Well Now My Pretty

"I will drive the truck," Maisky said. "I am a lot older than any of you and I don't propose to take too active a part in this operation. We will have to make a quick getaway, so I feel I am quite capable of handling the truck." He paused, waited, then went on when none of the men said anything. "There is one thing we must accept. The news of the robbery will break very quickly. The Chief of Police here is very efficient. We would be asking for trouble if we tried to leave the City with the money until the heat dies down. The money will be buried in my garden. We will then split up, take a vacation in the City, then, when the heat is off, we will take our shares and leave in our own separate ways."

Perry said, "I don't like that. We will split the money at once and each of us will be responsible for taking care of his own share."

Chandler said, "Yes."

After hesitating, Mish said, "Well, I guess that's right." Maisky shrugged.

"As you like, gentlemen. We will, of course, work out all the details later. But I take it, you approve of the general plan?"

"It's great," Mish said.

Maisky looked at Wash.

"And you?"

"Oh, yes . . . I will do exactly what you tell me," Wash said. "I think it is good."

Chandler said, "There's one thing that fazes me . . . just how did you get this blueprint and all your information? Whom did you buy it from?"

Maisky regarded the glowing end of his cigarette.

"I wonder if you really want to know, my friend?" he said. "You need have no fear about my informant. I have taken care of that very minor problem." He looked up suddenly and Chandler flinched as he looked into the grey, ice-cold eyes.

Two

HARRY LEWIS, Director of the Casino, neatly parked his black Fleetwood Cadillac in a vacant parking bay outside police headquarters, cut the engine and slid out into the early morning sunshine.

Lewis, tall, thin, elegantly dressed, was moving into his late fifties. He had been in charge of the richest Casino in the world now for fifteen years. He had the air of affluence and supreme confidence that only a background of extreme wealth can give a man.

He walked up the steps and into the Charge Room, where the desk sergeant, Charlie Tanner, was coping with a mass of drunk-incharge-of-a-car reports.

Seeing Lewis, Tanner dropped the reports and jumped to his feet.

 'Morning, Mr. Lewis. Something I can do?"

Lewis always recieved V.I.P. treatment from the police. They were well aware of his generosity at Christmas and Thanksgiving Day. Every detective and every patrolman received a sixteen- pound turkey and a bottle of Scotch on these two festivals, and they realised this generosity must cost a whale of a lot of money.

"The Chief in?" Lewis asked.

"Sure, Mr. Lewis. You go right on up," Tanner said. "How's your wife, Charlie?"

Tanner grinned happily. This was another thing about Lewis. He seemed to know everything about everyone in Paradise City. Tanner's wife had just come out of hospital after a difficult miscarriage.

"Fine now, Mr. Lewis . . . and thanks."

"You must take care of her, Charles," Lewis said. "We men take our wives too much for granted. Where would we be without them?" He flicked a folded bill across the desk. "Fuss her . . . women like being fussed."

He walked over to the stairway that led to Chief of Police Terrell's office. Tanner's eyes grew round when he saw the bill was for $20.

Lewis tapped on Terrell's door, pushed it open and walked into the small, sparsely furnished room.

Chief of Police Terrell, a massively built man with sandy hair, turning white at the temples and a jutting, aggressive jaw was pouring coffee from a carton into two paper cups. Sergeant Joe Beigler, his right-hand man, watched the coffee with an eye of an addict while he rested his big frame in a creaking, upright chair. Both men stiffened as Lewis walked casually into the little room. Beigler got to his feet. Terrell reached for another paper cup, smiling.

"Hello, Harry . . . you're early," he said. "Have some coffee?" Lewis took Beigler's chair, shaking his head.

"You two . . . you seem to live on coffee," he said. "Busy?"

Terrell lifted his massive shoulders.

"We're starting the day . . . nothing very special. Something on your mind?"

Lewis selected a cigarette from a gold case. Beigler was quick to give him a light.

"At this time of the season, Frank, I have always plenty on my mind," he said. "But tomorrow's something special. I thought it would be an idea to talk to you. Tomorrow, we are expecting twenty top class gamblers from the Argentine who are really out to win some money from us. These boys don't give a damn how much they lose. We have the job of coveting their play. There will be a lot of money in the Casino and I thought some police protection might be sound. Think you can help me?"

Terrell sipped his coffee, then nodded.

"Of course. What do you want, Harry?"