Read Online The Outfit by Richard Stark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Stark
Tags: General Interest, Fiction, General, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Crime, Detective and Mystery Stories, Hard-Boiled, Criminals, Parker (Fictitious character)
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to the men's room he would discover that the men's room and the cashiers' space shared a wall, and that the door he had already noticed led into the men's room. This door was kept locked; it could be unlocked from either side only by a key. Each cashier had a key which he was required to turn in when going off duty. The arrangement had been designed as a convenience to the cashiers, who worked long hours and were permitted an occasional beer.
And the office. It was behind the cashiers' wicket, to the left of the men's room. The door to the office was about eight feet to the left of the private door to the men's room. This door was not kept locked, because the cashiers used it fairly often, clearing checks, bringing money in or taking money out, coming on or going off duty. The office was windowless, having an air-conditioner high on the outside wall, and the door to the cashiers' space was its only entrance. The three men who worked in the office were armed.
Rico and Terry entered the club and stopped at the bar long enough for a bottle of beer, then they went downstairs to the gambling room. They entered the men's room. Each went quickly into a stall and closed the door, and then they both put on rubber masks which covered their faces completely. The masks had two oval eyeholes and two round nostril holes, and for the rest were flesh-coloured rubber, loosely fitted to the contours of their faces. They put their hats on over the masks and waited. Patrons came and went.
They waited forty minutes before they heard the sound of a cashier's key. They heard a door open and close, they heard footsteps on the floor. They came out of the stalls.
They each had guns now – stubby English .32's. The cashier was a small, bald man with spectacles which reflected the light. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his forearms were thin and pale and almost hairless.
There was one other customer in the room, washing his hands at one of the sinks. Terry, the pock-marked man, pointed a gun at him. "Come over here."
Rico went over to the cashier. "Turn around. Put your palms against the wall." Then he patted pockets till he found the key.
They marched the cashier and the customer into adjoining stalls and made them kneel down. The cashier was silent, but the customer kept babbling they could have his wallet without killing him. Rico and Terry sapped them and lowered them gently to the tile floor. If there were no killings and no injuries needing hospital care, there would probably be no official squawk from this job. The club wouldn't be making any reports to the law if it could avoid it. And the customer would probably be paid off if he raised a stink on his own. If the job was clean and quiet, the law would never hear about it at all.
They closed the stall doors and went to the private door. Rico unlocked it and led the way through. They had the guns in their pockets now, their right hands tucked into the same pockets.
To the right was a long table. Felt-lined boxes full of chips were stacked up on the table, and empty ones were under the table. To the left was another table which held adding machines, telephones, and a few single-drawer filing cabinets for three-by-five cards. Beyond that table was the door to the office. In front stretched the counter and the wire cage. All but one of the cashiers had their backs to them. This one sat at the table to the left, running an adding machine. He looked over when Rico and Terry came through the doorway, and his eyes widened. He was the only one who could see the masks; the other cashiers were facing away and the customers and stickmen beyond the wire mesh were too far away to see what was happening. Anyone looking through the wicket towards the dim area by the back wall wouldn't realize that those pale expressionless faces weren't faces at all.
Speaking softly, Rico said to the man at the adding machine, "Come here. Be nice and quiet." There was a steady flow of noise from
And the office. It was behind the cashiers' wicket, to the left of the men's room. The door to the office was about eight feet to the left of the private door to the men's room. This door was not kept locked, because the cashiers used it fairly often, clearing checks, bringing money in or taking money out, coming on or going off duty. The office was windowless, having an air-conditioner high on the outside wall, and the door to the cashiers' space was its only entrance. The three men who worked in the office were armed.
Rico and Terry entered the club and stopped at the bar long enough for a bottle of beer, then they went downstairs to the gambling room. They entered the men's room. Each went quickly into a stall and closed the door, and then they both put on rubber masks which covered their faces completely. The masks had two oval eyeholes and two round nostril holes, and for the rest were flesh-coloured rubber, loosely fitted to the contours of their faces. They put their hats on over the masks and waited. Patrons came and went.
They waited forty minutes before they heard the sound of a cashier's key. They heard a door open and close, they heard footsteps on the floor. They came out of the stalls.
They each had guns now – stubby English .32's. The cashier was a small, bald man with spectacles which reflected the light. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his forearms were thin and pale and almost hairless.
There was one other customer in the room, washing his hands at one of the sinks. Terry, the pock-marked man, pointed a gun at him. "Come over here."
Rico went over to the cashier. "Turn around. Put your palms against the wall." Then he patted pockets till he found the key.
They marched the cashier and the customer into adjoining stalls and made them kneel down. The cashier was silent, but the customer kept babbling they could have his wallet without killing him. Rico and Terry sapped them and lowered them gently to the tile floor. If there were no killings and no injuries needing hospital care, there would probably be no official squawk from this job. The club wouldn't be making any reports to the law if it could avoid it. And the customer would probably be paid off if he raised a stink on his own. If the job was clean and quiet, the law would never hear about it at all.
They closed the stall doors and went to the private door. Rico unlocked it and led the way through. They had the guns in their pockets now, their right hands tucked into the same pockets.
To the right was a long table. Felt-lined boxes full of chips were stacked up on the table, and empty ones were under the table. To the left was another table which held adding machines, telephones, and a few single-drawer filing cabinets for three-by-five cards. Beyond that table was the door to the office. In front stretched the counter and the wire cage. All but one of the cashiers had their backs to them. This one sat at the table to the left, running an adding machine. He looked over when Rico and Terry came through the doorway, and his eyes widened. He was the only one who could see the masks; the other cashiers were facing away and the customers and stickmen beyond the wire mesh were too far away to see what was happening. Anyone looking through the wicket towards the dim area by the back wall wouldn't realize that those pale expressionless faces weren't faces at all.
Speaking softly, Rico said to the man at the adding machine, "Come here. Be nice and quiet." There was a steady flow of noise from
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