Westlake, Donald E - Novel 32 (17 page)

 
          
When
I pulled the chair over behind Eastpoole’s desk, it was strictly bravado. I
didn’t plan on using it; the truth is
,
I was too tense
to sit.
If I couldn’t be up and moving around, I’d bust every
blood vessel I had.

 
          
Still,
the best place to keep an eye both on Eastpoole and the television screens was
from back around behind his desk. So I let him go on sitting there, and I stood
behind him, leaning my back against the corner of the wall, between the windows
facing out in two directions, where I could watch what was happening both
inside the room and out on the street.

 
          
The
arrangement of the TV sets was the same as the six out in the reception area.
The one on the top right showed the reception area itself, with the two guards
behind the counter there. The top middle, top left, and bottom right showed
three different offices, two of which we’d gone through when we’d first come in
here. The bottom middle screen showed the vault, and the bottom left showed the
anteroom that led to the vault.

 
          
The
vault was empty of people, and looked like a deep walk-in closet. You couldn’t
see a door in any part that showed on the screen, so the door was probably
directly under the camera. The three walls visible to the camera were all lined
from floor to ceiling with letter-size file drawers. The open space in the
middle of the room was only about six feet square, and there wasn’t any
furniture in there at all.

 
          
The
anteroom wasn’t very big either. Where the camera was positioned, you could see
the heavy vault door standing open in the far wall. A desk was to the left
where the only guard was sitting, facing toward the camera. He had an ordinary
wooden chair, without arms, and he was sitting there reading the
Daily News.
There was nothing on his
desk but a telephone and a sign-in sheet with a ballpoint pen. A second wooden
chair stood beside the desk, and that was it for the furniture. The same as
with the vault, the entrance must have been under the camera.

 
          
After
Tom and the secretary left, I took up my position behind Eastpoole, checked out
the TV screens, and then took a quick gander out the window on my left, the one
facing the street with the parade. The bands were still going by, thumping
away, like the world’s longest halftime show. Way down to the right, blocks away,
it looked like it was snowing; in July. That was the ticker tape and paper
coming down, marking where the astronauts were. You couldn’t see them yet, they
were still too far away.

 
          
I
checked out Eastpoole, then. He was sitting there with his head a little
forward and down. His palms were flat on the desk in front of him, and I guess
he was studying his fingernails. His shoulders were hunched just a bit, meaning
it made him nervous to have me behind him.
Which was really
tough.

 
          
People
like this Eastpoole really irritate me. You see
them
driving Caddies, air-conditioned cars. I love to give them tickets, the
bastards, but I know it doesn’t do any good. What’s twenty-five dollars to
people like Eastpoole?

 
          
I
looked over at the television screens, and Tom and the secretary were just
walking through one of the offices; the one on the top left. I watched them
walk, and the secretary had a really nice ass. I like that kind of knit dress
she was wearing, it shows a lot about a woman’s shape, and this one was built
very nice indeed.

 
          
I
wondered if Eastpoole was getting into that. There wasn’t any point asking him;
whether he was or he wasn’t, he’d deny it. And he’d give me a look, as though
he couldn’t believe there were such animals as me running around loose. Oh, I
know that type. He hired her for her shorthand, that’s what he did. Sure. Her
shorthand,
and his short arm.

 
          
It
was tough to wait here like this, with nothing to do. I had the urge to needle
Eastpoole a little, maybe poke him in the shoulder to see if he was as
nerved-up as I was. But I knew I shouldn’t do it, I shouldn’t do anything that
might make him forget to be smart and cool and quiet. It wasn’t worth twenty
years in a federal penitentiary to get a rise out of Eastpoole.

 
          
Twenty
years. That thought suddenly brought it home to me; we were doing it! The thing
we’d been talking about, building up for, kidding around with, we were actually
doing it, we’d passed the stage of maybe yes, maybe no. There weren’t any more
maybes now. It’s like the first time you ski down a real hill on your own; all
the chances for thinking it over are gone, and from here on the only thing you
can think about is keeping your balance.

 
          
I
almost hadn’t done it. I came this close to not bracing Eastpoole at all. Coming
in with him from the reception area, I kept thinking about just running the
whole thing through as though it was a gag. I mean, actually look at the
windows on the northeast comer, maybe give the employees a lecture about
throwing offensive objects onto the people below—I had this whole thing worked
out in my head where I’d give a whole speech about shit without ever quite
using the word—and then just turn around and walk out again. Pretend that’s all
I’d ever meant to do, that the whole robbery thing had never been anything but
a gag anyway.

 
          
If
it hadn’t been for Tom there with me, that’s probably exactly what I would have
done. But I could feel Tom there beside me, waiting for me to make the move,
and I just couldn’t chicken out. Same as with skiing again; there comes that
point, you’ve done your boasting, everybody’s watching you, and it suddenly
doesn’t matter if you break your neck or not. You’ve got to do it, because if
you don’t you’ve made a fool of yourself, and nothing is worse than that.

 
          
Twenty
years?

