one single five-hundreddollar bill.”
The four men nodded.
“Well, you all know the plan and you have had time to think it over. Have you any suggestions?” Maisky looked around, his head slightly on one side, his eyes probing.
“This cylinder of gas,” Mish said. “I could fix a gimmick so that the gas was released when they open the carton. Would that help?”
“And what would happen to them? The gas operates in ten seconds.” Maisky sounded a little impatient. “They must have their gas masks on before the gas is released.”
Mish scratched his thick nose and shrugged.
“Yeah… well, it was an idea.”
Chandler said, “Suppose we work through the whole plan? The timing has got to be exact. Why does Mish have to put the air conditioner on the blink?”
“If the temperature is too low, the gas isn’t efficient. It will work, of course, but not so fast. It is essential that the room isn’t cold.”
“About the timing… aren’t we cutting it fine if Mish starts operating at two-thirty?”
“That is right.” Maisky slid off the table, went to a drawer and took out a sheet of paper, “I have revised the schedule. It’s all here. You will each be given a copy. But before we go into that, I want you all to try on your uniforms.”
Ten minutes later, Chandler, Perry and Wash had on the I.B.M. service uniforms and found no fault with them. Mish was wearing the Paradise City’s Electricity Co’s uniform.
“Yes, they will do very well,” Maisky said after a careful inspection. “Now, I will show you the truck.”
“Just a second,” Chandler said. “How did you get hold of these uniforms?”
Maisky regarded him, his gentle smile in evidence.
“You are very curious, my friend. I have many contacts. A tailor who owes me a lot was happy to make them… you need not worry. He won’t talk.”
“Who cares?” Mish said enthusiastically, regarding himself in the mirror on the wall. “They are great.”
“Yes… the fit is good,” Maisky said. “Now let me show you the truck.”
He led them through the kitchen and into the double garage where a small truck was parked beside his Buick. On each of its sides was a bold painted sign: red letters against a white background. It read:
I.B.M. THE BEST CALCULATORS IN THE WORLD. WE DELIVER AND SERVICE AROUND THE CLOCK.
“You did this?” Mish asked, staring in obvious admiration.
“Yes… I think I can say there isn’t much I can’t turn my hand to,” Maisky said, obviously pleased. “I have installed a gimmick on the dashboard so that with a lift of a lever, these signs can be jettisoned. We must not forget that once the robbery has been discovered, the truck will be red hot and we must get rid of these signs.” He opened the double doors at the rear of the truck. Inside there was a long bench seat. “There will be room enough for you all to ride in the truck, except, of course, Mish, who will arrive and get away in his own car. There is also an arrangement by which I can change the number plates by another gimmick. The plates swivel over and new ones take their place.” He demonstrated the changing of the plates while the four men watched, then with the air of a salesman, he said, “I have found a safe place, a mile from the Casino, where we will dump the truck. I will have my car there.” He looked at Chandler, “I will ask you to follow me in your car tomorrow morning so that you can drive me back, after I have left my car. The sooner we get rid of the truck after we have the money, the better.” He paused, looked at the four men, then asked politely, “Are there any questions?”
Chandler regarded the truck. He felt much more relaxed. The more he listened to this little man explain his plan, the more confident he became of success.
“What happens if we run into trouble at the Casino?” he asked. This was a question that was haunting him.
“What kind of trouble?” Maisky asked, raising his eyebrows. His calmness again added to Chandler’s growing confidence. “I don’t anticipate trouble.”
“You can’t say that… none of us knows,” Chandler said sharply. “We might not get into the vault.”
Maisky shrugged.
“In that case, we don’t get the money… it’s as simple as that. But I am sure you will get into the vault.”
“What happens if we get the money and someone sets off the alarm?”
“No one will set off the alarm because Mish will have put it out of action.”
Chandler moved uneasily. He was searching for trouble. “Suppose some guard gets nosy?”
“Then Jack will take care of him.”
There was a long pause, then Chandler said, “You mean he will kill the guard?”
“Listen, buddy-boy,” Perry said in his soft, giggling voice, “don’t worry your gut about what happens to who. You take care of your job… I’ll take care of mine.”
“We are going to make three hundred thousand dollars each out of this operation,” Maisky said. “You have to break eggs to make an omelette.”
Chandler looked at Mish and Wash.
“Do you two want to get yourselves tied up in a murder rap?” he asked.
“Now, wait…” Maisky’s voice was sharp. “I am satisfied that this operation will work. We don’t have to consider violence. You are looking for trouble that doesn’t exist.”
“I don’t want to be tied to a murder rap,” Chandler said, and there was sweat on his face.
“Then what the hell are you here for?” Perry said. “Look, buddyboy, be your age. Do your job and keep your worry gut of a mouth shut.”
Again there was a pause, then Chandler, thinking of all that money, suddenly shrugged.
“So, okay… I keep my mouth shut…”
Mish said, now a little uneasy, “But suppose it does turn sour? Just what do we do?”
“It won’t, but I agree with you, we should know what to do,” Maisky said. “Whatever happens we come back here… if we have the money, we split it and go on our own ways… if we haven’t got it, we still split up, but let us make this place here, which is quite safe, a meeting place after the operation.”
Chandler hesitated, but he was now committed. He wasn’t too happy, and he was scared of Perry, but the thought of all that money pushed him to agree.
“Okay… the uniforms are fine… the truck is fine… now let’s look at the schedule.”
Maisky smiled.
“Of course.”
He led the way back to the bungalow.
THREE
THREE TIMES, during this hot Saturday morning, the telephone bell in Lana Evans’ one room apartment rang continuously for several minutes. The nagging, persistent sound disturbed the Persian cat who still sat obstinately before the refrigerator, every now and then emitting a yowl of impatient indignation.
The first caller, around ten o’clock, was Terry Nicols, Lana’s boyfriend. He listened to the steady, unanswered burr-burr-burr with exasperation. He knew Lana never got out of bed before ten. She couldn’t still be sleeping with the telephone bell ringing like this! He wanted to make a date with her for Sunday night which was her night off. The two students who were his friends and who were waiting outside the telephone booth, kept showing him their wrist-watches through the sudty glass door. The time for the first morning’s lecture was nearly due. With the exaggeration of youth, they began an elaborate count-down, and finally when they reached zero, they exploded into a pantomime of panic. Terry slammed down the receiver and raced with them across the corridor to the lecture room.
At eleven o’clock, Rita Watkins phoned from the Casino. She listened to the unanswered ring, then, frowning, a little worried, she replaced the receiver.
At one-thirty, Terry, munching a sandwich, again tried to contact Lana, then, failing again, he decided she must be on the beach, sunbathing. Irritated, he hung up. At little after two o’clock, Rita Watkins called again. Maria
