Well Now, My Pretty Part 3

Lewis walked into the restaurant and had a word with Matre d'h'tel Giovanni whom he had stolen from the Savoy Hotel, London, at a considerable cost. There were a few early tourists, studying the enormous menus that a suave Captain of Waiters had presented to them. In another hour, the restaurant would be a maelstrom of hungry, noisy people.

"All well, Giovanni?" Lewis asked.

"Perfect, sir." The Matre d'h'tel lifted a supercilious eyebrow. The very suggestion that it couldn't be well in his restaurant was an implied insult.

Lewis studied the menu that Giovanni handed him. He nodded.

"Looks excellent. Tomorrow is the night. Anything special?"

"We have grouse and salmon from Scotland. Baby lamb from Normandy. The plat de jour a" for the tourists a" will be coq au vin. Monsieur Oliver of Paris is sending us by air his new dish . . . lapin et lamproie."

Lewis looked suitably impressed.

"So we won't starve?"

The tall, thin Matre d'h'tel flicked away an invisible speck of dust from his immaculate dinner jacket.

"No, sir. We won't starve."

Lewis moved through the restaurant, noticing that each table had a bowl of orchids cunningly lit from below. He thought Giovanni's table decoration excellent, but he wondered about the cost, for Harry Lewis was an extremely practical man.

Out on the terrace, amid the noise of the chatter and the soft music of the band, he paused until he caught the eye of the head barman. Fred, thickset, short, slightly ageing, moved towards his master, a happy grin on his fiery red face.

"Going to be a big night, sir," he said. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Not right now, Fred. Tomorrow is going to be the night."

"I guess. Well, we can take care of it."

Seeing flicking fingers across the terrace, Fred turned and hurried away.

Satisfied that his machine was working smoothly, Lewis returned to his office. He had still a number of letters to deal with before he had a simple meal served on his desk. He was unaware that Jess Chandler, sitting alone at a table away from the band, nursing a whisky and soda, watched him leave the terrace.

Chandler was uneasy. Maisky's plan seemed sound, but he was worried at the enormity of the task. Here, after spending an hour or so on the terrace, watching, seeing all these people, arrogant and so confident in their wealth, the steady movement of the guards, .45 revolvers at their hips, the feeling of solidarity that the Casino exuded, made Chandler realise that this was a millionaire's bastion that was protected alarmingly well, and that anyone planning a robbery was taking on more than a major operation.

He had no misgivings about his own part in the operation. He was quite happy with the role that Maisky had given him. It was just the right job for him. He was completely confident that he could talk his, way into the vault. What really worried him was that Maisky had picked Jack Perry for the operation. Chandler knew all about Perry. This man wasn't human. In a squeeze, he wouldn't hesitate to kill, and violence to Chandler was something he had always avoided and feared. If Perry started a ma.s.sacre a" and he might well do a" then they all in real trouble. He knew Mish was a clever technician. He knew nothing about Wash nor did he care, but Perry scared him.

Suddenly sick of the luxury surrounding him, he paid his check and walked into the gambling rooms. For a moment he paused to look around, noting the four uniformed guards who stood by the box elevators that conveyed the money up and down to the vaults. They all looked young, aggressive and alert. Grimacing, he walked across the ornate lobby where he collected his pa.s.sport from the Checkin office. There was a big crowd coming in: every woman wore diamonds and had a mink stole a" the uniform of the rich. Chandler was aware that some of them looked at him with interest, their bored eyes lighting up. Not in the mood, he ignored them.

As he walked down the flat, broad steps into the garden of the Casino, he saw Jack Perry, wearing a tuxedo, a cigar between his teeth, corning towards him. Chandler turned away from the approaching man and made his way down a narrow path that led to the beach.

Maisky had told them all a" not Wash, of course a" to take a look at the Casino and to familiarise themselves with the background of the place. Now, Perry had arrived, but Chandler had no wish to be seen with him.

After walking down a long flight of steps, he found himself on the broad promenade that ran around the Casino's private bathing beach.

There were still a number of people in swim suits on the beach, some sitting at tables, drinking, others in the sea. He paused to watch a couple water-skiing, holding a flaming torch in their hands and both very expert. Then he continued on his way, leaving the Casino beach and taking the circular road that would eventually lead him back to his hired car which he had parked near the entrance to the Casino.

Out of the shadows, a girl came towards him. She wore a white dress with a frilly wide skirt, decorated with a rose pattern design. She was very tanned and exciting to look at. Her dark hair framed her face and hung to her shoulders. She carried a guitar in her hand.

Because she was different to the rich b.i.t.c.hes of the Casino and also somehow vaguely familiar, Chandler paused and smiled at her.

She stopped and regarded him. A cheap brooch of paste diamonds in her hair caught the overhead light and flashed.

"h.e.l.lo, Jess . . ."

He stiffened, then quickly relaxed. He had no idea who she was. The trouble with me is, he thought wryly, there are too many women in my life. I know I've met her before, but who is she?

"h.e.l.lo, baby," he said with his charming smile. "That's a beautiful body your dress is wearing."

She laughed.

