Part 35 (1/2)

Plank nods. But he looks crushed.

Later Willie tells Eddie that they can do better than Plank.

If we picked some guy out of a soup line, Ed, he'd be better than Plank.

Eddie unwraps a stick of Juicy Fruit, bends it into his mouth. Willie thinks of Centre Street, remembers Big Cop and Bigger Cop. Flinches.

I'll admit, Eddie says, Plank doesn't make the best first impression. But he's a right guy, Sutty. You'll see.

Bartender puts his elbows on the bar, motions for Sutton to lean in. What I always liked about you, Willie, is the way you stuck it to those f.u.c.kin banks.

Sutton smiles vaguely.

Kids today, Bartender says, they don't understand how evil banks were back then. And everyone back then agreed they were evil, am I right? Editorials, cartoons, sermons, everywhere you looked someone was making the point that banks were bloodsuckers, that we needed to protect people from them. You remember, right?

Sure, sure.

And they're still bloodsuckers, Bartender says, but nowadays bankers are respected. The f.u.c.k happened?

One of the men asleep at the bar raises his head. He looks angrily at Sutton, Bartender. My brother, he says, is a banker.

Oh, Sutton says. Sorry friend.

My brother is a c.u.n.t.

Go back to sleep, Bartender says. We'll wake you when we decide to take a survey of morons.

They meet Plank at a neutral location. Stash Willie's car, pile into Plank's. Eddie rides shotgun, Willie sits in the backseat. They change into their cop uniforms while Plank drives. Willie looks at Plank's reflection in the rearview. He looks at his own reflection in Plank's suit. Another metallic suit-does the man buy them in bulk?

How you feeling, Plank?

Good, Willie. Good.

Willie studies the back of Plank's neck. A wad of fat surges over his collar. He stares hard at the back of Plank's head, wonders what goes on in there, what led Plank down so many wrong roads that he ended up a cabdriver for bank robbers. Willie sighs, looks out the window at the gray Philadelphia morning.

Course, Plank adds, I see you fellas in your costumes and I just wish- Don't, Eddie says. Don't start.

Plank frowns at the speedometer. I just don't see the harm, he says.

Eddie buffs his police badge. We've been over this a hundred times.

Plank grunts.

No one's going to see you, Plank. Don't you get that?

That's my point, Plank says.

What is?

No one's goin to see me, so what harm is there in me wearin a costume?

I've known Sutty all my life, Eddie says, I told him you're a right guy. Don't make me sorry.

You can't be a right guy and wear a costume? You hear the illogic, Ed?

Illogic?

Plank smiles. My wife bought me a book on buildin vocabulary.

Lose the book. No one wants a wheelman with a vocabulary.

Willie rubs his forehead. Quiet. Both of you. Please. The bank is five blocks up on the right.

Plank parks. They sit in silence, the motor purring. At eight-thirty Willie steps out, walks to the bank, knocks. Routine check, he tells the guard, what with the recent rash of robberies and all.

Sure, sure, the guard says, throwing open the door-would you like a cup of coffee, Officer?

That'd be nice, Willie says, stepping in, lithe as a dancer, pulling his Tommy from under his greatcoat. Right behind him comes Eddie, sawed-off shotgun shoulder-high. Eddie pulls the guard's gun from its holster, ties him up. Then he and Willie tie up the employees as they arrive. There are twelve in all.

The manager, as always, is the last. The touch of the Tommy against his belly makes him tremble. He looks into Willie's blue eyes. You're-the Actor.

Never mind. The safe. Move.

The manager takes a step, stops. He looks sheepish. I need to iron my shoelaces, he says.

What?

Make water.

Safe first. Water second.

I'm not going to make it, Mr. Actor. I had an extra cup of joe at the house. I should've, you know, before I left. But I was running late, and now the sight of your Tommy there has-well. Sped things up.

Open the safe, Eddie says, his voice rising, or we start shooting your employees.

You're going to kill my employees because I need to make water?

Willie sighs. Eddie sighs. That does seem harsh, Sutty.

Willie walks the manager to the bathroom. He waits with the door open. The old boy sounds like a garden hose.

He goes and goes. And goes.

Jesus, Eddie mutters. Now I gotta go.

At last the manager emerges. He takes Willie to the safe, turns the dial, jerks the door. Suddenly it's Willie who needs to make water. Most safes are only partially full. This one is packed. There isn't room to slide a flick knife between all the green stacks.

Later, back at Willie's room, Willie and Eddie and Plank sit before the coffee table, the haul piled into a pyramid. They've counted it three times. Each time it comes to a quarter of a million dollars. Again and again Plank asks, Did you fellas know? Willie and Eddie don't answer. It's got to be one of the biggest hauls ever in this city, Plank says. Still they don't answer. This calls for a party, Plank says. Willie nods dumbly. Can I invite my wife? Plank says. Again Willie nods without thinking.

Mrs. Plank comes by train from East New York. A bookkeeper for a butcher, she looks the way Willie expected her to look-the only way Plank's wife could look. White blond hair, large sensuous mouth, no-one-home stare.