Bank Robbers (28 page)

They had driven to the Bronx, first to the pawnshop and then to a bank, where she watched Arthur and Moe deposit a bagful of money in the special business deposit box, and then they had driven out here.

The car stopped in front of the terminal and Moe and Arthur got out. She followed slowly. She stood very still and watched Arthur and Moe unload the suitcases on a cart.

No, she did not want to go to jail.

No, she did not want to go to court.

No, she didn't want to leave Arthur.

And this was the only answer. Arthur was right. No one was going to find out. They couldn't tell from the tapes it was Dottie. Sid wasn't going to tell them. And Moe was going to feed them money as soon as they wired from Hawaii.

So here they were. On their way, to begin the long flight to Los Angeles and then on to Hawaii. And everything Arthur had said was true.

But …

Arthur came up and took her arm and together they walked into the terminal, and all the time she was conscious of the bulges in his coat from the money he was carrying.

They stood on a very short line and in almost no time Moe stood in front of the ticket counter, buying the tickets.

It was odd, but she almost felt that it was some kind of movie she was watching. She went through the paces all right. Filling out their names on the luggage tags, watching them get placed on the conveyor belt.

And she let Arthur lead her back by the arm through the terminal to the metal detector. Moe handed Arthur a small carry-on bag, and he began to button his coat.

“And don't let Rob tell you it's okay to underpay the quarterlies—”

“I know, Pop, we been over it—”

“I know there's things I'm forgetting—”

“It'll be okay. I know the business, and it's not like I'm never going to talk to you again.”

“My will. It's in the deposit box, along with a small green book. Inside the book are all the banks I have safety-deposit boxes in. Close them all and put every cent into your account, otherwise the bastards in the government will take it all—”

“You're not going to die, Pop, you're going to Hawaii.”

“Yes, yes…” Arthur said and looked as if he was pondering exactly what else he needed to say.

Moe leaned down and gave Dottie a peck on the cheek.

“Take care of him,” he said.

“I just wish I'd made a list…” Arthur murmured as Moe led him to the metal detector.

“Call me tomorrow and tell me where you are,” he said, and stopped.

Arthur stared at him and suddenly threw his arms around him, and gave him a hefty quick hug, then let go.

“I love you, Pop.”

“Come see us,” Arthur said, and nodded. He turned and walked through the metal detector.

Dottie followed and they waved back at Moe.

“Take Doreen out for a nice dinner somewhere,” Arthur yelled after him, and then took Dottie's arm.

They walked silently toward their gate.

She sat staring numbly through a large plate-glass window at their plane being readied for takeoff. And it was odd. It was as if there was a deadness covering a deep sense of doom.

Arthur sat down next to her and smiled and handed her a hot dog.

“To Hawaii.” He winked and took a large bite.

She stared at him and nodded. She looked down at the hot dog. She didn't feel like eating. She didn't feel like anything.

She felt … ashamed of herself. And stupid. Very, very stupid. And afraid again.

“Are you all right?” he asked and she saw a look of concern cross his face.

“I don't know,” she said honestly. “I need to find a bathroom.”

They both stood up and walked over to the information booth.

Arthur hooked his arm through hers, and they walked slowly.

“Think about a nice warm beach all year, and palm trees, and warm water,” he whispered to her.

She looked up at him, at his smile, and thought about wrapping herself around him, and slowly the fear began to ebb.

What was wrong with her? She was going to
Hawaii.

She'd once been to Atlantic City, but that was the only place outside of New York City she'd ever seen. Hawaii. It was farther than she'd ever been in her whole life. She was with a man she'd dreamed about being with her whole life, and she was going to enjoy it.

She slowly slid her arms around him and looked up. “Arthur,” she began and then stopped when something behind him caught her eyes.

A small television set attached to the arm of a chair in the terminal had been swiveled around so it did not face the chair back but faced Dottie.

It was the face of someone she recognized. Dottie dropped her arms and Arthur instantly turned around and looked at the set. He followed her over and they both stood in front of the small screen. A reporter came on and behind him were the words: “Special Report.”

