the Onion Field (1973) (17 page)

"Well, could be, but I don't know anything about painting. Could be we could go in together, five grand from you and five from me. Half a garage and half a painting business."

"An automobile garage that paints houses? Don't sound like it makes too much sense to me, Greg. But I could be wrong." Jimmy finished his drink and poured another.

"Well anyway, we'll do something together. We're gonna be great partners."

"We'll do somethin together, Greg," Jimmy agreed. And he was right.

The next day was spent shopping with Maxine in Hollywood pawnshops. They were cheerful that day and Max was happy to be buying things: a radio, a record player, a ring for Greg, a watch for herself.

"This setting is loose," Greg said to the pawnbroker after he'd been wearing the ring for a few minutes.

The pawnbroker examined it with the glass and said, "No, it's just the way it's made. But you bought a lot of things. I'll give you a bargain on the record player and radio." Greg seemed satisfied and forgot the ring setting.

"How about a watch, Jim?" asked Greg expansively. "How about one of those?" He pointed to a tray full of watches with a cardboard sign saying: "Your pick, $14.95."

"I don't need a watch," said Jimmy.

"Sure you do," said Greg, picking one. "Take this one. It's a gift. It's a good watch. I want you to have it."

"Yeah, I think it is," saicl Jimmy shyly. "It's a pretty good watch. A pretty good watch for a cheap watch."

"We'll take it," Greg said to the pawnbroker, and Jimmy was truly grateful for the gift. His first gift since the small things he'd gotten as a child. "I really like the watch, Greg," he said softly.

The rest of the day was spent at Greg's apartment enjoying the purchases, drinking Schenley's and Seven-Up, eating a TV dinner, and listening to Greg recalling cons he knew from prison whom he thought Jimmy might know or might have heard of. And he did remember names. He had one hell of a memory, Jimmy thought.

After talking of boxing experiences in Vacaville and describing how his nose was broken in a grudge match, Greg said, "Well, it's eight o'clock, Jim. Ready to go to work?"

It was the same outfit for Greg: felt hat, trenchcoat, dark shirt and pants, boots, the mole and the hairline moustache, but he had added one thing-a fast-draw holster. It was an old holster he had cut away below the cylinder section, and it could be strapped on the inside of the belt.

"Watch how this half-breed holster works, Jim," said Greg, and reached for his waist, fumbling twice before getting the gun out.

"That wasn't too awful fast, Greg," Jimmy said gravely.

"Well, it hung up on the trenchcoat," said Greg. "But the thing I really practice besides drawing and shooting is the look. I do it in front of a mirror."

He drew again and stared at an imaginary victim, and Jimmy chuckled and smoked and watched as Greg said, "Give me the goddamn money." Then the imaginary victim apparently wouldn't comply because Greg's hand whitened at the knuckles and the gun trembled for a few seconds and the look started to come. Flat. Icy. With the glint. Jimmy started to go cold watching it happen. Then Greg laughed, put the gun in his half-breed and it was gone.

Baby, you and me are partin company real soon, Jimmy thought as he snuffed out the cigarette. His hand was shaking but Greg was giving Max a long drawn-out kiss and didn't notice.

They hit the first market at closing time. Jimmy's mind was racing as he waited for Greg. That fuckin trenchcoat. Jesus, the trenchcoat is too much for such a hot night. And there ain't hardly any white guys wear hats in L. A. Jesus. He's got stickup written all over him. If I worked at that market I'd hit the fuckin alarm button the minute he came in the door. Jesus.

Jimmy thought of Greg drawing that gun and cocking the hammer in the same motion. "That's how it's done, Jim. Let them hear the click when you cock it. And point it right where they live."

That cocked gun, thought Jimmy. The click. And the look in his eyes. Jesus.

"Just relax, Jimmy," Greg said as he got out of the car. "And when you see me coming, don't panic. I'll be covering ground fast. I got this step I practiced, what you might call a hop skip and jump that to a normal eye looks like I'm walking fast."

"Yeah, Greg," said Jim nervously. "You thought of everything. Yeah."

