1968 - An Ear to the Ground (5 page)

‘Have a drink,’ Henry said gently. ‘Let me get you something.’

Gilda didn’t hear him. She went to the balcony rail and leaning over, she watched Johnny as he swam far out to sea.

The other two looked at each other, then Martha wiped her fingers on the Kleenex and picked up the photocopies.

The tension of breaking into the office block, the moment when they had nearly run into the janitor who was wandering around on the second floor landing, the long wait while Johnny had fought with the lock, the final triumph had now left Gilda limp and exhausted.

Leaving the other two examining the photocopies, she went into her bedroom, stripped off and took a cold shower. It was a hot night with a brilliant moon. The windows were wide open, but the room still felt close. She lay naked on the bed, staring out at the moon, her ankles crossed, her hands behind her head. She lay like that for a long time, her mind reliving her experience, reliving the jolt of terror as Johnny grabbed her and pulled her back into the shadows as the shambling figure of the janitor had passed them.

She was vaguely aware of the light on the terrace being turned off and Martha stumping off to the refrigerator. She heard Henry’s door close.

She wondered what Johnny was doing. If he came now to her room, she wouldn’t have refused him. Her body ached for him. She wanted him as she had never wanted any other man.

But Johnny didn’t come.

At exactly eight-thirty a.m., Flo wheeled the breakfast trolley into Martha’s bedroom. She was surprised to find Martha already out of bed, sitting on her small terrace, busily scribbling with a pencil on a sheet of paper.

‘Morning Miss Martha . . . you all right?’ Flo asked, her big, black eyes rolling.

‘Of course I’m all right, you fool!’ Martha snapped. She laid down her pencil.

She regarded the trolley with greedy eyes. Flo always provided something exciting for breakfast and always served it well.

‘Tell the Colonel I want to talk to him in an hour. Where is he?’

‘Taking coffee on the terrace below, Miss Martha.’

‘Well, tell him.’

Half an hour later, Martha had demolished four pancakes and syrup, four lambs’ kidneys with creamed potatoes, five slices of toast with cherry jam and three cups of coffee. She pushed aside the trolley and leaned back in her chair with a sigh of content as there came a knock on the door.

Henry came in, looking like a lean old stork, a lighted cigar between his fingers.

‘Sit down,’ Martha said. ‘Do you want some coffee? There’s some left.’

‘No, thank you, I’ve had my coffee.’ Henry sat down and crossed his legs. ‘Well?’

‘I’ve made a list. . . take a look at it.’ Martha gave him the sheet of paper she had been working on.

Henry studied the list, stroking his moustache, then he nodded.

‘I also made a list. . . we’re thinking along the same lines, but you’ve left out the Esmaldi diamonds. What’s wrong with them?’

Martha shook her head. She made a face as if she had bitten into a quince.

‘Do you mean to tell me, Henry, that you would be stupid enough to go after the Esmaldi diamonds?’ she demanded.

Henry stared at her.

‘I don’t see why not. They’re worth $350,000. Abe would go mad with joy to have them. So why not?’

‘Abe isn’t going mad with joy, and I’ll tell you for why. The Esmaldi diamonds are insured with the National Fidelity, and that means Maddox. That sonofabitch put me away for five years! He’s the smartest and most dangerous bastard in the insurance racket. I’ve made certain that all this stuff we are going after isn’t covered by the National Fidelity. The other insurance punks are not in the same class as Maddox. I’ve tangled with him once — never again!’

Henry nodded.

‘I didn’t know.’

‘Well, you know now.’ Martha gathered her wrap around her. ‘Where’s Johnny?’

‘On the terrace.’

She heaved herself to her feet and went to the balcony rail. She bawled down to Johnny to come up.

She returned to her chair, eyed the depleted breakfast trolley, then seeing a slice of currant loaf still on the bread plate, she buttered it heavily and began to eat it.

Johnny came out on to her terrace.

‘Sit down,’ Martha said. ‘We’re now in business.’ She paused to wipe her mouth with a paper napkin. ‘We have a short list of people who own a whale of a lot of expensive jewellery which is kept in their homes in Raysons’ safes. The collection is worth $1,800,000. Take a third of that which is what that thief Abe Schulman will pay and we get net $600,000. The way I split it up is that you get $125,000. How do you like that?’

Johnny studied her, his face expressionless.

‘Sounds okay. I’ll believe it when I get it,’ he said finally.

