“Why do they call it Good Friday?”
“It’s from the Latin,” said Joey. “Goodus, goodilius, goodum, meaning lousy.”
Joey looked like a horse and he smiled like a horse, raising a long upper lip to show big square teeth. Joseph Patrick Morphy, Joey Morphy, Joey-boy—“the Morph”—a real popular guy for one only a few years at New Baytown. A joker who got off his gags veily-eyed like a poker player, but he whinnied at other people’s jokes, whether or not he had heard them. A wise guy, the Morph, had the inside dope on everything—and everybody from Mafia to Mountbatten—but he gave it out with a rising inflection, almost like a question. That took the smartaleck tone out of it, made his listener a party to it so that he could repeat it as his own. Joey was a fascinating monkey—a gambler but no one ever saw him lay down a bet, a good book-keeper and a wonderful bank teller. Mr. Baker, First National president, trusted Joey so completely that he let the teller do most of the work. The Morph knew everyone intimately and never used a first name. Ethan was Mr. Hawley. Margie Young-Hunt was Mrs. Young-Hunt to Joey, even though it was whispered that he was laying her. He had no family, no connections, lived alone in two rooms and private bath in the old Phillips house, ate most of his meals at the Foremaster Grill and Bar. His banking past was known to Mr. Baker and the bonding company and it was immaculate, but Joey-boy had a way of telling things that had happened to someone else in a way that made you suspect they had happened to Joey, and if that was so, he had really been around. Not taking credit made people like him even more. He kept his fingernails very clean, dressed well and sharply, and always had a clean shirt and a shoeshine.
The two men strolled together down Elm Street toward High.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you. You related to Admiral Hawley?”
“Don’t you mean Admiral Halsey?[2]” Ethan asked. “We’ve had lots of captains but I never heard of an admiral in the family.”
“I heard your granddad was a whaling captain. Kind of connected up in my mind with the admiral, I guess.”
“Town like this has got myths,” said Ethan. “Like they say people on my dad’s side did some pirating way back and my mother’s family came over in the Mayflower.”
“Ethan Allen,”[3] Joey said. “My God—you related to him too?”
“Might be. Must be,” said Ethan. “What a day—ever see a prettier? What was it you wanted to see me about?”
“Oh, yes. I guess you’re closing the store twelve to three. Would you make me a couple of sandwiches about half past eleven? I’ll run in and get them. And a bottle of milk.”
“Bank’s not closing?”
“Bank is. I’m not. Little Joey’ll be right in there, chained to the books. Big weekend like this—everybody and his dog cashing checks.”
“I never thought of that,” said Ethan.
“Oh, sure. Easter, Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day—any long weekend. If I wanted to stick up a bank, I’d do it just before a long weekend. The stuff’s right there all laid out, waiting.”
“You ever get stuck up, Joey?”
“No. But I had a friend that did twice.”
“What did he say about it?”
“Said he was scared. Just took orders. Laid down on the floor and let ’em have it. Said the money was better insured than he was.”
“I’ll bring you the sandwiches when I close up. I’ll knock on the back door. What kind you want?”
“Don’t bother, Mr. Hawley. I’ll slip across the alley—one ham and one cheese on rye, lettuce and mayonnaise, and maybe one bottle of milk and a Coke for later.”
“Got some nice salami—that’s Marullo.”
“No, thanks. How’s the one-man Mafia holding up?”
“All right, I guess.”
“Well, even if you don’t like guineas, you got to admire a guy can build a pushcart into all the property he owns. He’s pretty cute. People don’t know how much he’s got salted away. Maybe I shouldn’t say that. Banker’s not supposed to tell.”
“You didn’t tell.”
They had come to the corner where Elm angles into High Street. Automatically they stopped and turned to look at the pink brick and plaster mess that was the old Bay Hotel, now being wrecked to make room for the new Woolworth’s. The yellow-painted bulldozer and the big crane that swung the wrecking ball were silent like waiting predators in the early morning.
“I always wanted to do that,” Joey said. “Must be a kick to swing that steel ball and see a wall go down.”
“I saw enough go down in France,” Ethan said.
“Yeah! Your name’s on the monument down by the water-front.”
“Did they ever catch the robbers that stuck up your friend?” Ethan was sure the friend was Joey himself. Anyone would have been.
“Oh, sure. Caught ’em like mice. It’s lucky robbers aren’t smart. If Joey-boy wrote a book how to rob a bank, the cops would never catch anybody.”
Ethan laughed. “How’d you go about it?”
“I got a pipeline, Mr. Hawley. I just read the papers. And I used to know a guy pretty well was a cop. You want the two-dollar lecture?”
“ ’Bout six bits’ worth. I’ve got to open the store.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Joey, “I am here this morning—No, look! How do they catch bank robbers? Number one—record, got caught before. Number two—get fighting over the profits and someone blows it. Number three—dames. Can’t let dames alone, and that ties into number four—they got to spend that money. Watch new spenders and you got them.”
“So what’s your method, professor, sir?”
“Simple as socks. Everything opposite. Never rob a bank if you ever got caught or booked for anything. No confederates—do it alone and don’t tell a soul, nobody. Forget dames. And don’t spend it. Put it away, maybe for years. Then, when you’ve got some excuse for having some money, bring it out a little at a time and invest. Don’t spend.”
“How about if the robber got recognized?”
“If he covers his face and don’t talk, who’s going to recognize him? You ever read descriptions by eyewitnesses? They’re nuts. My cop friend says sometimes when they’d plant him in the line-up, he got picked out over and over again. People swore their eyes out he did whatever it was. That’ll be six bits, please.”
Ethan put his hand in his pocket. “I’ll have to owe you.”
“I’ll take it out in sandwiches,” said Joey.
The two crossed High Street and entered the alley that right-angled from the other side. Joey went in the back door of the First National Bank on his side of the alley, and Ethan unlocked the alley door of Marullo’s Fruit and Fancy Groceries on his side. “Ham and cheese?” he called.
“On rye—lettuce and mayonnaise.”
A little light, grayed by the dusty iron-barred window, came into the storeroom from the narrow alley. Ethan paused in the twilight place shelved to the ceiling and stacked with the cartons and wooden cases of canned fruits, vegetables, fish, processed meats, and cheese. He sniffed for mice among the seminal smells of flour and dried beans and peas, the paper-and-ink odor of boxed cereals, thick rich sourness of cheeses, and sausage, reek of hams and bacon, ferment of cabbage trimmings, lettuce, and beet tops from the silvery garbage cans beside the back door. Perceiving no rusty must of mouse, he opened the alley door again and rolled the covered garbage cans into the alley. A gray cat darted to get in, but he drove it away.
“No you don’t,” he remarked to the cat. “Mice and rats are feed for cats, but you’re a sausage nibbler. Aroint![4] You hear me—aroint!” The seated cat was licking a curled pink paw but at the second “aroint” he hightailed away and scrambled over the board fence behind the bank. “That must be a magic word,” Ethan said aloud. He returned to the storeroom and closed the door after him.
2
Admiral Halsey: William F. “Bull” Halsey (1882-1959). Fleet commander in the South Pacific during World War II, he took the title of five-star fleet admiral after the war. In the
3
Ethan Allen: (1738-89) Hero of the American Revolution and leader of the Green Mountain Boys, dedicated to keeping Vermont free from New York control. But in 1778 he was charged with treason for negotiating with Canada to recognize Vermont as a British province. He wrote
4
Aroint!: Term of dismissal, “begone.” “Aroint thee, witch,” from Shakespeare’s