Authors: Iceberg Slim
Dot's eyes were wide open. He was more wary, now, than disbelieving. But one flaw in the fabric of Blue's con and we'd really be in a bad cross.
Blue leaned toward Dot. He gently pressed his palms against Dot's elbows. I could barely hear Blue as he continued the airtight lie.
He whispered, “Mr. Murray, I lugged the old man to a hotel room at Thirtieth and Indiana Avenue. The hijacker and a stranger were waiting. The stranger was the gentleman's watchdog.
“He was going to take the fifteen-G's from the hijacker after the old man had been trimmed. I guess the gentleman figured that since the hijacker was a heavy gee he might get tempted and not be satisfied with his half grand payoff for the play. A grand was my end. God knows I owed the gentleman a favor, so I turned it down.
“The flash was in a black velvet pouch. The hijacker dumped that slum to the top of the dresser under a bright lamp. It was like the display at Tiffany's. The two dozen blue-tinted gem-cut Zircons blazed blue-white greed inside the old man. He was shaking beside me.
“Mr. Murray, let me tell you the whole truth. That old man elbowed me out the way. He fondled those phony rocks as if they were the trillion-dollar collection at Buckingham Palace.
“Finally I was able to examine each with my prop jeweler's glass. I declared they were all gem quality stones and worth perhaps more than a hundred and fifty-G's.
“Hell, the gentleman hadn't really needed me to back up the slum. The old man kept a sharp eye on the pile of glass as he called the gentleman. He was making certain no one of the three of us filched from the treasure that was soon to be his. He was panting to close the deal.
“Within fifteen minutes a runner showed with the eight-G's from the white gentleman. The old man trembled his seven-gee bundle from his coat lining. He gave fifteen-G's to the hijacker. He scooped up the flash and fled the scene like the thief he thought he was. I left behind him and went home.
“Mr. Murray, as the saints in heaven are my witnesses I have told you the snow-white truth. I have one regret, Mr. Murray. I wish when you saw me with the old man you had collared me and held me on some beef no matter what. The awful tragedy of the old man's accident will plague me to my deathbed.”
Blue had sold the tale! Dot sagged in the booth like a crippled fox, clubbed and poisoned. He blinked his eyelids across his bloodshot eyes. Blue's con had stomped his strong upper hand into confused gristle.
Blue's eyes were glowing in the dimness. Many times in the past I had noticed how the con charged him up.
Dot's lips pouted to a smooching stance. Tiny springs of sweat welled inside the sudden tattoo of wrinkles on his chin. He opened his mouth to speak. He didn't make it.
Blue said, “Now, Mr. Murray, it isn't the end of the world. I am a realist and a generous one at that. The mistaken impression that you had before you heard the truth does give you a temporarily dangerous nuisance value.
“It would be stupid of me not to reward you for your complete silence. I need time to filter the truth to Nino. I have a plan to make him understand I was a mere dupe myself in this whole unfortunate affair.
“I realize how horrible it would be for me were you to relate to Nino the untrue version that you first believed. I have one big worry, Mr. Murray. Everybody knows about your hard-on for grifters. Say I gave you fifteen hundred or a couple of grand right now? What insurance would I have that you wouldn't break your finger pointing me out to Nino? You could do it a minute after you got your payoff. Then I wouldn't have the time I need.
“Incidentally, just why do you have your big hate for grifters?”
Dot jerked erect. The veins in his hands corded as he squeezed his glass. Frothy droplets of spit showered my overcoat sleeve.
He shouted, “Hate 'em? Goddamnit! How I hate them! You treacherous bastards heist with a smile. You'll play con for a paralyzed blind man. You destroy with your cunning lies. All of you cold-hearted mother-fuckers should be handcuffed together and burned to cinders.
“You said I had two grand coming? Give it to me and blow. I
could jug you both on an open charge that would keep you on ice for the night.
“Then maybe overnight I could find out whether the old man had confided in detail with Profacci, the fence. Maybe your story was all con. If it was, Profacci will tell Nino the truth. All Nino will need is your name from me.
“So, it's not what I do that earns the two grand. It's what I don't do. So, give me the two grand before I change my mind.”