‘That’s right.’ Martha nodded. ‘Well now, Abe tells me you can handle safes and locks. I’ve selected the people who keep their jewels in Raysons’ safes because I understand you’ve worked for Raysons. How about it, Johnny?’

Johnny lit a cigarette, slowly and deliberately, while he stared at Martha, then he said, ‘Let me tell you about Raysons’ safes. They are very special. For one thing they can’t be broken open. For another, for the owner of the safe, they are absolutely foolproof. Anyone crazy enough to try to break into one of these safes is asking for a long stretch in jail.’

Martha stiffened, then leaned forward, her little eyes flinty, her face a granite mask.

‘Are you telling me you can’t open a goddamn Raysons’ safe?’ she shrilled, blood rushing into her face.

‘Oh, take it easy,’ Johnny said, his expression bored. ‘The way you eat and act, you’ll be dead in a year. Don’t yell at me!’

‘God!’ Martha screamed, beating her fat fists on the arms of the chair. ‘I won’t take talk like that from you, you goddamn…’

‘Shut up!’ Johnny snarled and leaned forward. ‘Hear me? Shut your fat mouth!’

Henry watched all this, smoking his cigar, his legs crossed, his expression interested.

‘Are you telling me to shut up? You?’ Martha bawled.

Johnny got to his feet.

‘No, I’m not telling you to shut up. I made a mistake. Yell as much as you want to. I don’t work with people like you. Find someone else. Someone who knows how to open a Rayson.’ He started across the terrace.

Martha shouted, ‘Johnny! Come back! I’m sorry!’

Johnny paused, turned and then grinned. He returned to his chair and sat down.

‘Forget it. I guess we’re both a little temperamental.’ He paused to light a cigarette, then went on, ‘Let me tell you more about the Raysons’ safes . . . let me explain their system. Take anyone who has a lot of money, a lot of jewels, bonds.’ He paused to look at Martha. ‘Have you cooled down? Are you listening?’

‘I’m listening,’ Martha said, struggling with her temper. ‘Go on!’

‘Well, this somebody wants to stash away his valuables. So he goes to Raysons and tells them his problem. To Raysons it is no problem. They have heard it all before. You want a foolproof safe, sir — we have it. You have to expect a hole knocked in your wall to take the safe, but Raysons do the whole job . . . no fuss . . . just one hundred per cent efficiency. Now a Raysons’ safe is a fireproof, foolproof, burglar-proof box with a sliding door that is controlled by a patent electronic gimmick that opens and shuts the door by pressing a button. There are two controls. Each control is hidden somewhere in the room or even out of the room, depending on what the customers want. Only the owner of the safe, Raysons and the man who fits the safe know where the controls are hidden. The man who fits the safe has been working for them for years and he gets a big wage. He can’t be got at. He’s that type of man. The controls are about the size of a pinhead and can be concealed anywhere. You might ask why two controls? The first control operates the police alarm. Every Raysons’ safe is wired direct to the local police headquarters. The second control opens the safe. So to open the safe you touch the first pinhead control and that cuts off the police alarm. Then you touch the second pinhead and the safe door slides open. You take your jewels or your bonds or your cash out, pass your finger over the two controls again and the safe shuts and the police alarm is set. Nothing to it. . . it’s a sweetie.’

Both Martha and Henry were sitting forward, listening, absorbed.

Johnny drew on his cigarette, then went on, ‘If you don’t know where the controls are hidden and you try to break open the safe, there is a ray inside the safe that reacts to any violence. It sets off an alarm in the local Cop House and before you can even dent the safe you have three or possibly four cops breathing down your neck. Let’s get this straight: the Raysons’ safe is probably the best and safest of its kind in the world.’

Martha sank back in her chair. She now regretted her heavy breakfast.

‘Well, that’s wonderful!’ she said bitterly. ‘So all this goddamn work and calculations I’ve been making is so much waste of time!’

Johnny shook his head.

‘No. It can be done. I’d rather open a Raysons’ safe than any other safe. What you have to remember is once you know where the two controls are hidden, the safe opens itself. You can open it, take the loot and be away within three minutes. The trick, of course, is to know where the controls are hidden.’

Martha perked up.

‘Well, go on . . .’

