Donald Westlake - Bank Shot

A little silence fell on the group. Dortmunder, who had just been sitting there letting the conversation wash over him while he basted in his own pessimism, sighed and shook his head and reached for the bourbon bottle again. He knew that May believed that planning even an idiot job that wouldn’t ever happen was better than doing nothing at all, and he supposed she was right, but what he wouldn’t give for news right now about a factory that still paid cash.

All right. He was the planner — that was his function — so it was up to him to think about the details as they came along. No wheels. He sighed and said to Murch, “The thing is sitting on those concrete block walls, right?”

“That’s right,” Murch said. “What they must have done, they jacked it up, took the wheels off, put the concrete blocks in place, and lowered the trailer down onto them.”

“The concrete blocks are cemented to each other,” Dortmunder said. “The question is, are they cemented to the bottom of the trailer?”

Murch shook his head. “Definitely not. The trailer’s just resting there.”

“With concrete block all around underneath.”

“Not on the ends, just along the two sides.”

A tiny flicker of interest made Dortmunder frown. “Not at the ends?”

“No,” Murch said. “The one end is against the Kresge’s next door, and the other end they’ve just got a wooden lattice across it. So they can get in at it, I guess.”

Dortmunder turned his head to look at Victor. For a wonder, Victor wasn’t smiling; instead, he was watching Dortmunder with such intensity he looked paralyzed. It wasn’t much of an improvement. Squinting, Dortmunder said, “Is there ever any time when the bank is empty? No guards at all?”

“Every night,” Victor said. “Except Thursday, when the cash is in it.”

“They don’t have a night watchman in there?”

“They don’t keep any cash there at all,” Victor said, “except on Thursdays. Otherwise, there’s nothing to steal. And they’ve got all the normal burglar alarms. And the police patrol the business streets pretty often out there.”

“What about weekends?”

“They patrol weekends, too.”

“No,” Dortmunder said. “What about guards on the weekends? Saturday afternoon, for instance. The thing’s empty then?”

“Sure,” Victor said. “With so many shoppers going by on Saturday, what do they need with guards?”

“All right,” Dortmunder said. He turned back to Murch and said, “Can we get wheels someplace?”

“Sure,” Murch said. No hesitation at all.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely positive. There is totally nothing in the automotive line that I can’t get you.”

Dortmunder said, “Good. Can we get wheels that will lift the damn thing up off those concrete blocks?”

“We may have to rig something,” Murch said. “They’ve got those walls up pretty high. There may not be any wheels-and-axle combination that big. But we could attach the axle to a kind of platform and then attach the platform to the bottom of the trailer.”

“What about jacks?”

Murch shook his head. “What about them?”

“We can get heavy enough jacks to lift that thing?”

“We don’t have to,” Murch said. “It has its own jacks, four of them, built up into the undercarriage.”

Victor said, “Excuse me, Mr. Murch, but how did you —”

“Call me Stan.”

“Thank you. I’m Victor. How did you —”

“Hello. How did you find out about the jacks? Did you crawl under the bank and look?”

Murch grinned and said, “Naw. Down in the corner there’s the company name that built the thing. Roamerica. Didn’t you notice that?”

“I never did,” Victor said. He sounded impressed.

“It’s a little silver plate near the back,” Murch said. “Near Kresge’s.”

His Mom said, “Stan has a wonderful eye for detail.”

“So we went to a place that sells them,” Murch said, “and I took a look at the same kind of model.”

“With wheels,” Kelp said. He was still taking the business of the wheels as a personal insult.

Murch nodded. “With wheels.”

“They’re really very nice inside,” his Mom said. “More roomy than you’d think. I liked the one with the French Provincial motif.”

“I like where we live now,” Murch said.

“I’m not saying buy one. I just said I liked it. Very clean, very nice. And you know what I thought of that kitchen.”

Dortmunder said, “If we got wheels on it, could you drive it away from there?”

Murch’s beer was only half gone, but the head was gone entirely. Musing, he shook a little salt into the glass, which restored some head, and passed the shaker to his mom. “Not with a car,” he said. “It’s too heavy for that. With a truck. The cab of a tractor-trailer — that would be best.”

“But it could be done.”

“Oh, sure. I’d have to stick to main streets, though. You’ve got a twelve-foot width. That’s pretty wide for going down back roads. Cuts your possibilities for a getaway route.”

Dortmunder nodded. “I figured that.”

“Also time of day,” Murch said. “Late at night would be best, when there’s not so much traffic around.”

“Well, we’d figure to do it then anyway,” Dortmunder said.

“A lot depends,” Murch said, “on where you want to take it.”

Dortmunder glanced at Kelp, who looked very defensive and said, “We can work that out, we can work it out. Victor and me.”

Dortmunder grimaced and looked back at Murch. “Would you be willing to try it?”

“Try what?”

“Driving the bank away.”

“Sure! Naturally, that’s what I’m here for.”

Dortmunder nodded and sat back in his chair. He didn’t look specifically at anybody, but brooded at the green felt tabletop. Nobody spoke for half a minute or so, and then Victor said, “Do you think we can do it, Mr. Dortmunder?”

Dortmunder glanced at him, and the intense look was still there. This was originally Victor’s notion, of course, so it was only natural he wanted to know if he had a workable idea or not. Dortmunder said, “I don’t know yet. It begins to look as though we can take the thing away, but there’s still a lot of problems.”

Kelp said, “But we can go forward, right?”

Dortmunder said, “You and Victor can look for a place to stash the bank while —” He stopped and shook his head. “A place to stash the bank. I can’t believe I’m saying a thing like that. Anyway, you two do that, Murch sets up wheels and a truck or whatever, and —”

“There’s the question of money,” Murch said. “We’re gonna need some deep financing on this job.”

“That’s my department,” Kelp said. “I’ll take care of that.”

“Good,” Dortmunder said.

Murch’s Mom said, “Is this meeting over? I got to get home and get this brace off.”

“We’ll be in touch with each other,” Dortmunder said.

Kelp said, “You want me to call Herman X?”

Murch said, “Herman X?”

“Sure,” Dortmunder said. “Give him a call. But tell him it isn’t a definite set-up yet.”

Murch said, “Herman X?”

“You know him?” Kelp said. “A lockman, one of the best.”

Victor suddenly jumped to his feet and extended his ginger-ale glass over the table. “A toast!” he cried. “One for all and all for one!”

There was a stunned silence, and then Kelp gave a panicky smile and said, “Oh, yeah, sure.” He got to his feet with his bourbon glass.

One by one the others also stood. Nobody wanted to embarrass Victor. They clinked their glasses together over the middle of the table, and again Victor said, loud and clear, “One for all and all for one!”