It was Lempke who answered him. “None of us is carrying, Billy,” he said. He spoke patiently, like a sad father explaining something obvious to the son who hasn’t worked out. “When you’re meeting friends,” he said, “there’s no need to be armed.”
“I didn’t real—I’ll put it away right away. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” He laughed again, nervous and sheepish, saying, “You know how it is, you get into the habit, you don’t even know you’re—” He trailed on out of the room, babbling, smiling at everybody, his white forehead gleaming in the light.
When Billy was finally out of the room, French looked over at Parker and said, “A C note it’s pearl- handled.”
“Chrome,” said Claire.
Parker looked at Claire, but she was still studying her stocking. She didn’t figure in this setup, and what didn’t figure Parker didn’t like. Unless Billy Lebatard, aside from being an amateur and a fool, was also a masochist, there just wasn’t any explanation for Claire. The weary contempt she felt for him and all his works shone out like the green on a rotten orange.
Lempke said, “Give him a chance, Jack. He’s got personality problems, but the setup’s a sweet one.”
“Maybe,” said French. He sounded as though he didn’t believe it.
Parker said to Lempke, “Does he just finger, or does he want in?”
French added, “With his chrome-handled .25.”
Claire laughed briefly, shaking her head, and Lempke said, “He’ll be in on it, he has to be. But not with the gun.”
Billy Lebatard came back in then, and he’d removed the suit jacket as well. His white shirt was soaking wet across the back and under the arms; he’d given up a lot of comfort in order to impress himself by wearing his coat and pistol. He said, “All set now,” and smiled foolishly at everybody.
Parker said, “Lempke, tell us the story.”
Lempke made an awkward gesture, saying, “Billy ought to—”
“You tell it,” Parker said.
Billy laughed brightly and said, “Maybe that’s best. I’ll just sit over here and listen.” There was a kitchen chair against a side wall, far from where Claire was sitting, and this was where Billy settled himself, sitting lumpishly with his legs apart and his hands resting on his thighs.
Lempke said, “It’s coins, Parker. Billy fingers and does the financing, and when it’s done he gives us fifty per cent on the take.”
Parker shook his head. “Bad,” he said.
“Why?”
“There’s never enough profit in those. You hit a coin dealer, he’s got goods worth maybe forty, fifty grand. That’s twenty-five for us. Split three ways, it isn’t enough.”
French said,” I did one of those once, when I was hungry. Me and a fella named Stimson. A coin dealer fingered it, same as here. We followed this other dealer away from one of those conventions they have, hijacked him on the Turnpike. We split a lousy eighteen grand between us, and Stimson got a bullet in his leg.”
“But this isn’t just one dealer,” Lempke said. “This time it’s a whole convention.” He turned to Parker, saying, “You know anything about these coin conventions?”
“No.”
“They’re not a regular convention like doctors or anything like i lint. It’s kind of like a sale. A whole lot of dealers get together, and they rent a hotel ballroom or someplace like that, and set out their stuff over a whole weekend, so the local hobby types can come in and buy.”
Billy said, “The local coin club is host. They arrange for the hotel and the banquet and displays and tours and everything.”
Lempke said, “You get a good-size coin convention, there’s sometimes three million dollars in coins there.”
Parker said, “How do we get at it?”
“Let Billy tell you that.”
Billy leaned forward eagerly, his hands pressing down on his thighs, and said, “The dealers set up Friday morning in the bourse room, and most of them come to town the night before. So there’s a special room set aside, they call it the security room, and everybody checks their stock in there on Thursday night for safekeeping. Maybe three-quarters of the dealers have their stock in the security room Thursday night.”
Lempke said, “Billy’s idea is, we break into the security room late Thursday night, clean it out. He figures close to two million dollars.”
French said, “Our piece is a million.”
“Close to it,” Lempke agreed. “That’s what Billy figures.”
“And he pays us when?”
“As I liquidate the stock,” Billy said, and laughed, saying, “If I had a million dollars, I wouldn’t need to do any of this.”
“I figured it was like that,” said French. He got to his feet. “Nothing against you, Lempke, but I don’t work on IOU’s.”
Lempke said, “Jack, this is rock solid. I know Billy, I can vouch for him.”
