The Score: A Parker Novel (5 page)

“All right.”

“Now,” said Paulus. “About personnel.”

They all sat down at the table again, and Edgars cleared away the maps. Parker said, “We need three jug men. You're
one, Paulus. You work one side of Raymond Avenue, and Wycza can carry for you. Grofield, you'd be a good man for the phone company, keep the ladies from getting too scared.”

Grofield smiled thinly. “You know my boyish charm,” he said. “I'll be happy to keep the ladies company.”

“Edgars, you ought to be lookout at the town line. You know the town, know the circumstances there. You can figure anything that moves quicker than anybody else.”

Edgars said, “I thought I'd be better off taking care of the police station. I know a little something about police procedure there, I could probably fake it better than anybody else if a phone call came in or anything like that.”

Parker shrugged. “Wherever you think you'd do the most good.”

“Police station.”

“All right.” Parker turned to Paulus. “You got a list of the jobs? Wait a minute, the other two juggers first. I'll see if I can get Handy McKay. He could get in at the payroll as fast as anybody I know.” He looked around the table. “We need another jugger. A vault man. Any ideas?”

Paulus said, “What about Rohatch? He's a drunk, but he's good at vaults.”

Grofield shook his head and said, “I heard he died. The liver got him.”

Wycza said, “I worked once or twice with a fella named Kemp. Any of you know him?”

“He's unreliable,” said Paulus primly. “He's on the needle. He may even be in jail by now for all I know.”

Wycza said, “All right, forget him. How about Wiss? Little guy, but fast.”

“I've worked with him,” said Parker. “While I was having that trouble with the Outfit. He's a good man.”

“I'll see can I get in touch with him,” said Wycza.

Edgars said, “What about you, Parker? What's your job going to be?”

It was Wycza who answered. “He ought to be the loose one, the troubleshooter.”

Edgars nodded. “Fine by me.”

“I'm writing all this down,” said Paulus.

Parker said to him, “What other jobs?”

“You want Wiss to work the other side of Raymond Avenue, right? So you need someone to work with him, like Wycza's working with me.”

“We'll let him pick his own sideman. Lookout's next. We want somebody fast, and cool.”

“Salsa,” said Grofield. “That bastard could hunker down in Times Square and disappear. You'd never see him, and he wouldn't move for a hundred years if he had to. But when it was time to move, zoom.”

“I know Salsa,” said Parker. “He's a good man.”

“I'll get word to him.”

Parker turned to Paulus. “What's left?”

“Just three. Fire department, gate guard, and plant office. Three men in place.”

“I know the guy for the gate guard,” said Wycza. “Pop
Phillips. He wears some kind of uniform just about every job he takes.”

“Good old Phillips,” said Grofield. “Pop Phillips, the sweet old rummy.”

“He don't drink when he's on a job,” Wycza told him.

“You're right, he doesn't. But he's got bad breath.”

Parker said, “Shut up, Grofield. Okay, Wycza, get Phillips. Now we need two more.”

“The Chambers brothers,” said Paulus.

Grofield shook his head. “Ernie's in jail.”

“What the hell for?”

“Statutory. You know how those hillbillies like young meat.”

“What about his brother?”

Grofield shrugged. “He's as good as the next man.”

“I'll get in touch with him,” said Paulus, and wrote it down.

Parker said, “If Littlefield's still working, he'd be a good man for the plant office.”

“I worked with him last year,” said Wycza. “He was still going strong then.”

“Get in touch with him, will you?”

“Right.”

Paulus looked up from his notes. “That's all,” he said. “Except Wiss' sideman. He can get him himself.”

“Day after tomorrow,” said Parker. “Here again. Nine o'clock.”

Edgars got to his feet and rubbed his hands together. “This is going to work out,” he said. “It's going to work out.”

They left the apartment one at a time. This time Parker waited, to be the last out. When he was alone with Edgars he said, “Something I wanted to ask you.”

“What?”

“What about Owen?”

“Owen? What about him?”

“He's dead.”

“I know that.” Edgars was frowning at him, but then his face lit up with understanding. “Oh. You mean, what's my attitude?”

“That's right.”

“I couldn't care less, Parker. He was just a bum I picked up here in town. He was more stupid that I thought, and exceeded his orders. That's over with.”

Parker nodded. “All right,” he said. “See you day after tomorrow.”

“Right.”

P
arker pumped change into the phone box and listened to it booming. Then he waited.

