Dortmunder said, “I’m surprised I don’t know you.”
Herman gave him a grin. “We probably travel in different circles.”
“I was just wondering what your experience is.”
Herman’s grin broadened into a smile. “Well, now,” he said. “One doesn’t like to talk about one’s experiences in front of a whole room of witnesses.”
Kelp said, “Everybody’s okay in here. But, Dortmunder, Herman really does know his business.”
Dortmunder continued to frown at Herman. It seemed to him there was something of the dilettante about this guy. Your ordinary run-of-the-mill heavy could be a dilettante, but a lockman was supposed to be serious, he was supposed to be a man with a craft, with expertise.
Herman glanced around the table with an ironic smile, then shrugged, sipped at his drink and said, “Well, last night I helped take away the Justice receipts.”
Victor, looking startled, said, “From the Bureau?”
Herman looked baffled. “From the bureau? It was on tables; they were counting it.”
Kelp said, “That was you? I read about that in the paper.”
So had Dortmunder. He said, “What locks did you open?”
“None,” Herman said. “It wasn’t that kind of a job.”
Victor, still trying to work it all out, said, “You mean down at Foley Square?”
This time, Herman’s frown was deep and somewhat hostile. “Well, the FBI is down there,” he said.
“The Bureau,” said Victor.
Kelp said, “Later, Victor. You’re confused.”
“They don’t have any receipts at the Bureau,” Victor said. “I should know. I was an agent for twenty-one months.”
Herman was on his feet, the chair tipping over behind him. “What’s going on here?”
“It’s all right,” Kelp said, fast and soothing. He patted the air in a gesture of reassurance. “It’s all right. They fired him.”
Herman, in his mistrust, was trying to look in seven directions at once; his eyes kept almost crossing. “If this is entrapment —” he said.
“They fired him,” Kelp insisted. “Didn’t they, Victor?”
“Well,” Victor said, “we sort of agreed to disagree. I wasn’t exactly fired precisely, not exactly.”
Herman had focused on Victor again, and now he said, “You mean it was political?”
Before Victor could answer, Kelp said smoothly, “Something like that. Yeah, it was political, wasn’t it, Victor?”
“Uh. Sure, yeah. You could call it … I guess you could call it that.”
Herman shrugged his shoulders inside his sports jacket, to adjust it. Then he sat down again with a relieved smile, saying, “You had me going there for a minute.”
Dortmunder had learned patience at great cost. The trial and error of life among human beings had taught him that whenever a bunch of them began to jump up and down and shout at cross-purposes, the only thing a sane man could do was sit back and let them sort it out for themselves. No matter how long it took. The alternative was to try to attract their attention, either with explanations of the misunderstanding or with a return to the original topic of conversation, and to make that attempt meant that sooner or later you too would be jumping up and down and shouting at cross-purposes. Patience, patience; at the very worst, they would finally wear themselves out.
Now, he looked around the table at everybody smiling in new comprehension — Murch was salting his beer again — and then he said, “What we had in mind for this job was a lockman.”
“That’s what I am,” Herman said. “Last night, I was just filling in. You know, helping out. Usually I’m a lockman.”
“For instance.”
“For instance the People’s Co-operative Supermarket on Sutter Avenue about three weeks ago. The Lenox Avenue office of the Tender Loving Care Loan Company a couple weeks before that. Smilin Sam Tahachapee’s safe in the horse room behind the Fifth of November Bar and Grill on Linden Boulevard two days before that. The Balmy Breeze Hotel safe in Atlantic City during the Retired Congressmen’s Convention the week before that. The Open Hand Check Cashing Agency on Jerome Avenue the —”
“You don’t need work,” Kelp said. He sounded awed. “You got all the work you can handle.”
“Not to mention money,” Murch said.
Herman shook his head with a bitter smile. “The fact is,” he said, “I’m broke. I really need a score.”
Dortmunder said, “You must run through it pretty quick.”
“Those are Movement jobs,” Herman said. “I don’t get to keep any of it.”
This time Victor was the only one who understood. “Ah,” he said. “You’re helping to finance their schemes.”
“Like the free-lunch program,” Herman said.
Kelp said, “Wait a minute. These are Movement jobs, so you don’t get to keep the money. What does that mean exactly? Movement jobs. You mean they’re like for practice? You send the money back?”
Victor said, “He gives the money to the organization he belongs to.” Mildly, he said to Herman, “Which movement do you belong to, exactly?”
“One of them,” Herman said. To Kelp he said, “I don’t set any of those things up. These people that I believe in —” with a glance at Victor — “that your nephew would know about, they set them up, and they put together the group that does the job. What we say is, we’re liberating the money.”
“I think of it the other way around,” Kelp said. “I think of it that I’m capturing the money.”
Dortmunder said, “What was the last job you did on your own? Where you got to keep the loot?”
“About a year ago,” Herman said. “A bank in St. Louis.”
“Who’d you work with?”
“Stan Devers and Mort Kobler. George Cathcart drove.”
“I know George,” Kelp said.
Dortmunder knew Kobler. “All right,” he said.
“Now,” Herman said, “let’s talk about you boys. Not what you’ve done, I’ll take Kelp’s word for that. What you want to do.”
Dortmunder took a deep breath. He wasn’t happy about this moment. “We’re going to steal a bank,” he said.
Herman looked puzzled. “Rob a bank?”
“Steal a bank.” To Kelp he said, “You tell him.”
Kelp told him. At first Herman sort of grinned, as though waiting for the punch line. Then, for a while, he frowned, as though suspecting he was surrounded by mental cases. And finally he looked interested, as though the idea had caught his fancy. At the end he said, “So I can take my time. I can even work in daylight if I want.”
“Sure,” Kelp said.
Herman nodded. He looked at Dortmunder and said, “Why is it still just a maybe?”
“We don’t have any place to put it,” Dortmunder said. “Also, we have to get wheels for it.”
“I’m working on that,” Murch said. “But I may need some help.”
“A whole bank,” Herman said. He beamed. “We’re gonna liberate a whole bank.”
Kelp said, “We’re gonna capture a whole bank.”
“It comes to the same thing,” Herman told him. “Believe me, it comes to the same thing.”
12
Murch’s Mom stood smiling and blinking in the sunlight in front of Kresge’s holding her purse strap with both hands, arms extended down and in front of her so that the purse dangled at her knees. She was wearing a dress with horizontal green and yellow stripes which did nothing to improve her figure, and below that yellow vinyl boots with green laces all the way up. Above the dress she wore her neck brace. The purse was an ordinary beige leather affair, which went much better with the neck brace than with the dress and boots.
Standing next to a parking meter, peering at Murch’s Mom’s image in an Instamatic camera, was May, dressed in her usual fashion. The original idea was that May would be the one in the fancy clothes and Murch’s Mom would take the pictures, but May had absolutely refused to buy the kind of dress and boots Dortmunder had in mind. It also turned out that Murch’s Mom was one of those people who always take pictures low and to the left of what they were aiming at. So the roles had been reversed.