think they’re crooks?”
“They workfor a living. They have an employer; they pay income tax; they come under Social Security; they own their own homes and cars; they work in local industry. They know the corporation they work for engages in illegal activities, but they think what-the-hell, everycorporation these days does, from tax-dodging through price-fixing to government bribing.”
“What’s that got to do with anything, Quill?” There was an undertone of warning in Bronson’s voice. He thought of himself exactly as Quill had described it. He wasn’t a crook. Bastards like Parker were crooks. Bronson thought of himself as a businessman. All right, he was a criminal, but everybody was more or less dishonest, particularly in business.
But if Quill noted Bronson’s warning, he chose to ignore it. “They work for the Outfit, Mr Bronson, for the syndicate. They are outside the law, outside society. And if they ” He stopped to marshal his thoughts. Finally, he went on. “Let us suppose, let us suppose there’s a crap game going on in that park across the street. In the crap game there’s two burglars, a mugger, a professional killer, and an arsonist. Now, let us suppose you let us suppose Igo over there with a gun to hold them up. What will happen?”
Bronson smiled grimly. “They’d tear your heart out,” he said, enjoying the image.
“Of course. And why? Because they’re crooks. They’re outlaws, crooks. They don’t think of themselves as part of society, they think of themselves as individuals, alone in a jungle. Therefore, they are always on the defensive, always ready to protect their own. They’ll never call for the police, never put in a claim on their fire and theft insurance, never look to societyto protect them or repay them or avenge them. Shouldn’t people who work for the syndicate think the same way? But they don’t. The people at Club Cockatoo don’t think of themselves as crooks at all, they think of themselves as average working stiffs. Therefore, they let two robbers come in and walk all over them. Whereas, if they thought of themselves as do our hypothetical crapshooters in the park, they would have torn those robbers’ hearts out.”
“You mean the Outfit’s getting soft?”
Quill smiled, pleased with himself. “I mean the Outfit is being civilized, is being absorbed into the culture. The organization is getting too highly organized.”
“Is that right?” Bronson was no longer certain whether he should be angry at Quill or agree with him. “What do we do about it? You got any ideas?”
“I don’t think anything canbe done about it. If you managed to convince the employees of the Club Cockatoo that they are crooks after all, nine out of ten of them would quit on the spot and go get jobs some place else. They don’t wantto be divorced from society.” Quill smiled and spread his hands. “A result of prosperity, I suppose. During the Depression, there was no such problem.”
Bronson was tempted to ask How would you know? But he kept his mouth shut, asking instead, “What else, then? Don’t you have any ideas at all?”
“Yes, I do.” The lecture finished, Quill became brisk. “You may have noticed, as I did, the one glaring weakness in the Club Cockatoo’s defence. That door from the men’s room to the cashiers’ space.”
“If they gotta go, they gotta go.”
“Of course. In pairs. And there should always be an armed man at that door, on the cashiers’ side.”
Bronson glanced down at the blueprint. “Sure, why in hell didn’t theythink of that?”
“They did. Fifteen or twenty years ago, that was the rule. Cashiers went to the men’s room in pairs. There was an armed man constantly on duty in the cashiers’ space. But nothing ever happened, and over the years they grew lax. It slowed down the action to have two cashiers away at once so the armed man took to sitting in the office, where the safe was, and where he could chat with the manager.”
“The god damn fools!”
“Of course. Because a robbery had never been attempted they no longer considered one a possibility.” Quill shrugged. “Well, I think we may have learned from this.”
“And the others?”
“I’d heard there’d been some more.”
“Eleven more! I want you to check them out, just like you did this one.”
“I imagine I’ll find the same problems.”
“You got any answers?”
“Suggestions only, Mr Bronson. First, every organization operation which normally or occasionally has custody of large sums of money should be informed of these robberies, so they’ll be reminded a hit canhappen. Second, every such operation should know whom to call so trained armed men can get on the job immediately in case a robbery doestake place. Third, if a robbery occurs and is successful because of sloppiness among organization employees, such employees should be punished, perhaps by taking a cut in pay to help make up the loss.”
“A cut in pay! What the hell do you think this is, a kindergarten?”
Quill smiled sadly. “Yes, Mr Bronson, I’m afraid that’s exactly what it is. If what I saw at the Club Cockatoo is an accurate sampling, most organization employees are simply average workers, as apathetic and uncommitted on questions of law and order as any of their neighbours. If General Electric threatened to kill any employee who did badly in his work, the workers would think somebody had gone crazy. They wouldn’t believe it. A garnishee on their wages, they would believe. I’m not thinking now in terms of proper punishments or sufficient punishments, but effectivepunishments.”
Bronson rubbed a hand across his face, feeling lost and confused. He was too far up the ladder; it had never occurred to him that the rank and file had turned into a bunch of nine-to-fivers. What the hell kind of world was this? Next thing, they’d be wanting a union. Or a guild. They probably thought of themselves as white-collar workers. Sweet Jesus!
“All right,” he said. “All right, Quill, that’s good. You did a good job.”
“There’s more, Mr Bronson.”
“Yeah, I bet there is. Save it. Tomorrow morning. We’ll go over it some more in the morning, and I’ll give you
