“I ain’t supposed to do that, Mr. Womack.” White took a Coke from the dispenser and popped the cap off. “The boss is out sick, or you could talk to him, but I reckon he wouldn’t mind if I took your check... now.”
“I doubt if it would be much good.”
“Sounds like the trucking business ain’t much good right now.” White put his feet on the desk and eyed Womack critically.
“Business is bad all over.”
“Buddy, you’re right. You’re so goddamned right it hurts.” White swallowed half of the Coke. “It’s them union bosses. A bunch of racketeers. Crooks, just lousy crooks. Stuffing their own pockets while the rest of us work our tails off.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Did you ever think what it would be like to have all the cash you wanted? Think of the liquor you could drink... and the thick steaks... and the women. For Chrissakes think of the women.”
Womack looked at him, his face blank.
White continued, his voice hoarse, a funny gleam in his eyes. “Suppose, just for the hell of it, you knew of a way to get your hands on some real dough. Cash. Lots of it. Say three quarters of a million dollars. Maybe a million. Think what you could do with that kind of dough...”
They talked for the better part of an hour.
In the end it was easier than even Wibber had imagined.
11
There were four of them now.
They met late at night in the rear of the ABC Garage, behind carefully locked doors, with only the light from one naked bulb to illuminate the map spread on a greasy workbench. Big, perspiring Wibber. Bernie White, his face drawn, his hands swollen from hours of frantic last-minute preparation on the rig. Sammy Travis, nervous and irritable, smoking incessantly — but whose nerves suddenly jelled when he held a gun in the face of danger. Womack, hands thrust into the pocket of his jacket, thinking oddly of his father’s suicide and of Emma, his wife, and of the twelve bitter years in a reform school. And there was Lila — actually, Lila made it five — standing apart from the others but very much a part of the group.
“This whole deal,” Sammy was saying, “depends on everybody — I mean everybody — doing exactly what they’re supposed to do at exactly the right time.”
He looked at Womack.
“If anybody screws up — if anybody loses his head and panics — he’s going to have to answer to me. I mean it. So you all had better understand that from the start.”
Travis’ eyes left Womack and made a quick tour of the others. There didn’t seem to be any argument. He looked at White and said, “Bernie, you’re the key to the whole exercise. You carry off your end and we should be able to walk through without a scratch.”
“Don’t worry about my end.” White’s voice carried complete conviction. “It’s all taken care of. They brought the truck in yesterday... just like always... to have it serviced. I’ve been working on it for three months now. It’ll be like cracking an egg.”
“I guess I came in late,” Womack said. “You want to tell me how you plan to crack it?”
There was silence and then Travis said, “You tell him, Bernie.”
“Sure.” White’s voice was intense, a curious blend of pride and suspicion, as he said, “You know the problem. Two armed security guards accompany the Army payroll in the truck. Besides the driver, there’s a guy sealed in the back, armed with a sawed-off shotgun and a .38 Special.”
“It’s the guy in the back that’s the kicker,” Wibber interrupted.
“That’s right,” White went on. “No matter what happens to the driver... we’ve got to take care of the guy in back before we can get our hands on the dough.”
Womack said, “That’s one of the things that have been bothering me. How do you figure on getting him out?”
Wibber’s thick lips opened in a grin. “That’s the beauty of the whole operation. We don’t!”
“Huh?”
“That’s my idea,” Travis said. “Instead of wasting a lot of valuable time trying to bust open that truck... we seal the guard inside... where he can’t do us any harm. Not bad, eh?”
“Not bad,” Womack said. “Only what’s he going to be doing with that shotgun while we’re loading the truck into the van?”
“Bernie.”
“That’s my department again.” White opened a drawer in the workbench, removed a heavy object wrapped in an oil-soaked rag, and held it under the light. “I machined it right here in the shop after hours. This one and four others like it. They screw into the gun ports in the back of the truck. There’s enough steel in each of them to stop a bazooka shell. And once they’re in they can’t be loosened from the inside.”
Womack whistled softly.
He said, “You mean the gun ports are threaded?”
“They are now.” White looked at him and grinned.
“That ain’t all,” Travis said. “There’s an ignition cut-off switch and an emergency brake in the back of the truck. That’s so the guy riding shotgun can stop the truck and kill the engine if anything happens to the driver.”
“They don’t mess around.”
“Neither do we.” Travis lit a cigarette. “Bernie here has taken care of that too.”
“What if they check out the truck each morning. The way they check an airplane before taking off.”
“They won’t find a thing,” White said. “I’ve rigged both the ignition cut-off and the brake so they’ll work just fine... until I loosen a bolt and a couple of wires beneath the truck.”
Womack said, “Sounds like you’ve got it pretty well covered.”
“We told you we did.”
“One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“How about the driver?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask. It’s the sweetest part of the plan.” White’s humor soared. He looked at Travis. “Tell him, Sam.”
Travis half smiled. He said, “It’s like Bernie says. The driver is the easy part, a pushover, perched in there behind the armor plate and bullet-proof glass like a sitting duck. He won’t even know what hit him.”
There was a silence and then Wibber giggled faintly. He said, “I get a bang out of just thinking about it.”
“What’s amusing the sheriff,” Travis said, “is the fact that the cab of that truck is like a fortress. Armor plating like a tank and safety glass that’ll take six .38 slugs point blank at the same spot and not even wrinkle.”
“I’m afraid I don’t get the joke.”
“Don’t you?” Wibber laughed out loud. “Man, there ain’t no safety glass in that truck.”
Womack looked at White.
White grinned and said, “Wibber’s partially right. Safety glass don’t look no different than regular plate. I replaced the pane of glass on the driver’s side with regular plate the last time I serviced ’er. Took me about eleven minutes. Then I cleaned all the windows as usual... so the phony wouldn’t look no different from the rest.”
“You know the rest of it,” Wibber said. “All you got to do is get in that rig of yours and drive on to glory.”
Womack looked at Wibber. “I ain’t exactly sure what your part is, Sheriff. You going to be around during the actual heist, or is your job just making suggestions?”
“You ain’t one to talk, Womack,” Travis said quickly. “If it wasn’t for Wibber here, you wouldn’t be in on the operation. It was his idea.”
“I was just wondering.”
“Well don’t.” The two men locked eyes. “Any questions of that kind will come from me. Wibber has an important part in the operation. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here, so forget the smart remarks. You just make sure you’re ready to roll when the time comes.”