Эд Макбейн - Let’s Hear It For The Deaf Man

“Four,” Alton said.

“Would you know their names?”

“The man in charge was Detective Schmitt. I don’t know the names of the others.”

“I can get that from the 86th,” he said, and wrote “Schmitt” on the typewritten sheet, and then went on to the next question. “Were you treated courteously by the police at all times?”

“Oh yes, most definitely,” Alton said.

He wrote the word “Yes” alongside the question, and then said, “Did any of the police officers have access to cash while they were inside the bank?”

“Yes. The ones at the tellers’ windows.”

“Has this cash been tallied since the police officers left the bank?”

“No, Mr. Carella, it has not.”

“When will a tally be made?”

“This afternoon.”

“Would you please give me a call after the tally is made, sir? The number is Frederick 7-8025.”

“Yes, I’ll do that.”

“Just so I’ll know it’s all there,” he said, and smiled.

“Yes,” Alton said.

“Just a few more questions. Did any of the police officers enter the vault at any time while they were inside the bank?”

“No.”

“Sir, can you tell me how much cash was actually delivered to the bank this morning?”

“Five hundred thousand, three hundred dollars.”

“Was it counted after the holdup, sir?”

“It was.”

“By whom?”

“My assistant manager. Mr. Warshaw.”

“Was it all there?”

“Every penny.”

“Then the perpetrators were entirely unsuccessful.”

“Entirely.”

“Good. I’d like to get Mr. Warshaw’s signature later, stating that he counted the money after the attempted holdup and after the police officers had left the bank...”

“Well, they were still in the bank while he was counting.”

“But not in the vault?”

“No.”

“That’s just as good, Mr. Alton. I only need verification, that’s all. Could we go into the vault now?”

“The vault? What for?”

“To satisfy my lieutenant’s request.”

“What is your lieutenant’s request, Detective Carella?”

“He wants me to make sure the cash is all there.”

“I’ve just told you it’s all there.”

“He wants me to ascertain the fact, sir.”

“How?”

“By counting it.”

“That’s absurd,” Alton said, and looked at his watch. “We’ll be sending the cash out to the tellers in just a little while. An accurate count would take you...”

“I’ll be very quick about it, Mr. Alton. Would it be all right if we went into the vault now? So I can get started?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Alton said.

“Why not, sir?”

“I’ve just told you. I don’t mind cooperating with a departmental request, but not if it’s going to further upset the bank’s routine. I’ve had enough confusion here today, and I don’t need...”

“Sir, this is more than just a departmental request. In order to close out the investigation and satisfy my lieutenant’s...”

“Perhaps I’d best discuss this with your lieutenant then,” Alton said, and reached for the telephone. “What did you say your number was?”

“Don’t touch that phone, Mr. Alton.”

The man was holding a revolver in his fist, and pointing it directly at Alton’s head. For a moment Alton had a terrible feeling of déja vu . He thought, No, this cannot possibly be happening twice in the same day, and then he heard the man saying, “Now listen to me very carefully, Mr. Alton. We are going into the vault and you are going to tell anyone we meet on the way or in the vault itself that I am Detective Carella of the 87th Squad and that we are taking the cash to your office for a count according to police regulations. If you say anything to the contrary, I’ll put a hole in your fucking head. Have you got that, Mr. Alton?”

Alton sighed and said, “Yes, I’ve got it.”

From where he stood at the island counter, the Deaf Man saw Harold and Alton leaving the manager’s office. Harold’s right hand was in the pocket of his coat, undoubtedly around the butt of his pistol. He watched as they entered the vault. On the withdrawal slip before him, he wrote the date, and the number of his account, and then he filled in the amount as Five hundred thousand and no/100 , and in the space provided wrote the amount in numerals, $500,000, and then signed the slip D. R. Taubman .

Alton was coming out of the vault already, carrying a sack of cash. Harold was directly behind him, carrying the second sack, his right hand still in his coat pocket. Together, they went into Alton’s office. The door closed behind them, and the Deaf Man started for the front of the bank.