He was in a phone booth next to a gas station. June sunlight poured down everywhere. Grofield was in his car, a three-year-old black Rambler sedan, parked just down the block; they were on their way over to New York to see about financing, and Parker wanted to make the call now, early, to give Handy time to get here.

The booming was replaced by a ringing sound, and then by a male voice. Parker said, “Arnie LaPointe, please.” You couldn't get in touch with Handy direct. Like Parker with Joe Sheer, Handy had a middleman.

The voice said, “Speaking.”

“This is Parker. If you see Handy McKay around, ask him to give me a call.”

“I'm not sure I'll see him.”

“This a pay phone, I can't hang around too long.”

“I just don't know when I'll see him.”

“When you do, tell him I saw the monk and he's still mourning.” That was a reference to the last job they'd worked together, so Handy would know it was him.

“If I see him, I'll tell him. What's your number there?”

“This is Jersey City. The number's OL 3-4599-”

“I don't promise anything.”

“Sure.”

Parker hung up and waited. He pushed open the booth door to get some air, and lit a cigarette. He could see Grofield sitting in the car, relaxed and easy. Grofield was too playful sometimes, but he knew when to cut that out. The operation was shaping up to have good men in it, and with good men in a deal it was tough for the deal to go sour. Not impossible, but tough.

A gas station attendant in blue overalls came over, wiping his hands on an orange rag. He said, “Anything wrong?”

“They're calling me back.”

“Okay.” He went away again.

Parker finished his cigarette, flicked it out into the street. He leaned against the side of the booth, folded his arms, and waited some more.

He waited fifteen minutes and then the phone rang. He picked it up and said, “Charles Willis here.”

It was Handy McKay's voice: “What's the story?”

“Thought you might like to come visit. I got a new place.”

“Social call?”

“We might work a little.”

“Not for me, remember? I retired.”

“You might like the weather here. And there's thousands of things to see. Maybe twenty thousand.”

“Don't tempt me. This time I'm retired for good. I got the diner going, and I'm settling down, and everything's fine.”

“I was looking for company. Open a can or two with me, you know?”

“Yeah?” There was a pause, and he said, “What about Wiss? He's good company.”

“He's already coming.”

“Oh yeah? What do you want, a crowd?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, now you got my curiosity up. But it's still no soap. Wait a second, how about Kerwin?”

“That's an idea. You just don't want to travel, huh?”

“Not anymore. I'm settled down.”

“All right. I'll drop in sometime.”

“Do that. I'll fry you an egg.”

“Sure.”

He hung up and left the phone booth and walked down to Grofield's car. He slid in and said, “McKay's out. He's retired.”

“Again?”

“This time he says it's for good. He suggested Kerwin.”

“I don't know him.”

“He's a good man.”

Grofield shrugged. “I'll take your word for it. Call him.”

“He lives in Brooklyn. I'll call him from the city, after we see your man. Who is he, by the way?”

“Ormont. Chester Ormont.”

“Four thousand might be steep for him.”

“We'll see.”

Grofield started the engine, and they drove away from there. They went through the Holland Tunnel into the city, and took the West Side Highway up to 72nd Street, and then crosstown through the park to the East Side. Grofield parked illegally on East 67th Street, between Fifth and Madison, and they walked down the block to the address. It was a fashionable brownstone, with a doctor's shingle in the window. They went up the stoop and inside, into the dimness, and there was a nurse in a white uniform at a desk. She smiled impersonally and said, “Name, please?”

“Grofield. About my back.”

“You've been to see the doctor before?”

“Yes.”

“Have a seat, please, the doctor will be with you in just a minute.”

They went into the waiting room, a large airy room done in Danish modern. Two stuffed matrons sat in opposite corners of the room, like welterweights between rounds. One was reading
Fortune
, and the other was reading
Business Week.
Grofield picked up a copy of
Time
from the central table, and he and Parker sat down to wait.

After about five minutes, the nurse appeared and took one of the women away with her. A little while later a white-haired
old man came in on a cane and took the absent woman's seat and
Fortune.
Sometime after that the other woman was escorted away by the nurse.

They waited about forty minutes, and then the nurse came to the door and said, “Mister Grofield?”

Grofield said, “Come on.” He and Parker followed the nurse out of the waiting room, down a cream-colored hall, and into an office. There was no one in the office. The nurse said, “Doctor Ormont will see you in just a minute.” She went away.

They sat in brown leather chairs and waited. They could hear a murmuring from somewhere else on the first floor. Five minutes went by, and then the door opened and a heavy impatient-looking man with pink scrubbed hands came in. He smiled sourly at them, and said, “How are you, Grofield?” and went around behind his desk.