"I'm gonna take both checkout stands, Jim. Two tills full of dough" "Yeah."

After he was gone, Jimmy noticed the old car parked next to the driveway with the Mexican and a flock of kids. What if they were there when he came out? Jesus, this could turn into real trouble. What if there was a shootout?

But in a few minutes he saw Greg moving fast across the parking lot with a skip and a jump every few yards, and to Jimmy he looked like a hungry kangaroo. He was craning his neck for cops as the car moaned and sighed and lurched away sliding.

"Turn right, Jim," said Greg jumping in the moving car. "Turn your goddamn lights on! That's it, take it easy, turn onto the freeway there at the on-ramp. Where the hell're you going, Jim?"

"Sorry," said Jimmy, clenching his teeth to control the quiver in his chin. Sweating. Cold. Lightheaded. Panicked.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothin. I got bad eyes. I should wear my glasses."

"Well turn around and go back."

"Okay."

"Get on the freeway and go to the Long Beach sign."

"Okay."

They were speeding down the freeway, the clutch finally catching up with the engine. Jimmy was studying the road, blinking into headlights, watching the off-ramp signs. He drove past the off-ramp.

"Jimmy, goddamnit, you did it again!"

"Well don't yell at me, Greg. It's my eyes."

"Okay, take the next turnoff. We'll do another market. Let's see, we got that Safeway there on Whittier, so next we go to Long Beach and take another, then we return to the vicinity of the first job and take another one. Or we do a liquor store or something."

"Why back in the vicinity of the first job, Greg? Shouldn't we hunt for virgin territory? I mean ain't that risky?"

"Naw, I got a theory that it's confusing to the cops. It always works for me. So we'll come back."

"How much did we get?"

"I think we got a couple hundred, Jimmy."

"Okay, Greg. That's okay!' said Jimmy tensely. Without willing it, he was pressing hard, and the station wagon was racing past eighty, then ninety, and ninety-five.

But Greg didn't see. He was counting the money and chattering excitedly. "You shouda seen that broad, Jim. I scared the shit out of her. I mean right out of her. I bet she can't talk yet. God, that was funny." Then he looked up. "Damn it, Jimmy, we're almost in downtown Long Beach. You're missing the off-ramps again!"

Jimmy cut the wheel to the right, bouncing over the divider curb, skidding sideways, screeching rubber as he stood on the brakes.

"You damned near dumped it, Jim!" Greg shouted as the car straightened up and slowed down on the off-ramp. In a few moments they were in the parking lot of the all-night market. "Now this time no screwing up when we make our getaway."

"Okay, Greg," said Jimmy. "I'm okay now."

It was a short wait while Greg shoved the gun in the face of the man at the checkstand, stared at him, and whispered, "Hurry up, punk," in a way that almost paralyzed his victim. Then Greg was skipping and jumping across the parking lot.

Jimmy strained his eyes in the darkness for a passing police car, and then he was pulling on the headlights and dropping into low gear and trying to remember to drive off slowly just as Greg was getting in. It went smoothly this time. It was perfect. Greg said, "I got both tills!"

They were on the street and Jimmy had not panicked.

"Turn right here," said Greg, "and just take it easy. I cased this one good. You can make a right-hand turn on the red light. That's it. Now go a block and make another turn."

It was perfect. As Jimmy drove he grew confident.

"Make another right," Greg said, "and we'll be heading back toward the freeway."

"Jumpin fuckin Jesus!" Jimmy yelped. "We're at a dead end!"

"Now don't panic, for chrissake," said Greg. "Just make a U- turn."

"Greg, the cops might be at the store by now!" said Jimmy.

"Just go back the way we came and don't panic," said Greg, but Jimmy could hear the tremor in Greg's voice, which was an octave higher now. Jimmy felt the panic grow as he instinctively stood on the accelerator and made the engine race too fast.

"Stop the car," said Greg.

"What for?"

"Stop the car, I lost my hat!"

"Fuck the hat!"

"Jimmy, there's writing in the hat. They can identify me! Stop the car!"

So Jimmy pulled over in the light from a plate glass window and discovered to his horror that he was directly in front of the market they had just robbed!

