McNally's caper

smashed, stock tags stripped away. The pile of gems on the desk heaped higher, slipped, slid, fell to the floor. No one paid any attention; diamonds and sapphires were trod underfoot, wealth scattered, all that fortune treated like so many bargain items in a supermarket: ‘Damaged merchandise — prices as marked.’

Finally, all the pillowcases emptied, the loot piled in a ragged heap, we stopped, breathing hard, and looked at one another.

All the plunder from the Devolte Bros, heist in San Francisco was there, and jewelry bearing the tags of stores in St. Louis, Denver, Chicago, Dallas, and even some from London, Rome, and Rio. Jewelry from all over the world.

I looked at Jack Donohue. He was biting his lower lip and blinking so rapidly I could catch no expression in his eyes. It was Smiley who spoke first.

‘A Corporation front,’ he said dazedly, staring at that mountain of glitter. ‘A fencing and cutting operation. Working out of a legit East side jewelry shop.’

Dick Fleming turned to me in amazement.

‘Those weren’t salesmen, Jannie,’ he said. ‘The guys with the attache cases handcuffed to their wrists. They were couriers, bringing in stolen stuff from all over.’

‘Sure,’ I said, nodding. ‘They’d pry out the stones and melt down the settings in that back room. Reset the rocks on simple, elegant chains or whatever. And the runners would take it away for redistribution. A big operation. All those jewel robberies in the last three years …’

‘The Corporation,’ Smiley repeated. Finally, finally, he had stopped smiling, it has to be the Corporation. Who else could bankroll something that big?’

Donohue said: ‘No wonder he said we were making a mistake.’

‘Who?’ I demanded sharply. ‘Who said that?’

‘The manager. Noel Jarvis.’

‘Antonio Rossi?’

‘Who?’ Smiley asked.

‘The manager,’ I told him. ‘His real name is Antonio Rossi.’

Smiley whirled on Donohue.

‘ You knew that?’ he yelled.

‘Well …yeah … sure,’Jack said, shrugging.’It was in her book.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘I didn’t think it meant anything.’

‘You stupid fuck!’ Smiley screamed at him. ‘Rossi is a heavy. A heavy Oh my God, we’ve ripped off the Corporation. We’re in the stew. Everyone of us is dead!’

‘Now wait a second,’ Donohue said. ‘Don’t panic. We can still unload this stuff. I got a fence all line up. Asa Coe. Top man in the business.’

He used Dick’s phone, dialed the number rapidly.

‘Hello there!’ he said heartily. ‘This is Sam Morrison. I met with Mr Coe a few weeks ago, and he said- What? What? Now just wait a-’

He hung up the phone softly. He turned to us with a sick smile.

‘He doesn’t know me and doesn’t want to know me. The word’s out. Already.’

‘That does it,’ Smiley said. He tugged his black leather cap farther down over one eye. He gestured towards the glittering heap of stolen gems, it’s all yours. I want no part of it. I’m walking.’

‘The hell you say,’ Jack Donohue said.

‘The hell I say,’ Smiley agreed, smiling once again, i’m including myself out. I want to walk around with something between my legs for a few more years.’

We were listening to him, watching the soft, pleasant smile on his face. So when he pulled a gun from his jacket pocket, no one reacted. We were all frozen.

‘Nice and easy,’ Smiley said. ‘No rough stuff. I’m just taking a walk, that’s all.’

‘No way,’ Jack Donohue said. ‘So you can tip the Corporation? Save your own skin and fuck us? No way.’

He slid slowly, cautiously toward Smiley. All of the squat

man’s attention was on him. Maybe that’s the way Donohue planned it. Because while Smiley tensed, drew his lips back in an expression more grimace than grin, it was Hymie Gore who moved. Jack hadn’t exaggerated when he told me the big man was fast.

Fast? He was a blur. One big mitt came down on Smiley’s wrist and hand, turning the gun inward. Then the two heavy men were pressed close in a straining embrace. It all happened so quickly that none of us had a chance to intervene. Jack Donohue was just starting forward when the gun was fired three times, rapidly.

Simon Lefferts, my editor, had been right: A gun doesn’t go ka-chow But it doesn’t go bang, blam, or pop either. In this case, muffled between two thick men, it made a dull, thudding sound, like a side of beef dropping to the floor.

And that’s exactly what happened. Hymie Gore released his grip and stepped away. Smiley stood an instant, tottering, his eyes glazing. Then he went down with a thump that shook the room. He straightened. His heels beat a tattoo on the floor. Then his legs stiffened. Then he was still. The black leather cap had fallen off. He was completely bald, freckles on his naked scalp.

Jack Donohue kicked the corpse viciously in the ribs.

‘The miserable fuck!’ he said furiously. ‘He’d have sold our

asses.’

Perhaps I should have fainted or become ill at witnessing this ugly violence. But it was the third dead man I had seen in the past hour, and something had happened to me: I had lost the capacity to feel. I think it was an unconscious reaction. I think it was a self-protective mechanism. The psyche, to protect the organism, shuts off feelings of horror, disgust, despair. You no longer understand what has happened, is happening. You see, you observe, but gunshots become merely loud sounds, blood becomes merely a red liquid, a corpse becomes merely a motionless heap. How else could you survive?

‘Nice going, Hymie,’ Donohue said to Gore. ‘You did real good.’

‘Gee, thanks, Jack,’ Hymie Gore said happily. ‘I never did like that creep. He called me a stupe once.’

DECISIONS, DECISIONS

Donohue and the Holy Ghost dragged Smiley’s body across the floor by the ankles, stuffed it into a closet, closed the door. The passage left a wide, bloody smear that rapidly soaked into Dick’s carpet. I saw him staring at the stained path with widened eyes and wondered how long it would be before he came apart.

Donohue poured us all shots of warm vodka. We slumped back onto chairs and sofa. What bemused me was that not one of us, not once, glanced at that mountain of jewelry piled higgledy piggledy on Dick’s desk. It didn’t seem so much to us now. Just stones,

‘Listen,’ Jack Donohue said, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling. ‘I don’t have to tell you we’re in a bind. The cops are looking for us. By this time the Feds are in on it, figuring we’re going across the state line. But the worst is the Corporation. They’ll be combing the city. And when they’re on your ass, believe me they make the cops look like Boy Scouts. I mean they’re everywhere. I figure it’ll take them about a day or two to come up with the Hotel Harding, Fangio’s, the whole schmear.’

‘How will they do that?’ I asked curiously.

Donohue shrugged. ‘That watchman will find Clement in the 47th Street garage. The cops will check out his contacts, which will lead them to me. And what the cops know, the Corporation will know. They’ll put out the word. They’ll pay off or promise favors. The desk clerk at the Harding will talk. And Blanche. The bartender and waitress at Fangio’s. Everyone will talk. That’s the way it goes. So I think maybe we better split up. There’s no way the six of us can travel together. Ghost, what do you want to do?’

The Holy Ghost, feet and fingers tapping uncontrollably, turned to Angela. They had a brief conversation in Spanish, rapid, harsh, the words spit out at machine-gun speed. Much gesturing. Many expressions: fear, anger, dismay. Finally …

‘We’ll split,’ the Holy Ghost said to Donohue. ‘Fade into Spanish Harlem. We’ll make it there.’

‘Sure you will,’ Jack said, flashing one of his brilliant grins. I hadn’t seen that grin for a long time. I don’t know why, but it made me feel better. ‘You and Angela just go to ground. You got a good chance, a real good chance.’ He gestured toward the desk. ‘Take whatever you want from that stack of shit. Forget about percentages. Just take.