“Just terrible, Doctor,” said Grofield. “I've got this terrible pain in my back.”

“Never mind that,” said the doctor. “This office isn't bugged.”

Grofield burst out laughing. “Doctor, you're priceless!”

The doctor didn't get it, and didn't want it. He looked at Parker and said, “You remind me of somebody.”

Grofield said, “This is Parker, with a face job. Not just the nose, the whole face. What do you think of that?”

“Parker, eh? Who did the job?”

“A doctor out west,” Parker told him. “You wouldn't know him.”

“He did a good job.” The doctor switched his attention to Grofield. “You've got something on, eh?”

“So we have. We need financing.”

“Obviously. This isn't a social call.”

“Of course not. It's this pain in my back, it's killing me.”

Parker said, “Cut it out, Grofield.”

“Right you are.” Grofield sobered, and said, “We need four G's.”

“Thousand? Four thousand?”

“Right the first time.”

“That's a hell of a bite.” The doctor frowned, and stared at papers on his desk as though one of them had written on it the answer to a question that had been bothering him for months. “How long?” he asked.

“Couple of weeks. Maybe a month.”

“Anyone else I know in on it?”

“I don't think so. Just me and Parker.”

“But there's others in.”

“Oh sure.”

The doctor considered again, then looked at Parker. “You're in it?”

Parker nodded. He knew Ormont wasn't very bright; the only thing to do was wait till he got everything straightened out inside his head.

Ormont said, “When do you need it by?”

Grofield shrugged. “Now. As soon as possible.”

“Tomorrow afternoon, the earliest. The absolute earliest.”

“All right, fine. I'll come in and get it.”

Ormont nodded heavily. “Tomorrow afternoon. Two o'clock. I won't be having office hours then; just ring the bell.”

“Will do.”

They all got to their feet. Ormont said, “Good to see you again, Parker. The face is a very good job.”

Parker nodded again. There wasn't anything to say; he'd never been any good at small talk.

Ormont said, “Sorry to keep you waiting the way I did. But we've got to keep up appearances. My nurse isn't in on it.”

“That's all right.”

They went out. When they were back in the car, Grofield started laughing again. “This office isn't bugged! Parker, if you had a sense of humor you'd bust a gut right now. This office isn't bugged! I wouldn't take a million dollars for that man.”

Parker lit a cigarette and waited for Grofield to get over it.

T
welve men made the dining room uncomfortably full. Edgars had set up folding chairs for the extras and had distributed beer. Then he and Parker and Paulus had taken turns filling the new men in on the operation. Edgars had run his slides, showing them the map, and also the photos of Raymond Avenue and the banks and the two gates to the plant and the police station and everything else. The room had filled with smoke, even with both windows open.

Handy McKay was the only one selected who hadn't chosen to come in at least to listen. The rest were all there. Wiss and Kerwin, the other two safe and vault experts, both small, narrow men with an intense and concentrated look. Wiss had brought, to work with him, a rangy fortyish man named Elkins, with whom Parker had worked in the past. Chambers was there, a big awkward-looking hillbilly with a brother in jail for statutory rape. And Pop Phillips, an old guy who
looked like Hollywood's idea of a night-watchman. And Littlefield, a stocky man in his fifties who looked as though he made his living selling gold-mine stock. And Salsa, in his late thirties, tall and slender, who looked like a gigolo and used to be one.

When the talk and the slide show were finished, and when Edgars had distributed more beer, Paulus asked if there were any questions. Wiss said, “One. What's the split?”

“Even,” Paulus told him. “Every man a twelfth.”

“That's not the regular way.”

Parker said, “This isn't the regular job. It's more men than usual, and more things to do.”

Wiss shrugged. “It don't matter to me. What's a twelfth of two hundred fifty grand?”

“That's minimum,” said Edgars, “just a minimum.”

Paulus said, “A little over twenty thousand.”

Wiss said, “Twenty thousand's all right.”

Littlefield, looking like a man at a board meeting, said, “You got financing yet?”

“Picked it up yesterday,” Grofield told him.

“How much?”

“Four G's.”

“That's eight thousand off the top. You couldn't cut it any closer than that?”

Parker said, “You heard the setup. You got any way to shave it?”

Littlefield shook his head. “I guess not. But eight thousand's a big bite.”

“Less than seven hundred a man,” Paulus told him.

