Part 28 (1/2)

It's Mr. Hayes, Porter says. One of our salesmen.

Open it.

A young man about Willie's age saunters in, removes his hat, throws it on one of the showcases. Hiya Charlie, he says to Porter, how come the door's still locked?

Willie sticks his gun in the man's back. Good question. Be real quiet and do as you're told.

He hands First Salesman off to Marcus, who wires his wrists to his ankles and sets him on the floor.

A minute later, another knock.

That'll be Mr. Woods, Porter says. Salesman.

Porter opens the door. This time Sutton does the tying while Marcus holds the gun. Second Salesman makes a sound, a wince or a cry.

Don't hurt him, Porter says, he's an old man.

I'm not hurting anybody, Willie says, annoyed.

Another knock. That's Mr. Fox, Porter says.

Willie pulls Third Salesman aside as he walks through the door, jams the gun in his ribs. Good morning. We've been waiting for you. Come with me, we're going to open the safe.

Can I hang up my hat and coat first?

Drop them.

Willie marches Third Salesman to the back room and stands him before the safe. Open it, he says.

Third Salesman fumbles with the dial. I can't remember the combination.

That's a stall, Willie says. Come on, open it-or I'll give you the works.

Are you really a letter carrier?

I'll ask the questions.

Third Salesman turns back to the safe. He's cursing, sighing, and he's sweatier than Marcus. I can't remember the combination, he says.

You're lying.

I tell you I can't remember. I'd open it if I could. Don't you think my life means something to me?

I don't know what the h.e.l.l your life means. All I know is you're stalling.

Willie hears Porter calling from the showroom: You must have scared the numbers clean out of him. Let me phone Mr. Rosenthal, I'll get you the combination.

Willie walks out to the showroom. He eyes Porter. Let him use the phone, he says to Marcus.

Porter dials while Marcus presses his ear against the receiver. Willie watches from ten feet away.

Yes, h.e.l.lo, Mr. Rosenthal? Charlie here. Mr. Fox has forgotten the combination to the safe, would you give it to me please? No sir. Mr. Fox has forgotten it. Yes sir. The store's not open yet. No sir. Nine-fifteen. I know sir.

Porter writes down the combination. Willie unties the wire attached to his leg and walks him to the back room. Porter spins the dial. It takes him three tries. Finally the safe door swings open to reveal an inner door-also locked.

I'll need my keys for this door, Porter says.

He walks back to the showroom. Slowly. He takes a set of keys from under the front showcase, walks to the back room. Even more slowly. He doesn't hand the keys to Willie. He dangles them before Willie's face.

You sure you've never been in a holdup before?

Nope.

You ever done a holdup?

I don't break the law.

You knew the combination this whole time, didn't you? You were trying to stall. And you were trying to tip the owner-weren't you? Weren't you, Porter?

Porter doesn't answer.

Willie grabs the keys from him. He turns to Third Salesman. Which drawers have the good stuff?

Three, five, and seven.

Willie opens them. Costume jewelry. Willie glares at Third Salesman. If he were a different man he'd shoot Third Salesman and Porter where they stand. How do they know he's not a different man?

From the showroom Marcus calls out to Willie: Hey. Nine twenty-eight. Better move.

Willie pulls out the other drawers. Jackpot. Diamond bracelets, diamond watches, diamond rings, ruby bracelets, platinum watches with diamonds around the faces-and one enormous diamond brooch that looks as if it came from an old pirate chest. Willie throws it all in a silk bag. Some of it spills on the floor.

He marches Third Salesman and Porter back into the showroom, ties them to a showcase. Marcus hands him a green topcoat to cover his costume. Willie addresses the employees.

Okay, you four. This concludes our business. Don't make a move until we're gone a full five minutes.

If you're gone, Porter says, how will you know if we've moved?

Willie stares hard at Porter. Porter doesn't look away. Willie squeezes the checkered grip on his gun, takes a half step toward Porter. Marcus touches Willie on the elbow. Don't.

They walk out, saunter casually down Broadway, duck into the first subway station and catch the first uptown train. Willie feels as if his heart is holding a gun against his ribs. But he's also smiling. He's going to have a steak for dinner tonight. His first meat in months. And it looks as if he won't need to worry for a while about sleeping on the street. He turns to Marcus. I can't remember the combination, he says, imitating Third Salesman's puling tone.

That's a stall, Marcus says, aping Willie's tough-guy voice. Come on, open it-or I'll give you the works.

Everyone in the subway car turns and looks. It's rare to hear men laughing at the start of the Great Depression.

Photographer cruises along Fiftieth, stops at Broadway. Sutton climbs out, followed by Reporter, then Photographer, who leaves the keys in the Polara, the motor running.

Aren't you worried about someone stealing your car? Sutton says.

In midtown? On Christmas Day?