The cops had decided one of them would stay in this room. While the others walked on, he went over and forced a place for himself at one of the windows, looking out.
Meanwhile, the girl had answered the phone. “Hello?” She paused, then looked more alert and on-the-job. “Mr. Eastpoole? Yes, sir.” Another pause. She looked around, and shook her head. “No, sir, Mr. Eastpoole, she hasn’t been through yet.” Another pause. “Yes, sir, I certainly will.” She hung up, and hurried back to the window.
Now what? How the hell was Eastpoole making phone calls? Where was Joe? What was going on?
And I didn’t need that cop at the window, I really didn’t.
Well, I had him. Straightening up to look over the top of the filing cabinet, I saw him standing there, having taken a window for himself, and he was looking out, his back squarely to me. If he’d only stay like that, there was still a chance.
I hunkered again, and turned to Miss Emerson, “Listen,” I said. “I don’t want a lot of shooting.”
“Neither do I,” she said. She was so sincere it was almost comic.
“We’re just going to get up and walk,” I told her. “No trouble, no fuss, no attracting anybody’s attention.”
“No, sir,” she said.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
I helped her up from her knees, and she gave me a quick nervous smile of thanks. We were developing a human relationship. We came out from behind the filing cabinets and walked down the length of the office, and out, without being seen.
12
The next time they saw one another, they both started talking at the same time. Tom opened the door and ushered the secretary into Eastpoole’s office, and Joe snapped around from where he was glaring at the television screens, trying to find out where everybody was.
Tom said, “There’s cops out—”
Joe said, “Where the hell—”
They both stopped. There was so much tension in the air they could both have thrown themselves on the floor and started screaming and kicking and thrashing around.
Joe gestured at the phone on Eastpoole’s desk. “I tried to call you,” he said, “I saw them come in.”
Tom had shut the door behind him. Now he walked across toward Joe and the desk and Eastpoole, saying, “I almost walked right into them. What are they doing?”
“Security for the astronauts.”
Tom made a face. “Christ,” he said. Then, suddenly remembering, he said, “The astronauts! We don’t want to miss the end of the parade!”
Joe turned and hurried to the window and looked out. The paper snow was about two blocks away, approaching slowly. He turned back to the room, saying, “We’re all right.”
“Good,” Tom said. He took a blue plastic laundry bag out of his left rear trouser pocket. It was all folded up small, into something about the size and shape of a pack of cigarettes. He shook it open, and it opened out into a good-size laundry bag; big enough to put a couple of sheets in, plus a regular wash.
Meantime Joe had walked over to the other area of the room, behind the white latticework. There was a door there, next to the bar. He pushed it open, reached in to switch on the light, and found a small but complete bathroom in there. Just as it had shown on the blueprints filed downtown. Sink, toilet, shower stall. It all looked very expensive, including the fact that the hot-and-cold-water faucets were in the shape of golden geese; the water would come out of their open mouths, and you’d turn their flared-back wings.
Tom turned to the secretary, holding open the laundry bag. “Dump them in here,” he said.
As she dumped the bonds into the bag, Joe came back from his inspection of the bathroom and said to Eastpoole, “Okay, you. Get up from there.”
Eastpoole knew enough now to be obedient right away, but he was still terrified. Rising, he said, “Where are you—?”
“Don’t worry,” Joe told him. “You were a good boy, you’ll be okay. We just got to lock you up while we get out of here.”
Tom threw the bag over his shoulder. He looked like a thin blue Santa Claus with a blue bag over his shoulder.
Joe wiggled his finger at the secretary. “You, too, honey,” he said. “Come along.”
Joe led them to the bathroom, then had them precede him into the room. He took handcuffs out of his left hip pocket and said to Eastpoole, “Give me your right hand.”
Tom waited in the main part of the office. He didn’t think they could see him now, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
Joe put the cuff on Eastpoole’s right wrist, then told him, “Kneel down. Right here by the sink.” When Eastpoole did it, looking both frightened and confused, Joe turned to the secretary and said, “You too. Kneel right next to him.”
After the girl had knelt, Joe crouched down with them and pushed Eastpoole’s right arm so he could pass the handcuffs around behind the run-off pipe under the sink. Then he took the secretary’s left forearm and held it back to where he could hook the other cuff onto her. The position he had to get to, in order to do it, all their heads were close together, like a football huddle. Their breaths mingled, and Joe found himself squinting as he put the cuffs on, as though there were bright lights on both sides of his face. Eastpoole and the secretary both kept their eyes down, looking toward the floor; kneeling there with eyes lowered, they looked like penitents.
Joe straightened, and nodded in satisfaction. They wouldn’t be leaving this room, not without help. “You’ll be getting out in a few minutes,” he told them. “I’ll leave the light on.”
They watched him now, neither of them saying anything. Eastpoole didn’t even say they wouldn’t be getting away with it.
Joe went out the door, and paused with his hand on the knob. “Don’t bother yelling,” he said. “The only one’s that’ll hear you is us, and we won’t come help.”
Tom, across the room, standing near Eastpoole’s desk, watched Joe in the bathroom doorway, and waited for him to come out and shut the door. When he finally did, Tom turned the laundry bag upside down, grabbed it by the bottom, and shook the bonds out onto the desk.
Joe came hurrying across the room. “They’re closed in,” he said.
“I know.” Tom was looking at the television screens, and there was nothing unusual showing on any of them.
“There’s no keyhole,” Joe said, “so they won’t be able to see what we’re doing.”
“They better not,” Tom said. “How’s the parade?”
“I’ll take a look.”
This was the part they’d argued about, while planning things. It had been Tom’s idea to do it this way, and Joe hadn’t liked it for a long while. In fact, it still troubled him now, but he did finally agree with Tom that it was the best way to handle things.
Joe headed for the window to look at the parade, and Tom picked up a thin stack of bonds; about ten of them. The top one was plainly marked “Pay To Bearer,” and the amount of it was seventy-five thousand dollars. Tom gave the number a happy smile of welcome, shifted the grip of his two hands on the papers, and ripped them down the middle.
Joe was at the window. He looked out and to the right. He saw the parade, but he also saw a cop at another window on this floor. The cop was glancing in this direction, and when he saw Joe he waved. Joe nodded and waved back, and brought his head back in.
Tom was ripping the bonds into smaller and smaller pieces, working quickly but efficiently. Joe came over to the desk, gave the stack of paper a regretful look, and said, “Less than a block away.”
“Help me with this.”
“Sure.”
Joe picked up a dozen bonds and gazed at them. “This one’s for a hundred grand,” he said.
“Come on, Joe.”
“Right.” Smiling sadly, shaking his head, he started to rip up the bonds.