Elkins, the man Wiss had brought with him, said, “How long you figure to stay out at this mine?”

Wycza laughed. “Till it cools,” he said.

“Maybe three, four days,” Parker told him. “We can stash cars there ahead of time, make our split there.”

Chambers, the hillbilly, stretched his long legs out and said, “What's the chance of aerial surveillance? What if the state boys throw helicopters out?”

“Helicopters,” said Paulus.

Edgars said, “There's sheds there, and trees back a ways from the ravine edge. We can all get under cover.”

Chambers nodded and scratched his chin. “The truck, too?”

“I'm pretty sure.”

Chambers looked at him sideways. “Pretty sure? Pretty sure don't cut it.”

“If we can't hide it up top,” Edgars told him, “we can always take it down into the ravine. There's an overhang on the south side, we can stick it in under there.”

“Just don't like helicopters.”

There was silence then. Parker looked around. Kerwin and Pop Phillips and Salsa hadn't asked anything, but all three of them looked as though they were thinking hard. Parker said, “Everybody in?”

Pop Phillips shook his head. “I'm not quite sure, Parker,” he said. “It strikes me as being a pretty ostentatious sort of proposition.”

Kerwin said, “How many safes?”

Edgars answered him. “The two bank vaults, the loan company, the three jewelry stores, maybe ten or twelve other stores that'd be worth it.”

“How you want to do it, noisy or slow?”

Parker looked at Edgars. “Any people live along Raymond Avenue?”

“No, it's all commercial. There's no homes less than a block away.”

“So you want juice,” said Kerwin. “That's a hell of a lot of juice to carry around.”

Paulus said, “Why not drill? Blow the vaults, but drill the others.”

Wiss, the other safe man, said, “Drilling's just as loud, and slower.”

“You got a hell of a lot of safes there,” Kerwin said.

“But three men doing it,” Parker told him. “You hit the payroll, while Paulus and Wiss start on the banks. Then the three of you take the rest of the town.”

Kerwin nodded. “Maybe so. You got to blow the vaults, no choice there. But I don't like blowing everything, that's too much juice to carry around.”

Paulus said, “Drilling doesn't take long. It might even be, a couple of those safes, all you'll need is a sledge on the combination.”

Wiss said, “I don't mind drilling. But you want speed on this job.”

Professionals bickering about their speciality; it was taking
them away from where they ought to be. Parker said, “You three work it out later. Any way you want to do it is okay.”

Elkins, Wiss's partner, said, “What about alarms?”

“What about them?” Edgars asked him. “We'll have the police station sewed up.”

“I meant bells. You don't want the main street sounding like New Year's Eve.”

“Oh. There aren't any bells.”

“None at all?”

“Every business along Raymond Avenue is hooked up to a burglar alarm system at police headquarters. Trip the alarm in one of the banks or a store, and a bell rings in the police station, and a light comes on to show the man on duty where the break is.”

Elkins nodded, and said, “That's all right, then.”

Salsa spoke up for the first time. He had a trace of accent in his voice. “How soon do you plan to do this?”

“Couple of weeks,” Parker told him. “Depends how long it takes to get set.”

“What do we do in the meantime?”

“We'll get to that. First, is everybody in? Anybody want to drop out? Phillips?”

Pop Phillips shook his head thoughtfully. “I don't know,” he said. “This looks all right to the rest of you, eh? I can't help but feel we're biting off more than we can chew, but if you're all convinced it's feasible, then I imagine that'll have to be good enough for me.”

“Only if you're sure,” Parker told him.

“That's just his way, Parker,” Wycza told him. Phillips had been suggested by Wycza. “If he says he's in, he's in. Right, Pop?”

“I rely on your judgment,” Phillips told him. He looked like a rummy night-watchman, baggy pants and all, but sounded like a retired schoolteacher. He'd taken two falls in his lifetime and had done a lot of reading in prison.

“I guess we're all in,” said Paulus.

“‘All fools in a circle.’”

“Shut up, Grofield.”

“You men give me confidence. This is going to be easier than I thought.”

“I only wish Ernie could be here to see this. He
hates
little towns.”

“It'll be pleasant, I must admit, to be in uniform once again. I sometimes think I missed my calling.”

“More beer?”

They all wanted more beer. When Edgars brought it back and distributed it, Parker got to his feet and said, “We've got some setting up to do. Paulus, you and Wiss ought to take a run out to Copper Canyon and look it over. See if there's any problems we haven't covered.”

Wiss said, “I don't like showing my face.”

