Lawrence Sanders - McNally's caper

‘I’ll need some, uh, bullets,’ I said faintly.

‘But of course. Understood. At a very small additional cost. I suggest a box of fifty.’

‘Whatever you say.’

‘Then you are quite satisfied with this particular gun, dear lady?’

‘Oh yes. As long as you recommend it.’

‘I do indeed. But you will be happy to know that should it prove unsatisfactory, for whatever reason, I stand ready to buy it back within a year of purchase at a mere twenty-five percent reduction of your cost. That is my personal guarantee to you. Now just let me do a little quick arithmetic here to arrive at the total cost of weapon and ammunition.’

‘Plus tax?’ I said lightly.

‘Pardon?’ he said absently. ‘Oh no, dear lady, no tax.’

He tucked the the catalogue back into his attache case and removed a small scratchpad. He figured rapidly with a gold ballpoint pen.

‘One nine-millimeter Parabellum automatic pistol in factory-sealed carton, plus fifty rounds of standard ammunition for same … one hundred and … carry the six … and we arrive at one fifty-three, seventy-two. Oh, let’s round it out to an even one hundred and fifty dollars. How does that strike you, dear lady? Is it within your budget?’

‘I–I think so,’ I said hesitantly. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have the cash with me,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose that you would take a check?’

‘Well, ah, no, dear lady, I do not think that would be wise. Over the years I have evolved a system of payment and delivery that I think you’ll find satisfactory. However, it usually involves a third person — in this case, Mr Morris Lapidus, our estimable host. You trust Mr Lapidus?’ 1‘Morrie?’ I said. ‘Of course. All the way.’

‘Excellent.’ He nodded, beaming. ‘My sentiments exactly. When can you deliver the total cash payment to Mr Lapidus?’

I thought for a moment. Then I said:

‘The restaurant opens at noon tomorrow. I can have it here by then.’

‘Most satisfactory,’ Uncle Sam purred.

‘And I’ll pick up my gun from Morrie?’

‘Oh no!’ he said, shocked. ‘No, no, no, dear lady. I wouldn’t think of involving Mr Lapidus to that extent. You leave the purchase price with Mr Lapidus at 12:00 noon. Return at approximately 2:00 P.M., and Mr Lapidus will deliver to you an envelope. Within the envelope you will find a key to a parcel locker in Grand Central Station, along with a brief note giving you the number and precise location of the locker. Only one warning: Your purchase must be taken from the locker within twenty-four hours. Lockers closed longer than that may be opened by the authorities and their contents removed.’

‘I’ll go as soon as I get the key,’ I said. I paused, looking at him thoughtfully.

‘Ah, yes, dear lady,’ he said with a particularly gentle smile. ‘You were wondering if, after you have paid the sum required, I will actually leave a locker key with Mr Lapidus. Or if it will be the right key for the locker designated. Or if the weapon will, indeed, be in the locker. Or if the cupboard will be bare.’

‘Well … yes. Uncle Sam,’ I confessed. ‘I was thinking along those lines.’

‘Trust,’ he said solemnly. ‘I can urge you to nothing but trust. One of the noblest emotions of which human beings are capable. You must trust in my honor and in my honesty.’

I stared at the clear, guileless eyes and lips curved in a perpetual smile.

‘I trust you. Uncle Sam,’ I said.

‘God bless you, dear lady!’ he cried joyfully. He caught up my hand and pressed the knuckles to his lips.

That next night, Dick Fleming and I sat at the desk in my office and tried to follow the instructions in the leaflet: ‘To load the 9-mm. Parabellum, it is necessary to depress the magazine release button (marked 3 in Diagram A), allowing the magazine to eject freely.’ And so on.

The gun, magazine, and bullets gleamed dully in the light of the desk lamp. They seemed very heavy, very solid. We were both surprised by their physical presence. They were — well, they were very real.

I picked up the empty pistol, gripped it in the approved manner, pointed it at the far wall.

‘Not ka-chow ,’ I said. ‘Pow/’

‘Pow/’ Dick Fleming said. ‘Now where’s part 6 in Diagram C?’

‘Assuming we go ahead and recruit a gang,’ I said to Dick, ‘I’m not about to bring them up here for strategy meetings and arguments on how to divide the loot. I don’t want them to know who I am, either. I don’t want them to come looking for me after we desert them.’

‘Understood,’ Dick said. ‘But even if we set up another place to meet, and you operate under a phony name, what if you meet one of them accidentally on the street after this is all over?’

‘That means not only a change of name,’ 1 said, ‘but a complete change of identity, of appearance. So complete that even if they meet me accidentally later, when I’ve become Jannie Shean again, they won’t recognize me.’

‘Can’t be done,’ Dick said firmly.

‘Sure it can. Change of hair color with a wig. A new makeup job. A different wardrobe. Even a different way of walking and talking.’

‘Playing a role?’ he said dubiously. ‘You’re not an actress, Jannie.’

‘The hell I’m not!’ I said. ‘All women are actresses. How else do you think we’ve been able to survive in a man’s world? Tell you what — I’ll go ahead and create the new woman. You take a look, and if you say it won’t work, I’ll forget it and we’ll try something else.’

‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Now what about this business of another apartment, a new home for the new woman?’

‘Let’s take it step by step. First, the new appearance, then the new name, identity, background, apartment, and so forth.’

‘Jannie,’ he groaned, ‘it’s going to cost a whole lot of money.’

‘Not so much,’ I said. ‘Besides, it’s all deductible as a business expense: research for my new novel.’ ‘I’d love to be there,’ he said, ‘when you try to convince the IRS.’

I found a lingerie shop on Sixth Avenue that apparently catered to the wives and girlfriends of underwear fetishists and sex maniacs. In the window I saw brassieres with holes cut out round the nipples, panties with open crotches, and negligees embroidered with obscene suggestions.

‘Good morning,’ I mumbled to a saleslady. ‘Do you have anything that will make me, uh, look bigger — up here?’

‘Sure, dearie,’ she said promptly. ‘Single, double, or triple pads?’

‘Uh, single, I guess.’

‘What size are you now?’

‘About 34-B.’

‘Take the double,’ she said firmly. She craned around to inspect my derriere. ‘You could use some fanny, pads too. Come back to the dressing room; I’ll make a new woman out of you.’

She did too. A triumph of engineering.

I bought a lot of freaky stuff in that place. Including red babydoll pajamas that had, embroidered on the crotch, the legend ‘All hope abandon ye who enter here.’

Elsewhere, I purchased two pairs of sexy sandals with three-inch heels. I could hardly stand in them, but the clerk assured me I’d soon learn to walk gracefully.

‘They make you look like a queen,’ he gushed.

I was about to tell him that he was way ahead of me, but thought better of it.

I bought sweaters too tight, blouses too small, skirts too short.

In the Times Square Wig-o-Rama I bought a metallic-blond wig, shoulder length, and one so black it was almost purple, came halfway down my back. Both wigs had the texture of steel wool and smelled faintly of Clorox. I figured a perfumed hair spray would remedy that.