Blue shoved his palms through the air toward Dot. He said, “Now, Mr. Murray, you're going to get the two grand. But I've got to know you won't welsh on our deal.
“My bladder is going to burst if I don't get to the john. Can you wait a moment for the dough? When I get back we'll find a solution to the problem.
“You know with a gut like mine, I'd never get between the bars in the john window. Besides, the john door is right in your plain view. I couldn't go through the rear kitchen door if I wanted to. You know I wouldn't leave White Folks in a jam like this.”
Blue got to his feet. He looked wistfully down at me. He said, “White Folks, when we came in here tonight I never dreamed two grand in cold green would go through a chimney in smoke.”
He turned and walked toward the john. Dot slid to the aisle end of the booth. He kept his eyes in the direction of the john. I was glad Dot's eyes were busy elsewhere.
He couldn't see my hands trembling. I didn't want to believe Blue's last words. He didn't intend to give Dot the two grand! He had told me in code he was going to lay the flue for Dot.
My legs were quivering. They wanted to sprint me into that john and plead with Blue not to risk it. I shut my eyes. Dot might glance my way and see something there to tip him that the weather was getting foul.
I
closed my eyes and imagined what Blue was doing in the john. He was slitting an opening in the crease at the bottom of one of those envelopes he always carried. After that he would peel off, from his end of the Frascati score, four of those five-hundred-dollar bills.
He'd take enough toilet tissue to equal the weight and bulk of the money. He'd fold the tissue lengthwise down the middle and put it inside the envelope. Then he would put the loaded envelope among the several other empty ones in his coat pocket.
Ordinarily we used the flue as a short con game on barkeeps and small businessmen in the small towns surrounding the city.
The gimmick was to put the dummy envelope in trust to the sucker. Then borrow against the money that had been removed through the slit in the bottom of the sealed envelope. It made for easy frequent touches.
It was our interim game between larger scores on the longer rocks, drag and smack con games we played.
Believe me, the flue had not been devised to bilk a dangerous roller out of his shakedown. The most disturbing question was, what if he was wise to the flue?
When Blue went to the john I was only partially in the heat of the dangerous affair. That is, from Dot's point of view. Blue's velvet
tale off the top of his head had eased me away from the core of the flame. Now, when Blue came back, he'd need me to set up the crossfire to make it logical to Dot that the flue and the mail-away were necessary and fair arrangements for us all.
The mail-away was most important. It would be damn unfunny for Dot to rip open to toilet paper before we'd copped a heel. Blue came back and slid into the booth beside me.
I turned and looked at him. He thumb-stroked the lobe of his right ear. It was our secret crossfire signal. He was ready to play. I heaved a sigh and leaped into the center of the fire.
I said, “Blue, for Chrissake give Mr. Murray the two grand. Let's get the hell out of here now! You need every precious minute for the Nino square-up.”
Blue gave me a pained look like a father catching his sweetheart laying his son. He thrust his hand into his coat pocket. He took out four five-hundred notes. He slammed them to the tabletop.
He fanned them apart with the heel of his palm. Dot's eyes rocketed down for a fast count. His right hand did a spastic jerk.
Blue scooped up the bills and said, “White Folks, don't get panicky. Mr. Murray will get the two grand as surely as God is in His heaven. I'm not stalling. I'm just puzzled and worried.
“If we were not grifters we could trust him all the way, I believe. Mr. Murray is a fine gentleman and his word is like a gold bond under normal circumstances. But you heard him say how much he hated con players.”
Dot coughed Blue to a halt. He said, “What the hell? There's no problem. Give me the two grand and we can stay together until you make your contacts. How about it?”
Blue said, “No, thanks. Even you can't be sure that you wouldn't cross me immediately that you got your payoff. But I'll give you the two grand and you stick to us like flypaper until I square Nino, right? What do you think, White Folks?”
It was my cue to introduce the flue.
I said, “Blue, it's almost a perfect idea. It has one flaw that makes it impossible. You can't reveal the identity of the powerful white gentleman that tricked you into this bind. It seems to me you are forced to make a personal call on him in your efforts to get straight with Nino. You can't afford to let Mr. Murray or anyone else know who he is.
