The Hoods (36 page)

“Now then, this is the important thing,” Max continued. “Eleven-forty on the dot all you guys, with the exception of Cockeye who stays at his wheel, walk into the cashier's office. Noodles and I are coming down the stairway from the attic at exactly eleven-forty. We don't know what kind of reception committee will be there to greet us. So you guys be on the ball. Understand?”

Maxie looked at our faces slowly and significantly. “Now, stay in the hotel until it's time for you to leave. Clean your rods; there may be fireworks.”

Maxie turned to Cockeye. “Get the bag of hamburgers out of the car and the lead sprayer.”

When Cockeye came back with his arms full, Maxie asked, “Are there any questions? Is everything understood?”

The men nodded.

“Okay. Get going. Jake, lock the door from the outside.”

The lock snapped shut as Jake turned the key on the other side of the door. We heard the car pull away.

Maxie picked up the bag of hamburgers and the Tommy gun with a grin. “We got a long wait. No use starving, eh, Noodles?”

“You and Napoleon,” I said.

“Napoleon?” he questioned. “What about Napoleon?”

I told him about Napoleon's logic.

“Yep, it's common sense,” Max said.

He walked up the stairway. I followed him. We took our jackets off in the attic, pulled a couple of chairs over to the small window overlooking the driveway. We made ourselves comfortable.

Maxie picked up the conversation where he left off. “Like I said, Noodles, it's common sense. Now, take you and me. We got a long wait, twelve hours, maybe, or more. Napoleon was a smart guy. An army travels on its stomach. He was quite a guy, hey, Noodles?”

“Yeh,” I said.

Max tossed me a Corona. We both lit up. We smoked awhile. He continued: “Tell me about the guy; he lived a life of action, didn't he?”

I smiled, spit out of the window, and said, “Yeh, he did.”

For hours we discussed Napoleon. I quoted from a book I had read, told Max about his life, his military career, his loves. Maxie was very much interested in the episode where he cast his lot with the revolutionists and became a popular hero of the French people.

Then, I explained how all the acclaim went to his head. He tried to take over the world. We discussed his military campaigns, his mistake in trying to invade Russia.

“The trouble with that bastard was, he was too cocky,” Maxie said.

“Yeh,” I agreed. “He could have been a really great man and done a lot of good for his people. Instead he looked for personal glory.”

“The stinkin bastard wanted to become a world dictator.”

“Yell, there's always some bastard trying it. They always underestimate the little people.”

“You know Frank comes from the same place Napoleon did, doesn't he, Noodles?”

“Frank? Oh, you mean the Boss. No, Frank comes from Sicily. Napoleon came from Corsica.”

“You know, Frank is a pretty cocky guy.”

“Yeh, in a way. But I don't think he has a Napoleonic complex. He has respect for people. Underneath he has humility. How about some drinks, Max?” I said.

“O.K., we may as well stock up. You watch the road, Noodles.”

Maxie got up from the chair and went downstairs. I had a good observation point. I could watch the main highway, and see instantly if cars turned into the drive leading into the casino.

Presently, Max came back, his arms full of Hoffman ginger ale, Coca-Cola and a bottle of Mt. Vernon. We deposited the bottles in the room where the gimmick roulette wheel was painted on the floor.

“What, no ice?” I said.

“If the opening at the stairway was larger, I would accommodate you. I would bring that office refrigerator up here.” Max took an opener he had picked up at the bar and opened a couple of bottles of Coke.

We sat down by the window and sipped our drinks slowly. It was a dreary wait. We took turns walking around and lying on the floor, catnapping. The sun beating on the roof made the attic as hot as a Turkish bath. We stripped, one piece at a time, until all we had on were our shoes and shorts.

Maxie laughed at me. “You should see yourself in a mirror, Noodles.”

I was wearing my sling holster and gun. My knife I had stuck in my shorts. Sweat was running down my body.

“You aren't exactly dressed to receive polite company either, Maxie.” I grinned.

Besides the holster and gun attached to his sweating body, he had his gimmick .32 tied to his right arm. The Tommy gun lay on his lap. At twelve-thirty we had hamburgers and half a bottle of ginger ale. I added some whiskey to the ginger ale. It made a warm but palatable drink.

“How about getting some ice cubes from the refrigerator downstairs, Noodles?”

I went down to the office refrigerator, and pulled at the ice tray. It was one opaque solid block of ice. I looked around for something sharp to dislodge the tray, but I could find nothing. I tried my knife. Then I reasoned, the hell with it. I didn't want to dull my blade.

“What, no ice?” Max asked.

“The goddamn tray is frozen in a solid mass. I need an ice pick.”

“To hell with it,” Max grumbled.

After awhile we ran out of conversation. Time dragged as if we'd been up there for days.

Finally, at about 2 p.m., an old Ford pulled off the highway into the casino drive. We watched with interest as two colored men stepped out of the car. One of them produced keys. He fumbled at the door for a moment. Then they walked in. We watched their progress through the peepholes in the attic floor. They went to a closet and brought out pails, mops and brooms.

“Crap. They're only porters,” Max said in disgust.

“What the hell, at least it breaks the monotony.”

We watched them vacuum the rug. I never thought I'd be interested in watching such a monotonous job. At four o'clock, they finished their work. They put the cleaning equipment back in the closet and walked over to the dice table. They started to play for small stakes.

“How about joining them, Noodles?”

I looked at Max to see if he was serious. With him anything was possible.

They played until one of them lost all his money, three and a half bucks. It was six o'clock when they left. They locked the door behind them.

We ate some more hamburgers for supper and washed them down with our warm concoction of ginger ale and Mt. Vernon. The heat increased. The attic felt like an oven. We sat as close as we could to the little window, and sipped from our bottles. Even after the sun went down, the heat was stifling.

