‘That will be fine.’ the mark says, ‘but it has to be a non-returnable deposit.’
‘Oh,’ Clara says.
‘Because otherwise your mechanic friend could look over the car and decide he doesn’t like the way it rattles or something, not that it rattles, but you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I see,’ Clara says. ‘Well, how much of a deposit do you want?’
The car is selling for forty-five hundred dollars,’ he says. ‘That’s what I put in the ad, that’s a fair price for this car.’
‘Oh, yes, it is, I’m not arguing about the price.’
‘So if you let me have a check for, say, fifteen hundred, I’ll hold the car for you till your mechanic friend takes a look at it.’
‘Well, fifteen hundred sounds like a lot,’ Clara says, ‘especially if my friend should find something wrong with the car, and I lose the whole thing.’
‘That’s true,’ the mark says, ‘how does a thousand sound?’
‘Well, I suppose,’ Clara says, and thinks about it for another minute, and then takes out her check book and writes the guy a phony check for a thousand, signing the name Abigail Hendricks, which is the name on the checking account we have opened in Larchmont with a minimum deposit of two hundred dollars. There is not a bank in the entire United States that will ask you for identification when you are opening a checking account. All they care to see is the long green, and you can tell them you are Adolph Hitler, and they will say, ‘Very good, Mr. Hitler, did you want the checks in green, yellow, pink, or blue?’
So Clara hangs the paper on the guy, and they shake on the deal, and then she starts worrying out loud. The trouble is that her mechanic friend goes to work at eight in the morning, and he doesn’t quit till five, and by the time they got down here it’d be maybe six-thirty, and besides he’s usually tired after a long day’s work, and maybe wouldn’t want to come down here at all, it’d be so much easier if she could take the car up to him. Still worrying out loud, still trying to figure this out, she says that maybe, if this is all right, maybe she could come down for the car in the morning, and drive it up to the garage where her friend works, and have him look at it there. Then, if everything was all right, she’d come down with a certified check which she’d have to get from the bank before three o’clock when it closed. But no, that wouldn’t be so good because that would mean she’d have to make the trip in, and then drive back to Larchmont, and then drive the car back to the Bronx again, whereas she has a better idea.
Since she has to come to the city anyway tomorrow morning, to pick up her bank guard friend who was kind enough to drive her in, if she could take the Benz home with her tonight, she would have her mechanic friend look at it first thing in the morning, and then she could drive it back down with a certified check in her hand, no later than ten a.m., and that would be that. In the meantime, if it was all right, and if the mark promised to take good care of it, she would leave her bank guard friend’s Volkswagen in the garage there overnight. That would be some sort of security for the mark, although he already had her check for a thousand dollars, and she was sure his collision insurance covered anybody else driving his car, though she had never had an accident in her entire life.
It is at this point that the mark either says yes or no.
He has seen the lady, he has sized her up as a respectable widow with a bank guard friend and also a mechanic friend, he has her check for a thousand dollars in his hand, and he also has a 1963 Volkswagen in his garage, and nine times out of ten he will say, ‘Okay, lady, take the car home with you, but be back here with it tomorrow morning at ten o’clock the latest, with the certified check in your hand.’
Then Clara gives the mark her phony address in Larchmont, and also her phony telephone number, and she tells him the mechanic’s name is Curly Rogers or something, and he works for a Mobil station in town there, and that is where she’ll be at eight o’clock on the dot tomorrow morning, after which, if everything is okay, she will go to the bank and get the certified cheque, and be back with it at ten. That’s the way it usually works, unless the mark says no he will not under any circumstances allow anyone to take his car overnight, in which case nothing ventured nothing gained. But that is the way it worked seven times for us, and that is exactly the way it worked this time too. Clara shook hands with the mark, and gave him the keys to the Volkswagen, in case he had to move it or anything, like in case the garage caught on fire, and she drove off in the tobacco-brown 1968 Mercedes-Benz 280SL with the genuine beige leather interior, and she picked me up at the cafeteria where she knew I’d be waiting, and then I got behind the wheel of the car while she took a taxi to the hotel on West Forty-seventh.
I drove to New Jersey already counting the money in my head. The Benz was not yet hot, you understand that, John? The mark did not yet know it had been heisted, he did not yet know he was never going to see Abigail Hendricks again as long as he lived, he did not yet know the Volks in his garage had been stolen in Georgia a month ago, and painted blue instead of red, and fixed up with New York plates and a phony registration in the glove compartment, he did not even know that Clara’s cheque was a phony. All he knew was that he had a deal almost in his pocket because the mechanic was sure as hell not going to find a thing wrong with this little beauty of a car.
John, that Benz was a little jewel, I have to tell you. I went over the Washington Bridge with it, and I could understand why that guy kept it padlocked in his garage, it was some sweet little automobile. I figured it was worth on the retail market at least what he had advertised it for, and I figured I could get fifteen hundred, maybe even two grand when I turned it over in New Jersey, and I was already counting that bread, I was already spending it with Clara in some fancy nightclub in Washington, D.C. which is where we intended to stop next; that is a nice city for heisting cars, Washington, D.C, but not Seattle, Washington. I was driving along at a nice respectable speed of thirty-five miles an hour because, whereas the car would not become hot till the next morning when the mark realized he was never going to see Clara nor the Benz again, I still did not want to take no chances on cops stopping me, the one thing I always try to avoid is traffic tickets of any kind.
When I heard the siren behind me, I was very much surprised.
I did not think it was me at first, but then I saw the red dome light blinking, and this cop’s car was right alongside me and one of the cops was waving me over to the side of the road, so naturally I pulled over. They both had guns in their hands when they got out of the car.
‘Hey, what is the trouble, officers?’ I said.
‘No trouble,’ one of them said. ‘Let’s see your licence and registration.’
I showed them my licence, and I fished around in the glove compartment for the registration, and I handed that to the cop who was doing all the talking while the other cop kept his gun pointed at my head and making me very nervous.
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought,’ the cop who was holding the registration said, and then he went back to the police car while the other cop kept holding the gun on me. I didn’t understand what was happening. The car was not yet hot, and I had just shown them the real and legitimate registration for it. In the police car up ahead, I could see the first cop talking on the radio. The other cop still has his gun pointed at me.
Do you know what it was, John?’
The friggin car was a stolen car! I don’t mean me and Clara stealing it, I mean the mark. The mark had stolen that friggin Benz two weeks before from a dentist in Poughkeepsie and he hadn’t so much as even changed the licence plates, and he’d also had the nerve to advertise it for sale in the goddam New York Times! Now that is what I call amateur night in Dixie. And also, John, when I tried to explain to the detectives who later questioned me that I had only borrowed the car from a friend in the Bronx, and I told then where the friggin mark lived, and they went there, it turned out he didn’t live there at all, he was only renting the garage with the padlock on it from an old lady who was half-deaf and arthritic besides, and the name he had given her was probably a phony, and I guess he couldn’t have cared less if Clara ran off with his friggin car because he already had her cheque for a thousand bucks, which he didn’t know was phony, ahh, John, it was some mess, there ain’t no justice.