Malone stowed the letter away, gathered up the cards, turned off the light and went out into the banking room. Bagshott was alone at his desk, talking on the phone. The moment he saw Malone he hung up. Malone laid the cards on the desk and said, “I’d like to get into one of your boxes.”
The banker looked around. “Sure, Wes,” he said. “Sit down, make it look natural. I mean sure, soon as you bring me the court order.”
Malone lowered himself into the chair, holding onto the corner of Bagshott’s desk. “You won’t let me see it without the judge’s authorization?”
“I can’t, Wes. You know the law.”
“Well, how about these cards? If I could just borrow them for a few hours-”
Bagshott stared. It was his banker’s stare, the fish eye. “There’s something funny about this. You trying to pull something, Wes? You know I can’t let any official records out of the bank. What’s going on?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Which box is it?”
Malone got up and walked out.
He drove over to Elwood’s and sank onto a stool. The breakfast rush was over and the diner was almost empty. He was grateful that no one had the juke box going. His head was kicking up a storm.
He was famished. He had not been conscious of his hunger until this moment. I haven’t eaten in how long is it?
“Morning, morning, Wes,” Elwood said, slapping his rag around. “Some excitement.”
“I can live without it, Ave,” Malone said. “Double o.j., wheats and sausage, stack of toast, coffee.”
“You sound starved,” the old man cracked. “Like it’s your last meal.”
Malone tried to appreciate the joke.
“And peaked, too. Damn shame how they run you boys ragged.” Elwood went into his kitchen wagging his head.
Run ragged.
That’s for sure, Ave.
What do I do now?
I can’t go to the judge without telling him why I want the order, and if I do that I set Ellen and Bibby up for cemetery plots. Judge Trudeau is a stickler for the law books, people don’t mean a goddam to him, he’d have the house surrounded by state police in ten minutes. So I can’t get into the box. I can’t produce the money for Furia.
I can’t even take possession of the bank forms that along with Goldie’s letter would show Furia she rented the safe deposit box. And without proof that she doublecrossed him he wouldn’t believe me, it would be my word against hers, and I don’t go to bed with him. He’d get so worked up about what he’d think was a stall he’d likely shoot the three of us on the spot.
So where do we go from here.
Nowhere.
End of the line.
There’s just so much a man can do by himself.
It came to Malone suddenly that he had just thought a profound thought. It was the exact story of his life.
Ellen didn’t start calling me The Malone Ranger just for laughs. She tagged me good from the start. Wes Malone against the world and to hell with you, neighbor. Malone the on-his-own-two-feet guy, he asks nothing from nobody. Not even from the only man in the world he respects and trusts. Too proud, that’s Loney. Maybe too sore at the whole raw deal that began with the old man crawling into the sack every night giving nothing to anyone, not so much as a word or a look, and the mother cursing her life and taking with both tobacco-stained hands. So you grow up giving in spite of yourself.
Giving is giving out.
Taking is giving in.
Giving-out keeps you on top of the enemy.
Giving-in is crawling on your belly to the sonofabitch world.
Or is it? Is it being a loser to ask for a helping hand when you can’t make it any more on your own? What the hell else is the Marine buddy system but I’m-right-here-brother?
That’s why I was a lousy grunt.
That’s why I’m a lousy cop and husband and father. That’s why John and Ellen look at me the way they do sometimes, Bibby’s too young to know better.
I’ve been kidding myself. And shortchanging them.
But there’s the but.
Can I do it?
My whole life says no.
My whole life is my bag, that’s been my hangup. Now I’ve got to. No choices left. My back to the wall and Ellen’s and Bibby’s, too.
Their whole lives are on the line.
That’s what it comes down to.
Malone looked up at the diner clock.
Ten minutes past eleven.
Less than two hours to putup time.
He dropped a couple of one-dollar bills on the counter not bothering to wait for change I might chicken. And ran.
John Secco got up and took a few turns. He hated his private office and spent as little time as possible in it. It was down the hall from the three cells and it was not much bigger than they were, whitewashed brick walls and nothing on them, the only real difference was a door instead of bars. He looked tired, almost as tired as Malone.
Malone watched him.
After the third turn Malone said stiffly, “If you want my badge, John.”
The chief stopped. He had black brows under the gray thatch and they went up like windowshades. “What are you talking about?”
“I know I ought to have come to you right off. Any way I slice it I’m an officer of the law-”
“Any way you slice it you’re Ellen’s husband and Barbara’s father. What kind of a man do you think I am? I’d have done the same thing.” He dropped into his swivel chair and leaned back from the steel desk. “We’ve got to think this out, Wes. We can’t afford a mistake.”
“God, no,” Malone said.
“The first problem is Ellen and Barbara. And you, if you go back.”
“No if, John. I can’t leave them there alone.”
Secco nodded slowly. His face reflected his father’s pastures, full of steel ruts and the patience of livestock. “The question is, Wes, how to capture those three without endangering the lives of you and your family.”
“That isn’t the question at all,” Malone said. “I started out thinking that way, too. It can’t be done.”
The chief seemed about to argue. But he did not. “What do you mean it can’t be done?”
“There’s no way,” Malone said. “Believe me, John. As long as they’ve got the guns and Ellen and Bibby there’s no way. Any move we make they’ll shoot them. Or threaten to unless we let them make a getaway, using Ellen and Bibby as shields. Either way they’re goners. Furia’s got nothing to lose. He’s in for one murder, he may as well be in for three or four. You don’t know this man, John. Any way this thing winds up, Furia’s going to go out shooting. I doubt he can be taken alive.”
Secco said quietly, “What do you suggest, Wes?”