“We have word at this time that the woman who robbed the bank in Greenwich Village has surrendered to authorities at the Sixth Precinct.”

“WHAT!” Dottie's voice echoed through the terminal.

“Who…” Arthur began quickly.

She watched the reporter in front of the Sixth Precinct police station. “The woman has just been transferred into the custody of the FBI. There has been no official statement, and we do not have word yet on the identity of the woman who surrendered. To recap: The woman who robbed the Chemical Bank in Greenwich Village on Friday has surrendered to authorities.”

The video showed a woman in a black Chanel suit being whisked into a brown car. Her back was to the camera, until they closed the car door. The woman was looking down and away, and suddenly there was a flash and Dottie watched her look up and smile through the glass window.

“O
H, MY GOD, IT'S
TERESA!”

Arthur sank into the chair. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, and with his hands made a fist that he pressed against his lips. He looked up at Dottie and watched her mouth drop open in dismay. He began to shake his head.

“Dottie,” he began as slowly and evenly as he could, “did someone else know about this?”

She nodded slowly.

“A woman?”

She nodded again.

“Who?”

“Teresa Newhouse,” she said barely above a whisper. “She was the one I got your number from.”

He sat still, shaking his head. The scratchy sound of the intercom echoed about, as a woman's voice announced that their flight to L.A. was going to begin boarding shortly.

Arthur glanced up at her, set his jaw, and stood up. He took her arm firmly, and as quickly as he could began walking her through the terminal.

“Well, let's get on the plane.”

“Arthur,” she said softly.

“No. Don't—”

“Arthur,” she repeated.

“No—”

“I can't leave her there,” she said gently.

She watched him shake his head, and he let go of her. Then she watched him walk over and slam the wall with his fist and glare at her.

“Why didn't you tell me she knew?” he choked.

“I didn't want to worry you,” Dottie offered weakly.

“Worry me! Worry me! You have a woman who can identify you and you didn't want to worry me?” His eyes slid around and he dropped his voice. “Aw, Christ, Dottie.”

He exhaled and placed his hands on his hips.

“What do you want to do?”

“I have to go back.” She watched his jaw get tight, and he was furious.

“For God's sake, why?”

“Oh, come on.”

“Why? She's going to take the rap; now let's go.”

“Don't you want to know why?”

“No. I don't care. I want to spend the next couple of weeks on a beach.”

“No. You heard Sid. He can't guarantee anything. She's in trouble because of me.”

“That's a lot of crap. She's not in trouble because of you, she turned herself in.”

“She doesn't understand what she's done.”

“Dottie, the woman walked into a police station and surrendered. You can't do that accidentally. She wants to go to jail. Do you want to go to jail? Let her! Say thank you! Take my arm, and let's get on the goddamned plane and go to Hawaii.”

“I can't just leave her there. Arthur, she doesn't even have money for an attorney. Arthur, I have to.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Then you do it without me.”

Her jaw dropped at she stared at him, puzzled.

“What do you mean?” she asked slowly.

“I'm not sitting by and watch you throw your life away. They'll release her as soon as she's questioned. They'll know immediately she didn't do it. Now, Dottie O'Malley, you are going to”—his teeth were clenched—“get on that plane, or, or”—his voice was shaking—“or I'm going to Hawaii alone. You hear me? You can't promise to go with me every thirty years and go back on it! Now, she's going to be released. She doesn't know what happened.”

She looked at him, and frowned and shook her head.

“I told her everything, except for the gun, but that was all over the news yesterday. Arthur, I have to go back and at least get her a lawyer. It's the only decent thing to do,” she said and crossed her hands over her chest and stared at him.

He shook his head and cursed under his breath. After a moment he glared at her, took her hand and they began to walk quickly, with him almost dragging her, through the airport back to the ticket area. He didn't say a word the entire walk and she could tell he was angry. But whether he was angry at her or just at the situation she couldn't tell.

He stood her next to him at a pay phone on the wall, and she watched him dial a number. Arthur put one hand against the wall and leaned on it, his head hanging down, his eyes closed, and he was breathing hard through his nose.

