Read Online Bank Shot by Donald E. Westlake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donald E. Westlake
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start with black bean soup, followed by poached fillet of black sea bass and a nice bottle of Schwartzekatz. For the entree, a Black Angus steak sauteed in black butter and garnished with black truffles, plus a side dish of black rice, washed down with a good Pinot Noir. For dessert, black-button pie and coffee. For after-dinner drinks, a choice of Black Russians or blackberry brandy, with bowls of black walnuts to munch on again in the living room.
Phil pulled to the curb on Seventh Avenue in the upper forties. Herman and Van and Jack got out and walked away around the corner. Ahead of them, the Broadway theater marquees shouldered one another to be seen.
Ahead on the right was the new rock musical Justice! It had been panned on the road, it had come into town fully expecting to be a disaster, it had opened last night, and every last New York critic had given it a rave. The line for advance sale tickets had been around the block all day; the producers hadnât expected the cash in-flow and hadnât prepared for it, so the dayâs receipts were spending the night in the theater safe. Well, part of the night. One of the brothers in the chorus had passed the word to the Movement, and the Movement had quickly assigned Herman and Phil and Van and Jack. Theyâd met late this afternoon, looked over the brothersâ map of the interior of the theater, worked out their plot, and here they were.
One usher stood in the outer lobby. He was short and stocky and wore a dark-blue uniform. He gave Herman and Van and Jack a supercilious look as they came in through the outer doors and said, âCan I help you?â
âYou can turn around,â Van said and showed him a gun. âOr I can blow your head off.â
âGood Christ, â the usher said and stepped back into the doors. He also put his hand to his mouth and blanched.
âNow, thatâs what I call white,â Herman said. His own gun remained in his pocket, but he had taken out the mask and was putting it on. It was a simple black mask, the kind the Lone Ranger wears.
âTurn around, â Van said.
âBetter do it,â Herman said. âIâm gentle, but heâs mean.â
The usher turned around. âWhat do you want? Do you want my wallet? You donât have to hurt me. I wonât do any ââ
âOh, be quiet,â Van said. âWeâre all going inside and turn left and go up the stairs. You first. Donât be cute, because weâre right behind you.â
âI wonât be cute. I donât want to be ââ
âJust walk,â Van said. He gave off such an aura of weary professionalism that his victims almost always fell all over themselves to do what he wanted; not wanting to expose themselves as amateurs to his jaundiced eye.
The usher walked. Van put away his gun and donned his mask. Jack and Herman were already masked, but a casual observer watching them walk across the dark rear of the theater behind the usher wouldnât have realized they had masks on.
A herd of people onstage were shouting a song: âFreedom means I got to be, I got to be, I got to be, Freedom means I got to be. Freedom means you got to be, you got to be â¦â
The stairs were carpeted in dark red and curved to the right. At the top was the loge, and Van poked the usher to make him move to the right, behind the seats and through another door and up a narrow flight of stairs that wasnât carpeted at all.
In the room were six people. Two women and a man were counting money at tables with adding machines. Three men were wearing the uniform of a private protective service, including holstered pistols. Van stuck his foot around the usherâs and gave him a shove as they entered the room, so the usher cried out and went sprawling. It distracted everyone long enough for Van and Jack and Herman to line up in a row inside the door, guns in their hands and masks on their faces, establishing
Phil pulled to the curb on Seventh Avenue in the upper forties. Herman and Van and Jack got out and walked away around the corner. Ahead of them, the Broadway theater marquees shouldered one another to be seen.
Ahead on the right was the new rock musical Justice! It had been panned on the road, it had come into town fully expecting to be a disaster, it had opened last night, and every last New York critic had given it a rave. The line for advance sale tickets had been around the block all day; the producers hadnât expected the cash in-flow and hadnât prepared for it, so the dayâs receipts were spending the night in the theater safe. Well, part of the night. One of the brothers in the chorus had passed the word to the Movement, and the Movement had quickly assigned Herman and Phil and Van and Jack. Theyâd met late this afternoon, looked over the brothersâ map of the interior of the theater, worked out their plot, and here they were.
One usher stood in the outer lobby. He was short and stocky and wore a dark-blue uniform. He gave Herman and Van and Jack a supercilious look as they came in through the outer doors and said, âCan I help you?â
âYou can turn around,â Van said and showed him a gun. âOr I can blow your head off.â
âGood Christ, â the usher said and stepped back into the doors. He also put his hand to his mouth and blanched.
âNow, thatâs what I call white,â Herman said. His own gun remained in his pocket, but he had taken out the mask and was putting it on. It was a simple black mask, the kind the Lone Ranger wears.
âTurn around, â Van said.
âBetter do it,â Herman said. âIâm gentle, but heâs mean.â
The usher turned around. âWhat do you want? Do you want my wallet? You donât have to hurt me. I wonât do any ââ
âOh, be quiet,â Van said. âWeâre all going inside and turn left and go up the stairs. You first. Donât be cute, because weâre right behind you.â
âI wonât be cute. I donât want to be ââ
âJust walk,â Van said. He gave off such an aura of weary professionalism that his victims almost always fell all over themselves to do what he wanted; not wanting to expose themselves as amateurs to his jaundiced eye.
The usher walked. Van put away his gun and donned his mask. Jack and Herman were already masked, but a casual observer watching them walk across the dark rear of the theater behind the usher wouldnât have realized they had masks on.
A herd of people onstage were shouting a song: âFreedom means I got to be, I got to be, I got to be, Freedom means I got to be. Freedom means you got to be, you got to be â¦â
The stairs were carpeted in dark red and curved to the right. At the top was the loge, and Van poked the usher to make him move to the right, behind the seats and through another door and up a narrow flight of stairs that wasnât carpeted at all.
In the room were six people. Two women and a man were counting money at tables with adding machines. Three men were wearing the uniform of a private protective service, including holstered pistols. Van stuck his foot around the usherâs and gave him a shove as they entered the room, so the usher cried out and went sprawling. It distracted everyone long enough for Van and Jack and Herman to line up in a row inside the door, guns in their hands and masks on their faces, establishing
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