell me you know your stuff. But when you’re through, don’t pat me on the shoulder. My arm might drop off.”

“Not much longer, Smiley. Keep it up.”

There was silence for a while. Catell, working mostly by touch, started to swear under his breath.

“What’s eatin’ ya?”

“This whole goddamn job was laid out wrong. That’s what comes from not doing your own casing. Whose cockeyed
idea was it to burn this door through, anyway? This job should have been done by rewiring the alarms, cutting in on the timing circuit, and then knocking the safe over any way at all. But this horsing around with a live alarm contact—How’s your arm?”