He was feeling quite proud of himself. Folklore maintained that lightning never struck twice, especially within the space of less than an hour and a half. Yet Harold already had all that sweet cash in his possession, and in just several minutes more (as soon as the Deaf Man stepped outside the bank) Danny and Roger would drive up to the car teller’s window, Florence would park her car across the driveway, and the robbery would happen all over again. The only difference was that this time it would work. It would work because it had already failed, and nobody expects failure to be an essential part of any plan. Having foiled a daring robbery attempt, everyone was now content to sit back and bask in the glory of the achievement. When that teller’s window was smashed in just a very few minutes, and the alarm sounded at the 86th Precinct and the Security Office, the Deaf Man would not be surprised if everyone considered it an error. He was willing to bet that the phone in Mr. Alton’s office would ring immediately, asking if this was legit or if there was something malfunctioning. In any case, Harold would be out of the office the moment he heard the glass smashing, and they would all be on their way before the police responded. It was almost too simple. And yet it was delicious.

He reached the revolving doors and started through them.

A man was pushing his way through from the street side.

It had been a long time since the Deaf Man had seen Carella. But when you’ve once fired a shotgun at a man and he later returns the compliment with a.38 Detective’s Special, you’re not too terribly likely to forget his face. The Deaf Man knew at once that the man shoving his way into the bank was Detective Steve Carella, whom his cohorts had clobbered and robbed of identification the night before. In that split second of recognition, the Deaf Man found himself outside the bank, while Carella moved inside and walked directly to the guard.

Carella had not seen him.

But the Deaf Man’s appearance on the sidewalk was the signal for Roger and Danny to start their car and head for the teller’s window, which they did now with frightening alacrity. Similarly, it was the signal for Florence to move her car across the mouth of the bank’s driveway, and the Deaf Man was dismayed to see that she had learned her job only too well, and was proceeding to perform it with all possible haste. Carella was talking to the bank guard, who looked extremely puzzled, as well he might when presented with two detectives in the space of fifteen minutes, each of whom claimed to be the same person. The Deaf Man figured the jig was up. He did what any sensible master criminal would have done in the same situation. He got the hell out of there, fast.

A lot of things happened in the next few minutes.

Following the guard to the manager’s office, Carella heard glass shattering on his right. He turned and saw a man smashing the car teller’s window with a sledge hammer. He did what any sensible crack detective would have done in the same situation. He drew his revolver and fired at the man, and then ran to the counter and fired across it at a second man, sitting in the driver’s seat of a car outside the window. In that instant a third man came running out of the manager’s office carrying two sacks of cash. The bank guard, thinking he had somehow lived through all of this before, in the not-too-distant past, nonetheless drew his own pistol and began firing at the man with the cash, whom he had previously met as Detective Carella; it was all very confusing. He hit the vault door, he hit the door to Mr. Alton’s office, and he also hit Mr. Warshaw, the assistant manager, in the right arm. But he did not hit the man carrying the sacks of cash. The man dropped one sack, pulled a pistol from his coat pocket, and began spraying the center aisle with bullets. He leaped the counter, and was heading for the broken teller’s window when Carella shot him in the leg. He whirled and, dragging himself toward the window, fired at Carella, shoved the frightened car teller out of his way, and attempted to climb through the broken glass to where one of his colleagues lay dead at the wheel of the car. Carella felled him with his second shot, and then leaped the counter himself and rushed to the broken window. The man who had smashed it with the sledge hammer was badly wounded and trying to crawl up the driveway to where a car engine suddenly started. Carella leaned out and fired at the car as it pulled away, tires screeching. One of the lady tellers screamed. A uniformed policeman rushed into the bank and starting firing at Carella, who yelled, “I’m a cop!” And then the bank was swarming with policemen from the 86th and private security officers, all of them answering the alarm for the second time that day. Two blocks away from the bank, the lady driving the getaway car ran a traffic light and was stopped by a patrolman. She tried to shoot him with a.22 caliber revolver she pulled from her purse, so the patrolman hit her with his nightstick and clapped her into handcuffs.