“We'll sell insurance,” Paulus told him. “Don't worry, I've done this before. I've got identity cards and brochures and everything. All you do is do a bad job selling insurance, and in between you look around.”

Parker said, “If Wiss don't want to, he don't have to. Kerwin?”

Kerwin shrugged. “All right by me.”

“Wycza, you and Salsa go out there and take a look at this mining place. But don't stay in Copper Canyon.” He turned to Edgars. “What's some other town nearby, bigger than Copper Canyon?”

“Madison.”

“All right. Stay in Madison. Chambers, you pick us up a truck, right?”

“I surely will.”

“The biggest they make.”

“That's the one I'll get, all right.”

“Wiss, get together with Paulus and Kerwin before they leave, work up a list of the supplies you need. Then you and Elkins go get the stuff.”

Elkins nodded. Wiss said, “Who's handling the cash?”

“Grofield.”

“Treasurer and disburser, at your service.”

“Littlefleld, pick yourself up a car. You and Phillips drive on out there to Madison and start moving groceries out to the mine. Enough for twelve men for a week, just in case. We'll need water, too. Edgars tells me the water there's polluted.”

Littlefield said, “Is this the car we'll use in the job?”

“Right. So stay away from Copper Canyon. Arrange with the boys for when any of them wants to bring a car out to stash at the mine, so you can drive them back. The back money pays for your car and the truck and that's it.”

Salsa said, “What about the lookout's car? I'm lookout, town line.”

“Get yourself a car in town, when we start the operation.”

Salsa nodded. “That's good.”

Parker told him, “What you want to do right away is pick us up walkie-talkies. Four of them, for you, me, Wycza, and Grofield. Grofield′11 be at the telephone company, and he can get in touch with anybody else by phone. Wycza and Elkins will be coming together at the truck all the time, so they only need one walkie-talkie between them.”

“Four walkie-talkies,” said Salsa. “Very good.”

“Buy them here in the East.”

Salsa nodded.

Edgars said, “What about me? What do you want me to do?”

Parker shook his head. “Just stay loose. You'll have things to do later.”

“Well, what about you? What are you going to do?”

“Guns.”

Phillips leaned across the table and said, “Let me have some of that notepaper, will you, Paulus? And does anyone have a pencil? Then we'll make arrangements for rendezvous at the mine, for those of you with cars to leave there.”

Wiss said, “Kerwin, Paulus, let's go out in the kitchen and talk.”

Littlefield turned to Grofield. “We'll have to work out expenses,” he said. “The car, and food, and living expenses.”

“No living expenses,” Grofield told him. “We shaved that much out already.”

Littlefield pursed his lips. “If you think it works better that way.”

Grofield grinned at him. “You want me to go get some more? And you pay it back double, so that way you pay your living expenses twice.”

“That's the way my income tax will read,” Littlefield told him.

“Income tax?” Grofield stared at him. “You pay income tax?”

“On every penny.”

“I bet
your
return shakes them up.”

“I account for every penny of income,” Littlefield told him, “but I am forced, of course, to invent my sources.”

“Why bother?”

Littlefield leaned closer to him. “You're a young man, you can still learn. Pay attention to this. You can steal in this country, you can rape and murder, you can bribe public officials, you can pollute the morals of the young, you can burn your place of business down for the insurance money, you can do almost anything you want, and if you act with just a little caution and common sense you'll never even be indicted. But if you don't pay your income tax, Grofield, you will go to jail.”

“Oh sure,” said Grofield. “Sure thing.”

“Parker knows I'm right. You pay tax, don't you, Parker?”

Parker nodded. Under the Charles Willis name he owned
pieces of a few losing businesses here and there, and they gave him the background to cover his income on his tax return.

Grofield shook his head. “I don't get it. You're putting me on.”

“Income taxes is federal,” Parker told him.

“So's a bank, for Christ's sake.”

“I don't mean federal offense, I mean federal, whose money it is. A bank is stockholders, but income tax is government money.”

Pop Phillips said, “Those are words of wisdom, Grofield. I only fell twice, and once it was income tax. I got three years, and I'm still paying the back taxes. Why do you think I'm not retired?”

“I'll put you onto my accountant,” Littlefield said. “He'll get you straightened out.”

Grofield got to his feet, looking agitated. “That's a lot of crap. Don't talk to me about that. Income tax!”

Littlefield shrugged. “You'll go to jail,” he said.

Parker saw Grofield getting mad, and said, “Back to business. We got a lot to set up tonight.”