McNally's caper

even faster with that nice piece of yours, Jannie. Make a peep, you’re dead; it’s that simple. No joke. No threat. Just the truth. You try to fuck us up, you’re dead and gone.’

As he said this, his face seemed to grow thinner. It certainly became bleaker. I had no doubt he meant what he said. I don’t think Dick Fleming had any doubts either.

‘How long have you known?’ I asked Donohue.

Everyone had a merry laugh.

‘From the start,’ Donohue said. ‘From the very start. Never try to hustle a hustler, Jannie. You know, you’re one lousy actress.’

That hurt.

‘What did I do wrong?’ I asked angrily.

‘Everything,’ he said. ‘No way could you hide that finishing school accent of yours. And the words you used. Crook slang from the nineteen-twenties. You kept flipping back and forth, Beatrice Flanders to Jannie Shean. And where would a cocktail waitress from Chicago get a bikini suntan like you got? Mannerisms. Even the way you walked. I spotted you for a phony the first time I saw you. You didn’t wiggle right. So I asked myself, why? What was your game? Undercover cop? No way. You were too clumsy. And you,’ he said, turning to Fleming, ‘you were no’better. A couple of fucking amateurs. I suggested we throw Hymie Gore and the Holy Ghost to the cops, and the blues would stop looking for anyone else. You went right along with it. As if the cops would be satisfied with Hymie and the Ghost. They’d know a couple of dummies like them couldn’t plan and pull a first-class heist like this.’

I looked at the two men he was talking about. His description hadn’t bothered them in the least. They were grinning and nodding like idiots.

‘So why did you play us for suckers?’ I said furiously. ‘Why did you agree to go along? You could have just walked away.’

‘Ahh, Jannie, Jannie,’ he said, shaking his head sorrowfully. ‘You know the answer to that. You and Fleming are a pair of lousy crooks, true, but you’ve got imagination, babe, and you’ve got a knack. Between the two of you, you came up with a perfect campaign. You cased Brandenberg and Sons just right. You did all the work for us. Walk away from it? Are you kidding? It’s too good.’

‘You’re going through with it?’ Fleming said incredulously.

‘We’re going through with it,’ Donohue said. ‘You and Jannie. All of us. As planned. With a few minor changes.’

‘The hell you say!’ Dick said hotly.

‘Angela,’ Black Jack said sighing. ‘Clement.’

The knife was there again, blade shining, the point aimed at me, moving gently back and forth, a snake’s head. And suddenly Clement was gripping the automatic hard, holding it at arm’s length, the muzzle not far from Dick’s temple.

‘All of us,’ Donohue repeated, nodding. ‘You’re in this as deep as we are. You’ll come along. Try to run, try to yell, and — blotto! Think I’m not serious? Go ahead — yell. Scream the place down. Call my bluff.’

Looking at those cold eyes, that drawn face, thinned lips and jutted jaw, I had no desire to call his bluff. And apparently Dick Fleming didn’t either. But he did try a way out.

‘Keep me,’ he told Donohue. ‘I’ll do everything you want. No trouble. But let Jannie go. She won’t talk. Not while you’ve got me. You don’t need both of us.’

Black Jack flashed a brilliant grin around the circle of his mob.

‘How about this guy?’ he said. ‘The last of the red-hot lovers. Noble, Fleming, noble as hell — but no cigar. We’ll take both of you. Safer that way. What if we took only you, and you get burned in the heist? Then she spills. Can’t have that.’

I moved to take Dick’s hand and press it. Thank you,’ I whispered to him.

‘All right,’ Donohue said, bending to pick up my manuscript, ‘enough of this lovey-dovey bullshit; let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. We haven’t got all that much time.’

‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘Before you start, answer a few questions. Like how did you know I lived here?’

He looked at me.

‘How did I know?’ he said. ‘Come on, Jannie. Easiest thing in the world. I followed you. All those trips back and forth; it wasn’t hard. The Holy Ghost got into your rented Ford and found your license under the seat. That gave me your name. And Blanche told me all your clothes were brand new, no cleaners’ tags or marks. Everything fitted: You were a phonusbalonus.’

‘All right,’ I said, gritting my teeth with shame, frustration, rage. ‘But how did you get into this apartment?’

‘Made copies of your keys,’ he said blithely. ‘Came up through the garage.’

‘Copies of my keys?’ I said furiously. ‘When? When did you ever have my keys?’.He looked at me, smiling gently. Then I knew. The nights I had slept over in his room. While I slept, he had taken my keys, slipped them to Hymie Gore or the Holy Ghost waiting outside in the corridor. Those gonifs could have had copies made at three in the morning and the originals passed back to Donohue before I awoke.

‘You really want me to tell you when I got your keys, Jannie?’ Donohue asked.

‘No,’ I said shortly. ‘I can guess.’

‘I’ll bet you can. Anyway, I’ve been dropping up here almost every day. Bet you never noticed a thing out of place, did you?’

‘No,’ I said honestly, i never did.’

‘Didn’t cop a thing,’ he assured me. ‘Didn’t even sample your booze. I just wanted to keep track of the latest developments. In this …’ He tapped my manuscript.

I hated him. God, how I hated him. Not so much for making a fool of me; I guess I deserved that. But I couldn’t stand the thought of his getting into my apartment, my secret place, my home, and rummaging around. Looking through all the drawers in my dressers and desk. Probably fingering my lingerie. It was rape.

But then he said something that dissolved my hate.

‘You know, Jannie,’ he said, flipping the pages of my manuscript, ‘you’re really a very good writer.’

‘Thank you,’ I said faintly.

I loved him.

Don’t try to figure writers; we’re all nuts.

‘Very good,’ Donohue went on, nodding. ‘Make a hell of a novel. Too bad you can never publish it.’

‘Yes,’ I said miserably, ‘isn’t it?’

He turned suddenly to Dick Fleming.

“Thank God you talked her into dating that manager, Noel Jarvis. How else would we have known about the pressure alarms in that chair rail and the door locking automatically? Weren’t going to tell us about that, were you? But that’s okay; I understand. You figured you were out of it, and we’d never try it on our own after you didn’t show up. Well, here we are, all together, and this Big Caper — Jesus, what a cornball name that is! — your Big Caper is going down right on schedule. Here’s what’s going to happen …’

The others must have heard it all before, because no one interrupted. And Dick and I were too stunned to object. He had it all worked out, down to the fine details, and I realized where he had been and what he had been doing those afternoons and evenings I couldn’t find him at the Hotel Harding. He had started with the Big Caper that Dick and I had planned. And then, consulting my Project X as I had kept it up to date, he had refined the scheme and made the changes necessary to ensure our unwilling cooperation.

Here’s how he planned it …

We would all stay right there in my apartment until 8:00 A.M. Dick and I could sleep if we wished, sitting up in living room chairs or sharing my bed, if that was our inclination. If we wanted to use the toilet, Angela would accompany me, Clement would go along with Dick. The bathroom door would remain open at all times.

The others might catch a few winks, too. But there would always be three of the six awake, watching us. Angela had her knife; all the men were armed with pistols or revolvers. Smiley also carried a leather-covered, flexible sap, which he proudly displayed, swishing it through the air with great enjoyment.

In the morning, everyone would be up and about, readying for a busy day. I would prepare a pot of instant coffee. If I refused, Angela would make it. A morning eye-opener (brandy, scotch, whatever) would also be provided