"You said exactly that very thing two years ago when we met almost right on this spot . . . but you wouldn't remember."

Then he did remember. Two years ago he had come to Paradise City because a pal of his had the crazy idea of walking into the Casino with ten armed men and clearing the tables. He had quickly backed out of that plan and his pal, discouraged, had decided that maybe the idea wasn't all that hot.

Chandler had liked the City and had stayed on for a week. It was while he was wandering around the back of the Casino that he had met this girl. He even remembered her name. Lolita (that was one h.e.l.l of a name now) Seravez. She came from Brazil and made a tricky living working the lesser-cla.s.s restaurants, singing and playing her guitar. But Chandler had found her love technique stimulating and interesting. He had had no trouble about that. They had looked at each other, and there was a sudden fusion, and ten minutes later, they were holding each other on the hot sand, oblivious to anything except their l.u.s.t.

"Hi . . . Lolita," he said. "This is the nicest moment of my life. Let's go somewhere where we can be alone."

"My Jess . . . the one-track mind." She regarded him affectionately. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't let's waste time talking about a thing like that." He hooked his arm in hers. "Let's go look at the sea and feel the sand. Baby . . . if you knew how glad I am to see you."

"I've got the idea," she said, going with him. "It's mutual. I'm glad to see you."

Washington Smith lit another cigarette. He was sitting by the open window of his small, airless cabin at the Welcome Motel. Maisky had warned him not to -show himself until ten o'clock when he had a rendezvous at Maisky's bungalow. This, Wash accepted. No one wanted to see a shabbily dressed negro on the streets. Questions would be asked. The police would converge on him. People would stare at him in that contemptuous way only the rich whites can stare at a negro.

Mish Collins, stretched out on the bed, was examining the blueprints of the Casino's electrical wiring. He had come over in his hired car to collect Wash. They still had half an hour before they need leave for Maisky's bungalow.

"What are you going to do with your share, Mish?" Wash asked, turning away from the window.

Mish laid down the blueprint. He fed a cigarette to his lips and set fire to it.

"Well . . . three hundred thousand dollars! Yeah, it's a lump of money, isn't it? I've been making plans. I'm going to buy me a small boat. I've always wanted a boat. Nothing very elaborate, but big enough to live on. I'll find me a girl and then she and I will take a look at the Keys. I reckon that would be fun, just to keep sailing, stopping when I feel like it, changing the girl when I get bored with her, eating well. That's the life for me." He turned on his side so he could look at Wash. "How about you?"

"I've always wanted to be a doctor," Wash said. "I'll use some of the money to train. Then, with the rest of it, I'll buy a practice in New York."

"For Pete's sake!" Mish was startled. "Do you think you can make it?"

Wash nodded.

"Of course. Given the means, and if you make up your mind, there isn't anything a guy can't do."

"Yeah . . . but all that study! Jeepers! It wouldn't suit me. Don't you want a girl, Wash?"

"I want a wife and family, but that will have to wait." Wash let smoke drift down his flat nostrils. "Think we are going to get away with this, Mish?"

"Why, sure. Maisky is a real, bright boy. We'll get away with it . . . I promise you that. I wouldn't have brought you into it, Wash, if I hadn't been sure myself."

"It won't be as easy as he makes out."

"Well, okay, we can't expect it to be easy. You don't pick up three hundred thousand dollars without sweating a little."

"No."

Wash turned back to the window and Mish, after looking thoughtfully at him, picked up the blueprint, but now he found he couldn't concentrate. A doctor! he was thinking. This dinge certainly had big ideas. What the h.e.l.l makes him imagine anyone would want to be treated by a little smoke like him?

Mish found himself growing resentful. He could understand a guy when he was in the money wanting a woman, a boat and lots to eat and drink, but this idea of becoming a doctor irritated him. Who the h.e.l.l would want to be a G.o.ddam doctor if he had money? he asked himself. That was the point. This was something that jarred his philosophy. He knew a doctor ran around all the time, never had any peace, got night calls, sat in a dreary office listening to people moaning about themselves a" jerks who would be better off dead a" what an ambition for anyone to have who owned three hundred thousand dollars!

He put down the blueprint and again looked at Wash as he sat staring out of the window. Then he shook his head and shrugged. Well, the h.e.l.l with it! Why should he care?

Half an hour later, the two men got out of Mish's hired car, carrying a suitcase each and walked up the narrow path that led to Maisky's bungalow. A light showed through the curtains, and the door opened immediately when Mish thumbed the bell push.

Maisky waved them in.

"I hope everything so far is well," Maisky said as he led the way into the small, shabbily furnished sitting-room. Jack Perry was already there, lounging in the only comfortable chair in the room, a cigar burning evenly between his teeth. He nodded indifferently as the two men came in.

Maisky went over to a table on which stood a bottle of Scotch, gla.s.ses and a container of ice.

"Chandler is still to come," he said, "but we can start without him."

He made two drinks after Wash had shaken his head. Mish dropped his large body into a chair that creaked under his weight. He accepted the drink, then watched Maisky hand the other drink to Perry.