 
          
Well,
almost nothing.

 
          
Movement
on one of the television screens. I looked over there, and I was aware of
Eastpoole tensing up right in front of me.

 
          
The
secretary had walked into the anteroom. She had her back to
me,
I couldn’t see the expression on her face. Any other time, honey, I’d love to
see your ass, but right now it’s your face I want.

 
          
At
least I could see the guard’s face. He looked up and gave her a big smile. So
far as I could tell, she didn’t say anything wrong to him, because the smile
didn’t flicker for a second. She moved forward, bent over to sign the sheet of
paper on his desk, and then walked on into the vault. I kept watching the
guard, and he didn’t do anything wrong at all. He didn’t even bother to look at
her signature, just opened his newspaper again the second she was out of the
anteroom and into the vault

 
          
Now
I could see her on the next screen. She walked into the vault, looked around,
and glanced up at the camera. Yeah, honey, I’m watching.

 
          
I
looked at the screen showing the reception area. The two guards were both
leaning on the counter, talking together. Neither of them was looking toward
the screens.

 
          
Back
in the vault, the secretary was opening one of the file drawers. She started to
finger through it, and pulled out a sheet of heavy paper like a high school
diploma. She opened another drawer and rested the sheet of paper on top of the
things in the drawer, then went back to the first one to select some more.

 
          
I
hoped she was getting the right stuff. I hoped Tom had gotten the point across
to her and that she’d understood what it was we wanted. I didn’t want to get
home later on and find out we’d gone through all this for a lot of paper we
couldn’t use.

 
          
It
was taking her a goddam long time. She kept looking at paper after paper, and
most of them she just shoved back into the drawer. What was taking so long?
Come on, damn it, grab the paper,
let’s
go. We don’t
want to miss the parade, that’s part of our scheme.

 
          
I
looked out the window again. The astronauts would be the wind-up of the parade,
and that’s where the stream of ticker tape was coming down. It was closer, but
still blocks away. But it wouldn’t take forever.

 
          
I
looked back at the screens again. The girl in the vault was still picking
through the file drawer. “Come on,’’ I whispered, too low for Eastpoole to hear
me. “Come on, come on.”

 
          
But
she kept doing it. The stack on the other drawer was getting pretty thick now,
but she still wasn’t finished.

 
          
We’d
wanted too much, that was all. We should have settled for half of that. Five
million, that
would get us half a million each. Five hundred
thousand dollars, who needs more than
that
? It’s
nearly forty years of my salary. We’d been greedy, that’s what, and it was
taking too long.

 
          
Come
on,
bitch, come onl

 
          
Movement.
I looked at the screen on the top right, the
reception area. An elevator door had opened there, and three uniformed
patrolmen were coming out of it, moving toward the two guards behind the
counter.

 
          
I
slapped a hand down on Eastpoole’s shoulder. He’d seen
it,
too, he was tensing up like fast-drying concrete. My throat was so dry my voice
came out like steel wool. I said, “What’s going on?”

 
          
The
three cops stopped at the counter, one of them talked to the guards. A guard
turned toward the telephone.

           
I squeezed Eastpoole’s shoulder,
clamping down on it. “
What’s going on?”

 
          
“I
d-don’t know.” I could feel him trembling under my hand, the concrete was
breaking up. He was frightened for his life, and he had a right to be. “I swear
I don’t know,” he said, and sat there trembling.

 
          
The
guard was dialing. On the vault screen, that stinking bitch was still picking
out papers, one at a time. All the other screens were fine.

 
          
The
phone rang, on Eastpoole’s desk. Eastpoole stared at it. His head was
twitching.

 
          
So
was mine. I fought the goddam
holster,
I got my pistol
into my hand. “By God,” I said, “you’re a dead man.” And I meant it. I thought
we were both dead men, and if I was, Eastpoole was.

 
          
Eastpoole
lifted his hands. He stared at the telephone. He didn’t know what to say or
what to do. He really and truly didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.

 
          
I
kicked the chair out of the way that I’d dragged around behind the desk before.
It went over on its side with a crash, and Eastpoole jumped. I crouched down
beside him, so I’d be able to listen on the phone and still watch the
television screens. I pushed the pistol barrel against Eastpoole’s side.
“Answer it,” I said. “And be goddam careful.”

 
          
He
had to take a couple of seconds to get some control, so he’d be able to move
and talk. I let him have the time he needed, and then he reached out and picked
up the phone and said, “Yes?”

 
          
I
could only make out about half the words the guard said to him. But it didn’t
seem as though there was any tension in the voice, or any sense of excitement
out there in the reception area.

 
          
On
the other hand, if they were here because they knew what was going on, they’d
know we could see them on television, wouldn’t they?

 
          
But
how would they know? There hadn’t been any
breakdowns,
there wasn’t any reason for anything to go wrong.

 
          
Eastpoole
said into the phone, “But do they have to—? Well, one moment.
One moment.”
He put his hand over the mouthpiece, and turned
to talk to me. “They’re here to check security for the astronauts,” he said.