Kobler got dressed and packed his suitcase and briefcase. The suitcase had clothing and toilet gear in it; the briefcase contained a Ruger Blackhawk .357 Magnum revolver loaded with .38 Short Colt cartridges. Unlike most men in the business, Kobler didn’t get rid of his gun after each operation and order a new one for the next job. He’d had the Blackhawk since 1955, when they had first come on the market, and he intended to keep it until he was forced to shoot somebody with it which hadn’t yet happened. When it did, he’d get another gun.
He was at the airport half an hour before take-off. He picked up his ticket, checked his suitcase through, but elected to carry his briefcase on board with him. Then he got in line directly behind LaRenne. Fortunately, the flight was fairly full and there was nothing odd about Kobler sitting down next to LaRenne. He took out a magazine as soon as he sat down to keep LaRenne from starting a conversation with him. After the plane took off, Kobler dozed for a while, the briefcase lying on his lap. He was a big, meaty man with blunt face and short, black hair. He looked like an ex-prize-fighter who was now regional sales manager for a beer company.
Passengers usually look out the windows when a plane is landing. Kobler apparently woke up as the plane was landing and LaRenne was gazing out the window. So was everybody else on the plane, except two or three businessmen who were still reading their newspapers.
Kobler opened his briefcase, poked LaRenne on the arm. “Look at this.”
LaRenne turned, saw the open briefcase.
Kobler said, “Look inside.”
LaRenne leaned forward and looked inside. When he saw the Blackhawk he lunged back in his seat and stared at Kobler goggle-eyed.
“Take it easy, LaRenne. I wasn’t supposed to tip myself to you before this, just in case.” Kobler’s voice was soft and easy.
“In case?” LaRenne was almost panicking, but was instinctively keeping his voice as soft as Kobler’s. “In case of what?”
“In case Hanks had a confederate anywhere around.”
“Hanks?” It didn’t make any sense to LaRenne that this perfect stranger would know his name and know Hanks’ name, and whenever something didn’t make any sense to LaRenne he automatically looked as though the whole thing was a wrong number. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kobler leaned close. “The seventy-five G’s,” he whispered. “In the coat.”
“What?”
“Keep it down!”
“Jesus Christ!” whispered LaRenne. “Who the hell areyou?”
The plane’s wheels scraped the runway, bounced away, scraped again. LaRenne and Kobler jounced against their safety belts. When the plane calmed down, Kobler said, “I’m your bodyguard. We just found out that Hanks is figuring on walking off with the payment.”
“He’d be crazy! They’d get him in a month!”
LaRenne had thought, more than once, of walking off with the money, but had given the idea up because he knew the Outfit would look for him until they found him, and they would surely find him. Now he was mad when he heard that Hanks had been thinking the same thing, and was even planning on doingit. It was as though he’d been cheated, as though Hanks had stolen his idea and was getting the credit for something that should have been his.
“Listen to me,” said Kobler. “We only got a minute. I would of told you before, but I fell asleep. You and me, we by-pass Hanks. There’ll be a car waiting for us. This time, you bring the cash all the way. Next time, there’ll be a replacement for Hanks. You’ll probably meet the new man this afternoon.”
“But I’m supposed to go all the way to Miami!”
“You’ll get back in time. You’ve got forty minutes.”
“But”
“They couldn’t tell you before you took off, can’t you see that? They don’t know if there’s anybody with Hanks or not.” The plane had stopped and people were standing up and starting to walk down the aisle. Kobler whispered rapidly, “You’re not supposed to take my word for it. When we get in the terminal, go over to Hanks and stall him. Then call the boss and check if I’m on the level or not. You’re not supposed to take my word for it. But, just remember, if Hanks tries anything you give me the high sign. Got it?”
“I don’t know,” said LaRenne.
“Come on, let’s get off the plane.”
They were the last two passengers off. Out of the side of his mouth, Kobler said, “Act like you’re not with me. If you see Hanks, signal him to wait a minute, then go straight to the phone booths and call the boss. Got it?”
“All all right.”
LaRenne couldn’t be sure if Kobler was on the up and up or not. He’d never seen Kobler around before, but that didn’t mean anything. And what could happen to him in the terminal? He’d stall Hanks and make a phone call. If the call proved Kobler a liar, then LaRenne could signal Hanks for help. Anyway, LaRenne already believed that Hanks was planning to walk off with the money. Hadn’t he thought about doing the same thing himself?
They walked into the terminal, Kobler one step behind LaRenne. LaRenne saw Hanks strolling across the terminal floor towards the luncheonette. LaRenne nodded briefly but kept walking away from the luncheonette at an angle. Hanks stopped and frowned, and LaRenne motioned with his head for Hanks to go on, trying to get the idea across that Hanks should wait a minute that he should go on into the luncheonette and wait a minute. Hanks started walking again, but very slowly, watching LaRenne with a puzzled frown on his face.
Kobler hadn’t known what Hanks looked like, but by following LaRenne’s signals he spotted the frowning puzzled man in the brown suit. He murmured to LaRenne, “I’ll keep him busy. Hurry up with the call.” Then he veered away from LaRenne and went over to talk to Hanks.