"Greg, we gotta go!"

"Jim, did I have the hat on when I went in the store?"

"Greg, we gotta go!"

But Greg ignored him and was looking under the seat, beside the seat, over into the back seat saying, "If we don't find it I'm gonna have to go back in that store."

"Jumpin fuckin Jesus!" said Jimmy Smith.

And then, "I got it, Jim! It was wedged down between the seats. I got it!"

Before the second "I got it," Jimmy was pressing on the accelerator and the station wagon was moaning down the street into the traffic, gradually picking up speed, heading toward the freeway.

It had been Gregory Powell's nineteenth robbery, the fourth he had committed with Jimmy Smith.

The last either of them would ever commit.

"I think we got in the neighborhood of a grand, Jim," Greg said as they turned off the Harbor Freeway in the direction of the apartment. "I think we done enough for tonight."

Jimmy felt himself go limp when Greg said it. He knew he couldn't stand another job tonight. If ever. At last they were parked in front of the apartment. They were safe.

"Listen, Jim," Greg said as they got out of the car. "Tell you what. Let's play a trick on Max. We'll leave the money on the floor in the back seat and tell her we didn't score. And she'll be happy because she doesn't really want me to pull jobs, you know. And then you come out and get the dough and bring it in."

"Okay," Jimmy said listlessly. Drained.

"Watch how happy Max is when she hears we didn't do any robbing tonight."

"I'll watch," said Jimmy, and then they told her. But he missed the elation that Greg said would be there. In fact, he thought he saw her sigh disgustedly.

"Oh Jim, go out and bring in my trenchcoat," Greg said. Jimmy nodded and shuffled out to the car to retrieve the paper bag. He decided to look under the seat, and sure enough, there was a five- dollar bill there. Jimmy picked it up and put it in his shoe, then decided Greg had put it there purposely to test him, so he took it out and threw it in the bag with the rest. But now Greg knew how much there was and Jimmy did not. He's gettin ready to screw me again, thought Jimmy. Yeah, I just oughtta hold back twenty bucks right now. There's probably more than eight hundred here. I'd like to fix that bastard. I'd like to tear that head off and turn it around and put it back on upside down on that skinny handle of a neck. Yeah. And then I'd like to dig up the fuckin concrete with that fuckin head! Yeah. That's what Jimmy thought. But he said nothing. And he did not hold back the twenty.

Greg grabbed the bag and pushed Max into the bedroom and dumped the bag onto the bed in a shower of bills. Then Jimmy saw on Maxine the expression Greg had predicted earlier. It was joy. Uncomplicated. Childlike. She jumped on the bed and played with the money, stacking it and restacking it. Greg laughed and swaggered into the kitchen for a Schenley's and Seven-Up.

"Let's let my little cashier count the money, Jim," Greg said, undressing and walking into the kitchen in his undershorts. "Let's have us a drink."

They left Max counting aloud, eyes shining as she sat on the bed, fondling the bills.

When they came back in she had it arranged in stacks by denomination. "A twenty-dollar bill is mine, Jim. I used it to fake paying for the Schenley's when I wejit through the checkstand. I take that and we can split the rest."

"Sure," Jimmy said.

Max counted a thousand and forty dollars after Greg took his twenty.

"What say we give our little banker the odd forty bucks, Jim?"

"Sure," Jimmy said. "Like, it'll pay for the good meals Max gave me. And the good drinks." And the good nooky, Jimmy thought, and giggled, and winked at Max. But there still was no sign of recognition. Aw fuck it, he thought.

"Max, count out a hundred for Jimmy and me. Us two guys're going out tonight. How about a little bowling, Jim? A little fun to relax us. Or maybe you want to spend some money on a girl. That's okay with me, but I'll just have to make it back home if you do."

"Yeah, a hundred in my pocket would be a groove," said Jimmy as Max counted it out.

"If anything unlucky should happen and we ever get busted for something, why, Max'll bail us out and have us on the street in no time. Max is like money in the bank, ain't you, my little banker?" With that Greg smiled and kissed her on a somewhat bulbous nose.