“You could pay him a visit while I stayed with Mr. Murray. But that's out. I'd have a stroke if left alone with him. I just can't think ofâoh! Wait a minute. Say, I've got it! Real estate escrow! That's how to do it!”
Blue cut in, “White Folks, where the hell have your brains been since Mr. Murray joined us? This isn't even close to a real estate deal. I don't follow you.”
I quavered my voice in excitement. I said, “I understand it isn't that kind of deal. But, don't you see? You can fit the escrow plan to this deal like a glove.
“We can imagine Mr. Murray has an acre of silence to sell. You're the buyer, cautious and sensible. You can't risk the two-grand purchase price until you're sure you have clear and absolute title to Mr. Murray's property for the stipulated time.
“Your contact would be disastrously null and void if Nino had a prior lien on that real estate in Mr. Murray's mind. You simply place the two grand in an envelope. Seal it before Mr. Murray's alert eyes. Have Mr. Murray address it to himself. Together you drop it in the mailbox on the corner before your watchful eyes. That way nobody worries. It's perfect.”
Dot's mouth smugged at the corners. He saw the escape batch in my plan for his double cross of Blue.
Blue barred the hole with rolled steel. He said, “White Folks, it's going to murder your ego, but I'm going to say your escrow idea is pure stupidity. I may as well give Mr. Murray the two grand now and pray a rosary that he won't cross me.
“Mr. Murray is a clever man, my disrespectful friend. He'd figure
in seconds that he couldn't lose the payoff once it went into that mailbox. He could tip Nino with glee and meet the mailman at his door in the morning. He knows Uncle Sam's mail is inviolate. Your plan is worse than Mr. Murray's. Want to try again, genius?”
I screwed my face into a wounded mask of distress. I closed my eyes and swayed from side to side like a cobra in rapport with a fakir. Then I popped my eyes wide and hammered my fists to the tabletop. Dot flinched away from the thudding. I mimicked Blue.
I said, “Want to try again, genius? I sure do. Mr. Murray won't cross you. I've thought of ironclad insurance. It's simple and Mr. Murray can't object if he's on the square with you.
“Mr. Murray has been a central headquarters detective for years. Instead of sending the two grand to his home, address it to the headquarters instead. Everybody knows him down there. It wouldn't be a bit odd for a star robbery detective to receive mail.
“It could be a letter from one of his informers tipping him to a robbery caper. Insert a note with the two grand. Let it indicate that the money is Mr. Murray's end of the Frascati score. There's one change. Blue, you address it in your handwriting.
“Say Mr. Murray tips Nino before the mail delivery in the morning before you can square Nino. Maybe you fail and you need time to run. Our friend Felix the Fixer would know within an hour from his Rush Street source.
“Say, right after that letter is dropped in the box, Mr. Murray takes us in on a phony rap and then tipped Nino. When we got downtown to the lockup we'd start bellowing for the commissioner.
“Maybe we can't get him, but it's a cinch we'll get brass down there to listen. We'll put them on the alert for the payoff letter. He'd have a terrible time explaining.
“But his greatest danger in crossing us would be Nino. Nino certainly has ears and eyes in the department. Within an hour he'd know the contents of the letter. Then Mr. Murray would be as hot as you.
“Nino would figure Mr. Murray's tip was a desperate play to cover his own hand in the matter. That letter would still be a ticking bomb for Mr. Murray if he didn't arrest us after the letter dropped. First thing you'd call Felix. He'd call the commissioner personally before mail delivery to put the cross on the double-crossing Mr. Murray. That is, if Felix got a flash that the finger was on you.
“Blue, there's one thing you're long on, and that's imagination. You'd find it easy to build an iron frame to support that payoff letter. I'm sure you could get Mr. Murray indicted for something on top of his Nino trouble.
“No, Blue, my plan guarantees Mr. Murray's integrity. All he has to do is play fair and pluck his two grand out of the mail basket at headquarters in the morning. Now, be direful and don't crack my spine when you pat me on the back.”
Blue said, “Folks, congratulations! A mouthpiece would envy your plan. It's fair and airtight.”