“Sid Arnowitz, please,” he said, and Dottie felt herself breathe out.

“Sid—no, it's not Dottie … yeah, I watched it. Yeah, she's a friend who knew about the whole thing … Maybe she forgot about the woman, Sid, I don't know. Remember, they all think she's senile,” he nearly yelled into the phone.

“Arthur, don't yell at Sid,” Dottie snapped, and pulled on his coat sleeve.

“I don't know what to do either,” Arthur was saying, and Dottie whacked him on the arm.

“Tell him to bail her out! For God's sake, Arthur!”

“Okay,
she'll
meet you downtown in an hour and a half … Yes, she'll be alone,” Arthur said and slammed the phone down. He stared at her furiously, and then began to walk away from her. She followed him, and pulled him back.

“What are you so angry about? That I can't let her confess to this?” She stared at him hotly, and he rolled his eyes and began to say something but couldn't get the words out.

“What?” she demanded.

“I can't watch it, I can't stand the idea of you…” His voice withered away and he turned from her.

“Of sitting by and watching them sentence me to jail,” she finished the sentence for him.

They were both quiet as they both remembered the same words of this same conversation almost word-for-word from some thirty-odd years before.

Only this time Arthur was saying them.

“Well … I couldn't do it for you.” Her voice was hard.

“Dottie, I can't—”

“I know what it feels like. Now, give me the bag,” she said softly.

He began to shake his head and then, looking at the floor, he slowly handed it over to her. Her hand tightened around the handle and she had to pull it away from his hand. She swallowed hard, then grabbed him and gave him a deep kiss.

“I love you. Good-bye, Arthur,” she said, and quickly walked away from him and down the long corridor, back toward the metal detector.

*   *   *

T
ERESA
couldn't believe how stupid Dottie Weist was; she'd cursed herself under her breath for the last half-hour for listening to her about this whole robbery thing. So far, she'd been wrong about everything. She wasn't going to get to spend the night in some nice clean little cell in the Sixth Precinct, for starters.

They didn't take female prisoners.

As a matter of fact, it turned out there were only two precincts in the entirety of Manhattan that did house female prisoners, and they were in lousy neighborhoods. Even when it came to jail, the women were short-changed, she thought grumpily.

And then she'd found out that she wasn't even going to spend any time in those sewers, oh, no, now the FBI had to get into the act. So they explained that they were going to take her downtown to be interrogated at 26 Federal Plaza.

Interrogated.

That word didn't sit well with Teresa either.

She watched this woman, in a black cotton suit, come in with these two guys in olive-green suits. She first thought the two men were twins; she swore they had on the same exact outfit. They signed for her as if she were some kind of package, and they cuffed her hands in front, in cuffs so big they were nearly falling off anyway, and they walked her outside.

That was the only fun part.

Teresa had always imagined what it would be like to be dogged by the press. It was great. All the lights, and the cameras and the stupid questions, and the pushing and shoving, just as if she were the hottest thing since Shirley Maclaine.

But she'd played it discreet, kept her eyes low, as if she were guilty and embarrassed; only once did she look up at the press.

And they went crazy. They started screaming questions at her, and deep down inside Teresa knew she was going to talk a lot to these idiots. And she also knew—whether she was going to spend her time in some FBI jail instead of the Sixth, and no matter whether it was a Federal crime instead of just a city crime—she knew that this was going to beat the hell out of sitting inside some hot, unpainted shack in Florida.

The three agents they'd sent, two men and a woman, as though they were afraid she was going to escape or something, had driven the car way downtown, and up to a big building and around the back into a fenced-in parking lot, avoiding more of the press. They'd walked her, still cuffed, through the back of the big building, which looked like corrugated cardboard on the outside, and had uneven white stone walls on the inside. The female agent took her arm as they walked over to an enclosed bank of elevators. Large stainless-steel beams, with meshed glass windows so thick they appeared green, separated these elevators from the regular elevators. Inside was a desk with two armed guards and a sign attached over the door that read: “Floors 22–29 Only.” The agent held up the plastic identity card to the guard inside. The buzzer went off and the heavy door opened.