Donald Westlake - Cops and Robbers

Tom said, “Twelve million? That’s good.”

“It’s bullshit,” Joe said. “They’re padding it for the insurance company, just like anybody else.”

“You think so?”

“I guarantee it.”

Grinning, Tom said, “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Ten million or twelve million, we’ll still let Vigano have it for the two million we said to begin with.”

Joe laughed, then winced and took one hand off the steering wheel to clutch his forehead. Still holding it, but still laughing, he said, “We’re a couple of sports, we are.”

“Quiet a second,” Tom said, and patted the air.

On the radio, they were still talking about the robbery. The announcer had been replaced by somebody interviewing a Deputy Police Commissioner. The interviewer was saying, “Is there any chance at all that these actually were police officers?”

The Commissioner had a deep voice, and a slow dignified manner of speech, like a fat man walking. He said, “We don’t at this time believe so. We do not believe that this was a crime such as police officers would have committed. The police force is not perfect, but armed robbery is not in the pattern of police crime.”

The interviewer asked, “Is it possible they really did use a Police Department squad car to make their getaway?”

The Commissioner said, “You mean stolen?”

“Well—” said the interviewer. “Stolen, or borrowed.”

The Commissioner said, “That possibility is being investigated. The investigation is not yet complete, but so far we have no evidence of any stolen police vehicle.”

“Or borrowed,” said the interviewer.

The Commissioner, sounding a little irritated, said, “Or borrowed, yes.”

“But that possibility is being investigated?”

Heavily, sounding like a man having trouble holding onto his temper, the Commissioner said, “All possibilities are being investigated.”

Joe said, “That wise-ass reporter could lay off on the borrowed for a while.”

“We’re safe on that,” Tom said. “You know we are. We worked it out, and there’s no way anybody can figure out what car was used.”

Joe said, “We’re safe on that ? What do you mean, we’re safe on that? Where aren’t we safe?”

“We’re safe all over,” Tom said. “You were talking about the car, that’s all. I’m saying they can’t get to us through the car, there’s no way.”

“I already knew that,” Joe said. Squinting out at the traffic, he said, “I should have worn sunglasses.”

They both had sunglasses on. Tom looked over at Joe and said, “You are wearing sunglasses.”

“What?” Joe touched his face and felt the glasses. “Jesus Christ, it must be bright out there.” He lowered the glasses slightly, looked at the glare, and shoved them back into place. “I should have worn two pair,” he said.

“Wait,” Tom said. “They’re still talking about it.”

A different interviewer was on now, asking questions of the Inspector from the downtown precinct who was in charge of the investigation. The interviewer was asking him, “Do you have any leads or suspects so far?”

That’s the question they always ask, and it’s the one question that can never be answered while an investigation is still going on. But they always ask it, and the spokesman has to deal with it somehow. What the Inspector said was, “So far, the best we can say is, it looks like an inside job. They knew exactly what to take, negotiable instruments as good as money.”

The interviewer said, “All bearer bonds, is that it?”

“That’s right,” the Inspector said. “They were very explicit with the girl they sent into the vault to get the stuff for them. They wanted all bearer bonds, no bond worth less than twenty thousand or more than a hundred thousand.”

“And that’s what they got,” said the interviewer.

“Exactly,” said the Inspector. “To the tune of almost twelve million dollars.”

“And the fact that the robbers wore police uniforms?”

“Definitely a disguise,” the Inspector said.

The interviewer said, “Then you’re confident the robbers have no connection with the Police Department.”

“Absolutely,” said the Inspector.

“And that’s more bullshit,” Joe said. “We’ll be lucky they don’t run the whole force through the line-up, give Eastpoole a look at us all.”

“I’d rather not,” Tom said.

“If they do,” Joe said, “I hope it’s this morning. I don’t even recognize myself right now.”

“We drank too much last night,” Tom said. “We shouldn’t do that.”

“Not when we got to work.”

“Not anyway,” Tom said. “That’s the way you get fat.”

Joe gave him a look, then faced the highway again. “Talk about yourself, pal,” he said.

Tom didn’t have the strength to be insulted. “Anyway,” he said, “a year from now, we won’t have to go to work at all anymore. Not ever.”

“I want to talk to you about that,” Joe said.

“About what?”

“About how long we stick around.”

Tom roused himself toward anger. “Are you going to start that again?”

Joe, being low and intense even though it made his head hurt more, said, “A year is too long, that’s all, too much shit happens. You do what you want, I’m giving it six months.”

“We agreed—”

“Sue me,” Joe said, and glowered at the traffic.

Tom stared at him, and for a few seconds he was boiling mad. But then the rage suddenly drained out of him, like water out of a sink, and all he felt was tired again. Looking away, he shrugged and said, “Do what you want, I don’t care.”

They were both silent for a couple minutes. Then Joe said, “Besides, we’ve still got Vigano to think about.”

Tom kept looking out the side window. He wasn’t mad about the six months anymore; in fact he agreed with it, though he’d never admit that. But the Vigano thing was something else. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said.

“We’ll want to give him a call,” Joe said. “You call him, right? You know him.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tom said. “I’m the one he’s got the arrangement with, how I’m supposed to call and everything.”

“When will you do it? This afternoon?”

“No, not today,” Tom said. “It’s not a good idea to do it today.”

“Why not?”

“Well, in the first place, I’ve got too much of a headache to think straight. In the second place, we ought to let a couple days go by, maybe a week. Let things quiet down a little after the robbery before we do anything else.”

Joe shrugged. “I don’t get the point,” he said.

“Listen,” Tom said, “what’s the hurry?” He was getting annoyed again, and that was making the headache worse, and that was making him more annoyed. “We’re going to be here six months no matter when I call Vigano.”

“Okay,” Joe said. “Do it any way you want.”

“So there’s no reason to rush. He’ll keep.”

“Fine with me,” Joe said.

“Just let me do it at my own pace.”

“That’s what I’ll do,” Joe said. “Forget I brought it up.”

“All right,” Tom said. He was breathing hard. “All right,” he said.

Vigano slowly turned the pages of the book. He was sitting at a wooden table in the library of his own home, turning the pages, looking at the faces on each page. Marty was also at the table, looking through a second book. The other books were being studied over at a second table by everyone who’d had a look at the guy who’d come here a month ago to ask what he should steal that Vigano would pay two million dollars for.

The messenger who’d brought the books down from New York was waiting in a car in the driveway. It had cost a lot of money to get the loan of these books for the night, and the messenger had to get them back no later than six tomorrow morning. The books contained the official photo of every policeman currently on active duty with the New York Police Department.