Бретт Холлидей - Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 34, No. 3, February 1974

“You mentioned Dixie Dan Shivers, Lefty,” he said. “Am I to understand that you wish to purchase the setup he had in mind?”

Big Lefty nodded. “This is true,” he answered. “Dixie can’t make it, Caser. Er — you are the Caser, ain’t you?”

The man grinned at him. “That’s what they call me, Lefty. You say Dixie can’t make it?”

“This is also true,” the big man confirmed. “You see, Dixie and The Dummy came to us tonight wanting to borrow the bread. I told him no. If I was a bank president back in Willy Sutton’s heyday, I’d sooner have given Willy a job as a security guard than advance any money to Dixie. That’s how much I trust the bum.”

A small chuckle, then: “I see. All well and good then, gentlemen. It doesn’t really matter to me who buys the work, just so long as it is taken on by responsible people. I have my reputation to maintain, you know, and I can’t farm it out to any incompetents.”

“Sure, Caser, we realize that.”

“Good. Now, of secondary — but yet paramount importance — is my monitary consideration. No offence, gentlemen, but in my business I cannot afford to extend credit to anyone.”

“I hear you, Caser,” said Big Lefty. “Cash on the proverbial barrelhead. And I don’t blame you. There are very few honest crooks around these days.”

“I’m glad you see it my way, Lefty. You brought the cash with you?”

The scar-faced giant nodded. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he extracted a sheaf of bills. “Here it is, Caser,” he said. “Five thousand iron men in ice cold cash.”

“Good.” Our host accepted the money, riffled through it with a quick professional count and appeared satisfied at the result. Then, discarding his suave air and sophisticated manner of speaking, he laid it out to us sharp and quick in an argot much more familiar to us.

“Now,” he said, “here is the situation. There is a small burg called Morningside fifty-three miles north of here, and they have a tin and plywood cigar box there that they call the Farmers Mutual Trust. Normally, they don’t keep enough dough in there to buy a second hand bicycle, but just for tonight, it’s different. You see, the rube merchants up there have sponsored a county fair for the hicks in the surrounding area for the last three days, Friday, Saturday, and today, Sunday. Now, all the receipts from this hillbilly cow review are resting in a heavy breadbox they call a safe, and it’s just waiting for the right takers to come along. But the takers will have to come along tonight, as they will move the dough tomorrow, Monday. My estimation of the take, based on personal observation, is between fifty and sixty thou.

“As for the law, there is only one cop, and this moron keeps himself occupied with a frowzy-haired waitress in the all-night local greasy spoon five blocks away from the old jug. Now, there is a burglar alarm on this jug, but that can be easily circumvented by disconnecting one main wire outside the bank. Once the alarm is kaput and you go into the side window you got no sweat. The safe is so old and decrepit that its still got ‘wanted’ posters of the James boys and the Daltons in it.

“And this vault isn’t even locked; it just looks like it is. They can’t lock it because the only one that knew the combination croaked on a fish sandwich Friday at the fair, and the local rustics ain’t had time over the weekend to get an expert in to re-set the tumblers. All you have to do is turn the handle slowly to the left, and the door will obligingly swing open.

“Another thing: Regardless of all that loot in there, you won’t have to worry about the yokels taking any extra precautions such as having spare police on duty. They live in a sublime, naive community where crime is practically unheard of. The last crime wave they had was when a hobo swiped a shirt off a clothesline and that was forty years ago.”

Little Manuel giggled. The Caser smiled at him and then went on “Be sure to bring adequate luggage with you to carry the money. It’s mostly in small bills with quite a bit of change, and should be rather awkward to handle. You can tote it right out the back door and load it into your car, which you can park in the unlit alley behind the bank. So you see? That’s how simple the whole thing is.”

It sounded simple, all right. Almost too easy. But then again, this was no less than the Caser, and with his reputation, he was to be trusted implicitly.

We smoked, drank, asked a few questions and then the blond man brought out a large sheet of paper on which was a general layout of the town and, most importantly, a detailed diagram of the bank itself.

Penciled in, in a fine hand, were all the notations necessary to completing the work, and to our professional eye the taking looked to be a snap And if what the man said about the take was true, then this sheet would be well worth five grand.

Satisfied of its authenticity, Big Lefty stood up stretched like Gargantua and said. “Well, boys, I guess we better get going if we’re gonna crack that gizmo tonight. What time is it, Lucky?”

I consulted my hot watch “A little after ten”

“Good. We’ve got plenty of time. We’ll go back to Solemn Sol’s, pick up some hardware and hit the road for Morningside.”

Big Lefty snatched up the diagram, folded it and stuffed it in his pocket. We all shook hands with the Caser, who wished us good luck, and we took our leave.

On the way down in the elevator, Big Lefty said to me “Lucky, what means incompetance, paramount and monitary?”

“Nothing,” I told him. “It’s just the Caser’s way of showing us how smart he is with words.”

“Aha! That’s what I thought.”

“Yeah.”

He looked at me. “You sure you know what you’re talking about?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Downstairs, as we passed back through the lobby, the fairy desk clerk asked ‘Big Boy’ if he’d found Mr. Brockman all right.

Without breaking his great stride, Big Lefty doffed his hat at the fellow an announced: “Why, yes, madam, I found Mr. Brockman very all right, indeed. And tomorrow, I might come and see how you are.”

We went out the door with Little Manuel giggling again.

In less time than it takes to tell we were back at Solemn Sol’s, and as we passed through the crowded outer bar I put the snatch on a fresh jug of Bourbon from the rear shelf and carried it to the back room. Big Lefty shut the door, checked the bolt on the other door lealding to the alley and then told Little Manuel to get out the guns.

I poured a round of drinks and then sat down to check out my thirty-eight snubnose. Big Lefty fondled his forty-five automatic lovingly, worked the mechanism a couple of times, loaded it and then jammed it into his belt. Compared to his massive proportions the big piece of ordnance resembled a toy, whereas the small twenty two target pistol Little Manuel stuck in his own belt was analogous to a cannon.

Big Lefty lowered his huge frame into a chair opposite me.

“What,” he said, “are we going to put the bank money in?”

I thought for a moment and then came up with. “I’ve got a couple of old suitcases over in my apartment.”

“That should be good enough,” he said. “Manuel, how’s about you going over after them.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re the best lookingest.”

“Don’t try to con me, ‘Big Boy’ ”

“And,” Big Lefty went on, “you’re also the smallest.”

“Which means?”

“Which means you’re gonna get it if you don’t get cracking!”