Evan Hunter - Every Little Crook and Nanny

“Thank you,” Snitch said. He began counting the dollar bills, and then took a closer look at the top one, and squinted, and looked at it again, his telephoto gaze zooming in on the picture of General George Washington:

“Thank you,” Snitch said glumly, thinking Crime does not pay.

In the living room at Many Maples, Nanny stared at the man with the stocking over his head and wondered how much longer she could stall him. She had already excused herself a total of four times, going into the kitchen and using the wall phone there to ring up Benny Napkins. Each time she had got only Jeanette Kay, who became increasingly more irritated because she was watching Friday Night at the Movies, and Nanny always called during a good part.

Arthur Doppio was very uncomfortable inside his stocking, but he supposed fifty thousand dollars was worth a little discomfort. He kept wondering when the Ganucci governess would come across with the money. All she kept doing, though, was asking him where the boy was, and then excusing herself all the time.

“Excuse me,” Nanny said again, and rose, and walked swiftly out of the room.

Arthur figured she had a weak bladder.

“Can you please step on it?” Benny said to the cabdriver. “I have to catch a ten-o’clock plane.”

“Plenty of time,” the driver said.

“I’m supposed to be there an hour before departure.”

“That’s what they tell you,” the driver said. “What they tell you is a lot of shit. You don’t have to get there an hour before departure.”

“I thought you did,” Benny said.

“Hello?” Nanny whispered into the telephone.

“He’s still not here,” Jeanette Kay answered, and hung up.

Nanny sighed, carefully replaced the receiver on its cradle, and walked out of the kitchen. As she passed little Lewis’s room, she glanced in and thought for a moment she saw the boy sitting up in bed, reading a comic book.

“Hello, Nanny,” Lewis said.

Dominick drove very slowly because he was unfamiliar with Benny Napkins’ little Volkswagen. Also, he did not have a driver’s license, and he did not wish to get busted on some bullshit traffic violation. When he heard the police siren behind him, he thought for a moment that Benny had saddled him with a stolen vehicle. But the radio motor patrol car went speeding by on his left, its red dome light flashing, siren shrieking, streaking off into the night.

Dominick wondered what a New York City police car was doing up here in Westchester County.

He decided to drive even more slowly.

“You understand,” the customs inspector said, searching, “that this is merely routine procedure, Mr. Ganucci.”

“I understand,” Ganucci said.

“We will very often make spot checks of citizens returning to this country.”

“I understand.”

“Taking them into this little room here, and stripping them down naked, as we have done to you.”

“Yes, I understand,” Ganucci said.

“Especially if we think they may be smuggling in heroin or diamonds or the like,” the inspector said, probing.

Ganucci coughed.

“Out!” Nanny said. “He’s back!”

“Who’s back?” Arthur asked in terror. “Ganooch?”

“The boy!”

“Thank God!” Arthur said.

“Out!” Nanny said.

Coming up the driveway to Many Maples, Bozzaris passed a blue Plymouth sedan heading in the opposite direction. He turned quickly in his seat and caught a fleeting glimpse of the man behind the wheel.

“Is that a violation?” he asked his driver, a rookie who considered it a distinct honor to be chauffeuring the lieutenant.

“Is what a violation, sir?” the rookie asked.

“Driving a vehicle with a nylon stocking on your head?”

“Is that a trick question, sir?” the rookie asked.

“I don’t know what this goddamn city is coming to,” Bozzaris said, “pardon the French.” He shook his head in deep despair. “People running around all over the place with stockings on their heads. I’m sure that must be a violation.”

“Where did you wish me to park, sir?” the rookie asked.

“At the front door,” Bozzaris said, “of course.”

He got out of the car, walked up the path, and rang the bell under the Ganucci escutcheon, thinking all the while how unfair it was that an evil criminal like Carmine Ganucci could live in a beautiful mansion like this while he, Detective Lieutenant Alexander Bozzaris, lived in a two-family clapboard house in the Bronx across the street from a goddam junior high school.

“Who is it?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Police officer,” Bozzaris said. “Would you open the door, please, ma’am?”

The door opened. A woman in a black dress with a little white collar peered out at him and said, “Yes?”

“Detective Lieutenant Alexander Bozzaris,” he said, and flashed the tin, which he knew in police jargon meant he was showing her his shield. “Upon information and belief,” he said, “a major felony has been committed on these premises, which I am here to investigate.”

“What major felony?” the woman asked.

“A kidnaping,” Bozzaris said.

“Nonsense,” the woman said.

“Upon information and belief,” Bozzaris said, “the son of Carmine Ganucci was kidnaped Tuesday night. May I come in, please?”

“I am the child’s governess,” the woman said, “and he is in his bed reading a comic book.”

“If that is true, may I please observe the alleged victim?”

“Follow me,” the governess said.

Bozzaris followed her into the house, thinking, Look at this, look at the fruits of organized evil! Disgusting, a filthy materialistic ostentatious display, pardon the French.

“Lewis,” the governess said, “this is Detective Lieutenant Alexander Bozzaris.”

“How do you do?” Lewis said.

“Have you been kidnaped?” Bozzaris asked.

“No,” Lewis said.

“Very well,” Bozzaris said, thinking Crime does not pay.

As Dominick the Guru steered the. Volkswagen up the driveway to Many Maples, he passed a police car on the way out. He almost drove the small car off the road and into the trees lining the drive, but decided instead that this might look suspicious to any alert police officer. He drove to the oval in front of the house, cut the engine, and got out of the car. Standing in the driveway for several minutes, he listened with his good burglar’s ears for the sound of the police car returning. Convinced that it had gone on its merry way, he rang the doorbell.

“Who is it?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Dominick Digruma,” he said, which was his proper name.

“Just a moment,” the woman said, and unlocked the door.

“Are you Nanny?”

“I am Nanny,” she said.

Dominick reached into his pocket and handed her the thick white envelope. “This is from Benny Napkins,” he said. “May God help you in getting back that poor little kid from the maniacs that have got him.”

“Thank you,” Nanny said.

“My pleasure,” Dominick answered.

Nanny closed the door. Outside, she could hear Dominick’s footfalls as he walked on the gravel toward his automobile. She heard the car starting, heard the tires squealing as he backed around, and then heard the engine gunning as he drove forward. The sound of the car receded. She waited until she could no longer hear it at all, and then she opened the envelope.

There seemed to be fifty thousand dollars in the envelope.

There also seemed to be a round-trip ticket to Naples via Rome.

Nanny grinned.