“Fine, let’s do it,” Beemer said, “before Dracula gets hungry.”
He repositioned the smaller truck, then followed Benny up into the back of the large one. They took hold of the first of the cash boxes, each gripping one of its large steel handles. They heaved, and the box moved an inch. They both let go of it and stood back a foot.
“Jeez!” said Beemer. “I wondered why the forklift was grunting. Now I know. These things weigh a ton.”
“We’ll slide ’em,” Benny said. “Drag ’em over to the tailgate, then make a dead lift down into the pickup. That’ll work.” He signaled to Dracula, who climbed up into the box with them.
They all heaved together.
“Merg!” Dracula grunted.
“That’s what I say,” Beemer told him.
They zigzagged the box to the tailgate, hopped down into the bed of the smaller truck, braced themselves, and lowered it into the pickup. They did the same with nine more boxes, then clambered down out of the truck. Schalke then got into the three-ton and drove off without another word.
“Nice guy,” Beemer said.
Beemer turned back to the pickup, stiffened, and backed up a few paces. “Jeez!”
“What?” Benny said.
“Look at the truck.”
They looked at it. It was sagging alarmingly at the rear.
“This truck is rated for a fifteen-hunnerd pound payload,” Beemer said. “Gotta be almost twice that in those boxes. I never knew quarters weighed so much.”
“Well, I guess they have to weigh something. Just take it nice and easy over the rough spots, and it’s gonna be just fine.”
“Now, wait a minute, boys, wait just a minute here.” Harvey Halderson eased his rotund body forward. He wore his usual red tie, the party color. The neon lights of the dance club sign above them came and went on his face — blue and white, blue and white. His jaw was set in a tight grin, gazing into the back of the truck. “I don’t know about this. I know I said cash, Benny, but I meant folding money. Twenties. Hundreds. What am I going to do with this?”
“Same thing I’d do with it, I guess,” Benny said. “Buy lots of soft drinks, newspapers, go to the laundry every day.”
“No, no, Benny. Change it to paper. Then come around and see me.”
“How am I gonna do that? Change it?”
“Well, I don’t know, Benny. You’ll find a way, I’m sure.”
“Take the money. Coin of the realm.”
“Can’t do that, Benny.”
“I owe you the money, I brought it to you.”
“Sure, but not coins, Benny. Paper money. Jeez.”
Benny stepped in closer. “Look, you are the guy who sent me up to the North End in the first place. You are the guy who got me the lawyer. You are the guy who put me onto Schalke when I said I might have trouble coming up with the scratch.”
Harvey Halderson forced his grin a little more. A man of logic and reason, tolerance and patience.
“But I didn’t know, did I, that he was talking about coins? He’s a hard guy to understand sometimes. I’m sorry, Benny. I can’t use this.”
Harvey locked his car with his remote, then minced off into the side door of the club, shaking his head.
Benny stood there. He looked at the trunk lock. He looked at Beemer.
“Got a car-popper on you?”
Beemer scoured his pockets, came up with a stubby ratchet handle and a socket with a short, flat screwdriver bit. He pushed the screwdriver bit into the key slot, and gave a quick hard crank on the ratchet. There was a loud snap. He pulled the bit away and the lock came with it, cylinder and all. Benny threw the trunk lid up.
“Back the truck in here and let’s get him loaded. And make sure we don’t give him one lousy quarter too much.”
They’d already decided each box had about five thousand dollars in it. Beemer figured it out, being good with money. They dragged a box out onto the tailgate and snapped the hasp off with Harvey’s tire iron. The coins were loose inside, not rolled. They tilted the box outward and let the coins spill into the trunk of the BMW. They did this five times. The trunk was completely filled.
“Okay,” Benny said, slamming the trunk lid down, “good enough.” Beemer slid the broken lock cylinder back into its barrel with his thumb.
They closed the tailgate of the truck and pulled out of the lot. As they drove off, Benny used Beemer’s untraceable tumbler phone to place a call to the cops.
Next day, back at the Rob Roy, Beemer pushed himself away from the wall, and said, “Oh dear. Here comes trouble.”
From where he was sitting, Benny could see Harvey Halderson striding in the front door, coat billowing behind him, his face as red as his tie. He spotted Benny right off, and came steaming down along the bar to where Benny was sitting. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.
“You!... You!...”
“What!” Benny said innocently. He said to Beemer, “Better bring Harvey a scotch, Beem. He don’t look good. He needs a pick-me-up, I think.”
“I’ll give you a pick-me-up!” Harvey Halderson said. Tiny drops of saliva quivered on his lips. “What did you think you were doing, dumping all that... that—” He glanced around to see who might be listening. “—that crap in my trunk? I told you—!”
“I know what you told me,” Benny said calmly. “I figured you just didn’t think it would fit in your car, you with a smaller vehicle. Your trunk lock was broken, so I thought I’d see if it would fit. It did. So I left it there.” Benny shrugged. “Now we’re square.”
“The lock was not broken. You forced it. And do you know what that damn stuff weighs? My back bumper was dragging on the ground. You broke a spring!”
“No,” Benny said, “I was very gentle. It must have been already broke.”
Beemer put the scotch on the bar. Harvey Halderson glanced at it, blinked, snatched it up, and drained it. He banged the glass back down.
“And do you know what else? The cops showed up and accused me—” His eyes bulged. “—of robbing parking meters!”
Benny laughed. “Well, they can’t prove nothing.”
“They wanted to know where I got so many quarters.”
“Tell them it’s none of their business. A guy pays you in quarters for something, you get quarters, that’s all. Coin of the realm.”
“It isn’t that easy!”
“You want a good lawyer? I can recommend one.”
“I’ve got an excellent lawyer.”
“Yeah, but he’s awful expensive.”
Harvey Halderson stood staring at Benny for several long seconds, trembling.
“I know what this is about,” he said. “I know what this is about!” He leveled his finger. “Tough guy! Okay! But you don’t get no more jobs from me!”
Harvey Halderson turned and stalked back along the bar to the door and out.
“I don’t think he likes you anymore,” Beemer said. He lifted an eyebrow. “Who’s gonna pay for the scotch?”
“My treat,” Benny said. He reached into his pocket. “How many quarters is that?”
The Case of the Unrepentant Ghost
by Lloyd Biggle, Jr
Few people have the unsettling experience of finding a Chief Inspector of the Metropolitan Police on the doorstep before they finish breakfast. Lady Sara Varnley, who was Britain’s finest detective, had it happen frequently at her residence in Connaught Mews, and she tolerated it without complaint. For one thing, Chief Inspector Mewer was an old friend who occasionally made himself useful. For another, the mysteries he brought to her were sometimes perplexing enough to be interesting.