It was just about eight-thirty. We watched a Hudson and a Buick pull into the driveway. They discharged ten husky men in uniform at the door.

Max whispered tensely, “Guards.”

We watched them intently. Obviously, none had keys. They took up their stations outdoors.

Big Maxie flexed his muscles. He danced around shadow-boxing. He said in relief, “Soon we'll get a little action, maybe.”

At nine o'clock, two straight eight Chrysler Imperials shot up to the door. Five men with revolvers in their Sam Browne belts stepped out of each car. Two were carrying little valises, the kind doctors use.

“They're probably carrying the dough-re-mi,” Max whispered.

One of them unlocked the door. The ten men walked in. We watched them through the holes in the floor as they began getting the casino ready for the night's play. They put the valises in the cashier's office. The cashier deftly counted and distributed the money, according to denomination, to various drawers under the window.

“Hey, Maxie,” I whispered, “it looks like a hundred grand at least.”

He nodded. My palms were itching.

We heard cars pulling up the graveled driveway. I went to the window. Men in evening dress were walking into the building. I recognized them as the roulette croupier and the rest of the shills and attendants.

It was ten p.m. I was looking down into the cashier's office. I called Maxie over. A tall, fat man was coming upstairs. He carried a flash-light.

I took my knife out and whispered to Max, “A noiseless slit across the throat?”

“No, Noodles. I'll handle the guy. I want to ask him a few questions.”

I saw something white in Maxie's hand. It was his shirt. The fat man came puffing up the stairs. Our eyes were accustomed to the dark; his weren't.

When he reached the top of the stairs, his flashlight went out. He bent over to tap it on the floor to get it to light again. Maxie grabbed him from behind, his left arm around the guy's neck. Maxie's right was busy stuffing the shirt into his mouth. The guy went limp. Max was supporting him. I looked closely at his face. His eyes were closed.

“He's out,” I whispered.

We carried him into the room and laid him down on the floor. I looked down to the floor below, into the cashier's office.

I whispered, “They didn't hear a thing, it's quiet down there.”

Max took the gag out of the man's mouth. I poured a little of the Mt. Vernon between his lips. I gently slapped his cheek. We put the light on his face. He was coming to. His eyelids fluttered.

He whispered hoarsely, “My pills.”

He fumbled in his vest pocket, and took out a small flat box. He put a pill on his tongue, motioned for a drink, and swallowed. He held his heart. His face was deathly white. Slowly, a little color came back into it. He gasped. He rubbed his heart.

“I got a bad condition,” he murmured feebly.

Maxie hissed into his ear, “You keep quiet, bastard. Do as we say or we finish you.”

He trembled. He looked at Big Maxie towering over him, then at me. I guess we looked like some hellish apparitions.

He almost passed out again. I slapped his face gently.

“Take it easy. Take it easy. Behave. We won't hurt you.”

I gave him another slug of our ginger-ale-whiskey mixture. He took a good drink.

Maxie asked, “How're you feeling?”

“A little better.” He sat up staring at us.

“What's your job?” Max prodded him. “What do you do up here?”

“I work that thing.” He pointed with an unsteady hand to the switches on the floor.

“Anybody come up during the night to help or relieve you?”

He just sat. I didn't know if the guy was awed into silence or was stalling for time. We couldn't take a chance. We were in a spot. I had to make sure he was frightened sick, so he would obey our slightest command. I pressed my knife to his heart.

“Get smart, bastard. Cooperate or I cut your heart out,” I hissed at him.

His trembling lips faltered. He moistened them. He swallowed. He said hoarsely, “I'll cooperate. What shall I do? Please don't hurt me.”

“Answer,” Maxie whispered. “Does anybody come up to help or relieve you?”

“Nobody, unless I press that button.” Trembling, he pointed to a button. It was a little off to the right of the painted wheel.

The first operation that goes wrong, you get croaked,” Max said in a fierce whisper.

“With this,” I said, pressing the point of the shiv to his jugular vein.

“I'll do just as you tell me,” he protested.

“Okay, no slip-ups,” Max told him.

I looked down a hole. People were beginning to come in. Card games were being organized. It was ten-thirty p.m. A well dressed party of four sauntered over to the roulette wheel and showed an interest in playing. In a short while more people walked over. The play was about to begin.

Max snapped, pointing to the floor below. “That man, that man, and that woman are shills?”

“That one, too,” the fat man pointed to a broad-shouldered guy with a mustache.

“Four shills on this wheel?” Max demanded. “What happens next?”

“Yes,” the man stuttered. “I watch which of the four makes the biggest bet, then I make that number the winner.”

“Okay,” Max said. “Operate as usual.”

It was simple. We made him explain the manipulation as he operated. The wires ran from the switches along this floor, through the wall, down to the floor below and into the play table. All he did to control the play was to pull the right switch. He could make any number win at will. I left Maxie and him in the room.

I walked around, looking through the various peepholes. The place was filling up. I walked over to the window. Cars were pulling up rapidly, one right behind the other, discharging their well dressed cargoes. I could see the guards patrolling the grounds. It seemed to be getting a little cooler. I wondered if it was time for the rest of our guys to show up. My watch was in the room where Max and the fat man were. I walked back into it. Big Max gave me a smile of confidence. He was smoking a Corona and watching the play downstairs.

I looked at my watch. It was ten-forty-five. I was tense as hell like a prize fighter training for months and raring to get into the ring and kill somebody. Max reached over to his pants and tossed me a Corona.

He said, “Take it easy.”

Maxie was looking down the hole. There was delight and affection in his voice. “Patsy boy.” He motioned for me to look.