‘Because the people who buy the safes are rich and lazy and possibly stupid, each local branch have blueprints in their files of each safe they have fitted and where the controls are located. This became a must when some rich old woman forgot where the controls were and the fitter also couldn’t remember. What an uproar exploded! I remember it well. She wanted her jewels . . . she was entertaining some top brass and she couldn’t get at her finery. She sued Raysons and got away with it. So . . .’ Johnny grinned. ‘From then on, Raysons have blueprints of every safe fitted. Each local branch keeps their own blueprints. Our next move is to get at the blueprints as we got at this list from Frisby. So let’s work it out.’

That afternoon, Martha and Henry made a call on Paradise City’s branch of Raysons’ Safes Corporation. Martha explained that she was thinking of building a house in the district and she would want a safe. While David Hacket, the branch manager, was explaining their system, Henry, in his role of a cynic (a lot of damned nonsense . . . put your stuff in a safe deposit bank), prowled around the office, checking the locks, the filing cabinets and looking for any wiring that might indicate police alarms. He also checked that there was a photocopying machine and its make.

Finally, when Martha was sure Henry had all the information he needed, she said she would think it over and call again.

Back at the villa, Henry was gloomy.

‘It’s tough,’ he told Johnny. ‘There are burglar alarms. The four cabinets have metal covers on the locks. I couldn’t get an impression. This is a tough one.’

Johnny laughed.

‘Is that all you found out? I’ll tell you what else there is. There’s an electric ray that alerts the Cop House if you pass through the ray after office hours. Every door you open alerts the Cop House. If you try to open the safe or any of the filing cabinets another alarm goes off. Raysons are full of gimmicks. I know . . . I worked with them, but it doesn’t mean a thing. I’ll tell you why. Raysons don’t rely on the City’s supply of electricity. They have their own plant. All you have to do is to cut their motor and their teeth are drawn. Raysons are so pleased with this system they have installed it in every one of their branches. If you don’t know, you’re a dead duck, but as I do know, I can get at those records.’

‘No kidding, Johnny?’ Martha said, her fat face beaming.

‘I know Raysons like I know the back of my hand . . . few do. I can get at them.’

Martha cut herself a large slice of chocolate cake that Flo had baked the previous day.

‘I was getting worried,’ she admitted. ‘Henry was so depressed.’

‘You can still remain worried,’ Johnny said quietly. He took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit up.

Her mouth full, Martha stared at him. His cold eyes met hers, and she felt a twinge of uneasiness. Hurriedly, she swallowed what she was eating, then asked, ‘What do you mean?’

There was a long pause. Henry regarded Johnny thoughtfully. Gilda, on her Li-Lo in her white bikini, lifted her head.

Johnny said, ‘Without me, you three would be sunk. If you think I’m talking out of the back of my neck, say so, and I’ll leave you to handle this and then where will you get? Exactly nowhere!’

Martha put down her unfinished slice of cake. She was shrewd enough to realise what this was leading to.

‘Go on,’ she said, her voice harsh. ‘Finish it.’

‘You said my share was to be $125,000,’ Johnny said. He let smoke drift down his nostrils. ‘The whole take you said was $600,000. Now, I’m telling you something. Without me, you would never even smell $600,000, let alone put your hands on it. So . . .’ He paused, looked at Martha, then at Henry. ‘My cut is to be $200,000, and you can please yourselves how the rest is divided. You can take it or leave it.’

‘Listen to me, you sonofabitch! If you think…’ Martha began, her face purple with rage when Henry, speaking sharply, stopped her.

‘Martha! I’ll handle this!’

Martha stopped short and stared at Henry who was regarding her in his calm, quiet way, his tortoise-like eyelids lowered, his cigar burning evenly between his thin fingers.

‘If this creep . . .’ Martha began, but Henry again stopped her with a wave of his hand.

‘Johnny is right, Martha,’ he said. ‘Without him, we can’t go ahead with this. He’s the technician.’ He turned to Johnny, his smile benign. ‘Look, Johnny, suppose we make a little deal. Suppose we settle for $150,000 . . . huh? What do you say? After all, this is Martha’s idea. She’s behind it all. What do you say . . . $150,000?’

Johnny got to his feet.

‘You talk it over among yourselves,’ he said. ‘I want $200,000 or you can fix this deal yourselves. I’m going to take a swim.’

‘So am I,’ Gilda said and swung herself off the Li-Lo. Johnny ignored her. He walked down the terrace steps and on down to the beach with Gilda after him.