"I will ask you to try on your uniforms," Maisky said. "I think they will fit. I have taken trouble with them. Then we will go through the whole plan."

A ping on the doorbell made him break off. He went to the front door and returned with Chandler, a suitcase in hand.

Chandler came into the room, nodded to the other men, set down the suitcase and accepted a drink. Watching him, Maisky realised he had been with a woman. The relaxed, satiated expression on the handsome face was enough to tell Maisky this. It didn't worry him. He was confident enough in Chandler to know that he wouldn't talk, even to a woman.

"There is one thing that is important," Maisky said, sitting on the edge of the table, "which I forgot to mention last night. When Jess and Wash get into the vault, they will find the money is packaged in five, ten, twenty, one-hundred and five-hundred-dollar bills. You two will take only the five-hundred-dollar bills. There isn't a great deal of s.p.a.ce in the carton and we want as much money as we can get. But you must also take as many five-dollar bills as you can carry in your pockets. On this money we will have to live for three or even six weeks. I am still not sure that the five-hundred-dollar bills aren't marked. So while the heat is on, we must only spend the five-dollar bills . . . understand?"

"Marked?" This from Mish. "You think they would mark their big bills?"

"I don't know. I doubt it, but we mustn't take any chances. Until the heat has cooled off, we will not spend one single five-hundred dollar bill."

The four men nodded.

"Well, you all know the plan and you have had time to think it over. Have you any suggestions?" Maisky looked around, his head slightly on one side, his eyes probing.

"This cylinder of gas," Mish said. "I could fix a gimmick so that the gas was released when they open the carton. Would that help?"

"And what would happen to them? The gas operates in ten seconds." Maisky sounded a little impatient. "They must have their gas masks on before the gas is released."

Mish scratched his thick nose and shrugged.

"Yeah . . . well, it was an idea."

Chandler said, "Suppose we work through the whole plan? The timing has got to be exact. Why does Mish have to put the air conditioner on the blink?"

"If the temperature is too low, the gas isn't efficient. It will work, of course, but not so fast. It is essential that the room isn't cold."

"About the timing . . . aren't we cutting it fine if Mish starts operating at two-thirty?"

"That is right." Maisky slid off the table, went to a drawer and took out a sheet of paper, "I have revised the schedule. It's all here. You will each be given a copy. But before we go into that, I want you all to try on your uniforms."

Ten minutes later, Chandler, Perry and Wash had on the I.B.M. service uniforms and found no fault with them. Mish was wearing the Paradise City's Electricity Co's uniform.

"Yes, they will do very well," Maisky said after a careful inspection. "Now, I will show you the truck."

"Just a second," Chandler said. "How did you get hold of these uniforms?"

Maisky regarded him, his gentle smile in evidence.

"You are very curious, my friend. I have many contacts. A tailor who owes me a lot was happy to make them . . . you need not worry. He won't talk."

"Who cares?" Mish said enthusiastically, regarding himself in the mirror on the wall. "They are great."

"Yes . . . the fit is good," Maisky said. "Now let me show you the truck."

He led them through the kitchen and into the double garage where a small truck was parked beside his Buick. On each of its sides was a bold painted sign: red letters against a white background. It read: I.B.M. THE BEST CALCULATORS IN THE WORLD.

WE DELIVER AND SERVICE AROUND THE CLOCK.

"You did this?" Mish asked, staring in obvious admiration.

"Yes . . . I think I can say there isn't much I can't turn my hand to," Maisky said, obviously pleased. "I have installed a gimmick on the dashboard so that with a lift of a lever, these signs can be jettisoned. We must not forget that once the robbery has been discovered, the truck will be red hot and we must get rid of these signs." He opened the double doors at the rear of the truck. Inside there was a long bench seat. "There will be room enough for you all to ride in the truck, except, of course, Mish, who will arrive and get away in his own car. There is also an arrangement by which I can change the number plates by another gimmick. The plates swivel over and new ones take their place." He demonstrated the changing of the plates while the four men watched, then with the air of a salesman, he said, "I have found a safe place, a mile from the Casino, where we will dump the truck. I will have my car there." He looked at Chandler, "I will ask you to follow me in your car tomorrow morning so that you can drive me back, after I have left my car. The sooner we get rid of the truck after we have the money, the better." He paused, looked at the four men, then asked politely, "Are there any questions?"

Chandler regarded the truck. He felt much more relaxed. The more he listened to this little man explain his plan, the more confident he became of success.

"What happens if we run into trouble at the Casino?" he asked. This was a question that was haunting him.

"What kind of trouble?" Maisky asked, raising his eyebrows. His calmness again added to Chandler's growing confidence. "I don't antic.i.p.ate trouble."

"You can't say that . . . none of us knows," Chandler said sharply. "We might not get into the vault."

Maisky shrugged.

"In that case, we don't get the money . . . it's as simple as that. But I am sure you will get into the vault."

"What happens if we get the money and someone sets off the alarm?"

"No one will set off the alarm because Mish will have put it out of action."

Chandler moved uneasily. He was searching for trouble. "Suppose some guard gets nosy?"

"Then Jack will take care of him."