Going in Style (21 page)

“I think you’re bein’ dramatic,” said Al. “Goin’ off the deep end.”

“Al, believe me, there are guys around who weigh three hundred pounds and have little button pig eyes that don’t even blink
when they grind their heels into people like you and me. I’m telling you, they’re around. You worked in bars all those years?
Explain to me the line between bouncers and muggers.”

“A bouncer is an employed mugger,” said Al. “but I still don’t see what the FBI has to do with it.”

“I read in the paper once where they hang out in joints like this, looking for crooks. A lot of people don’t declare gambling
winnings on their income tax.”

“So, we’ll declare them.” said Al. “What are we, criminals?”

“Bank robbery is a federal crime. Any bank has federal funds. I assure you, they’re looking for us.”

Al stood up. Tired as he was, he had nevertheless been convinced. “So what do we do?”

“We gotta get our money and get the hell out of here.”

At the gift shop in the lobby, they bought a
brown leather satchel. Then they went back to the casino cashier’s window. Joe plopped the satchel down on the tiny counter.
“Hi,” he said. “Remember us?”

“Yes, sir,” said the cashier, her voice showing no trace of either pleasure or displeasure.

Joe pulled the receipt from his pocket and passed it to her. “We’d like to pick up our money.”

“Okay.” The cashier motioned toward a couch against the wall. “Why don’t you both have a seat over there while I have a check
drawn up.”

Joe cleared his throat loudly. “Uh, we’d prefer it in cash… if you can.”

“For these amounts, sir, we usually draw out a corporate check. It’s quite safe.”

“I’m sure,” said Joe. “Nevertheless—”

“It’s practically the same as a teller’s check. If there’s a problem, your bank can even phone us and verify directly that—”

“We’d really kinda like the cash,” persisted Joe.

The cashier pursed her lips. She was a fiftyish, platinum blonde with a hardened, plaster-of-paris face. She wore a black
uniform on which a flap above a blouse pocket advised,
Live It Up.
“Uh… okay. Could both of you wait just a minute?”

“Sure,” said Joe.

The cashier disappeared through a door at the back of the office. A few minutes later, she returned with a tall man with steel-gray
hair, wearing a tuxedo. The man stooped slightly in order to peer out the cage at Joe and Al. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’m
Jim Chambers, the casino manager.

“How do you do,” said Joe.

“I’d like to congratulate you on your luck.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you. Thank you.”

“It’s a beautiful place you got here,” added Al.

The manager smiled. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Joe shrugged. “No problem here.”

“These gentlemen have a little over seventy-three thousand on deposit,” explained the cashier. “They’d like to take it with
them in cash.”

Chambers nodded. “Ah, I see. Well, of course, if you want it, we certainly will oblige.”

“Good,” said Joe. “Then we’re all set.”

“However,” added Chambers, “I really don’t think it’s the wisest way to go about it.”

“Don’t worry,” said Joe. “It’s okay.” He patted the leather satchel. “We just bought this, and it’s got a lock on it, see?”

“Is it the corporate check that’s worrying you?” said Chambers. “Because, if that’s the problem, we can arrange for a bank
check tomorrow morning. It’s really—”

“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” said Joe. He turned to Al. “Did that bother you?”

“Not me,” said Al.

“What about wire?” said Chambers.

“Wire is strong,” said Joe, “but I think the lock holds the bag shut even better.”

“No, I mean we could wire the money direct to your bank.”

“I don’t think ours has a wire service,” said Joe.

Chambers lowered his voice. “There is a service the casino provides.… Usually, it’s limited to people who’ve won more than
a hundred thousand, but, perhaps we could make an arrangement. It works like this. You go home with your receipt. You live
in a large city?”

“New York.”

“Fine. At a mutually convenient time, our courier meets you in the lobby of your bank. He hands you a briefcase with the cash,
you give him the receipt. You can then stash the money in your safe deposit box, or do whatever else you like with it.” Chambers
grinned. “Naturally, the casino hopes you’ll return here and lose it back to us. We just want to make it as easy as possible
for you to do so.” He waited, eyes listening.

“Mr. Chambers,” said Joe slowly, “that is a very lovely offer. You’re really fine people here, absolutely terrific. But if
it’s all the same to you, my friend and I would still like the cash.”

Chambers raised his eyebrows. “Up to you.”

“See, the main problem,” volunteered Al, “is that we don’t trust banks.”

Back in their room, a sense of urgency drove them.

“I don’t know why the hell we’re killin’ ourselves,” said Al, as they emptied the dresser drawers. “I mean, even the muggers
would need some time to plan how to get us.”

“It’s just instinct,” said Joe. “Same as when we were shootin’ craps. I have this intuition that if we ain’t outta here by
tonight, we’ll never make it. I feel the hairs on my neck standin’ up.”

“Mine are too thin to stand up,” said Al. “And too tired. I’m too exhausted to even collapse.”

“Just hold on,” said Joe. “Another couple hours, we’re home free.” He unlocked the leather bag and
dumped packages of hundred-dollar bills all over the bed, then stuffed a rolled-up shirt and several pairs of socks into the
satchel. “This look okay?”

“Unless they got X-ray vision, yeah,” said Al.

Joe locked the bag and watched Al finish cramming clothing and toiletries into their old suitcase. Then both men began stuffing
their underwear and pockets with the stacks of hundreds.

“My shorts alone are worth a Cadillac,” said Al. “My undershirt could get you a mortgage on a small house.”

“Just try to look natural,” said Joe.

“How can I look natural when I got all this money interferin’ with my privates?” said Al.

In the lobby, Joe carried the leather bag, his knuckles white with tension, while a bellhop walked ahead with their light
suitcase. The bellhop waited while Al paid the bill at the desk, and then they all started out. They had almost reached the
front door when a voice rang out behind them. “Hey, y’all, how’re ya doin’?”

Joe looked back and saw Tiny, the Texan who’d been in the casino. He waved, but kept walking. “Get us a cab, quick,” he told
the bellhop through clenched teeth. A moment later they were outside, but Tiny and an equally large friend had followed them
out.

The bellhop put their suitcase into the trunk of a waiting taxi. “Can I take this, sir?” he asked, indicating the leather
satchel.

“No,” said Joe. “No.” He jerked open the cab’s door, and waited while Al climbed inside. He felt a meaty hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, cuz, where you runnin’?” said Tiny. “Me
and Lucas here, we’re throwin’ us a little party. Thought maybe you’d like to come.”

“Uh, no, thanks,” said Joe. “We have a plane to catch.”

Tiny guffawed. “Aw, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout no plane. Not with what you won today. Besides, them things run all night.
Whyn’t you come back with us, an’ have yourself some fun? We’re hay-in’ booze, girls, the works. Whaddaya say?”

“Sorry,” said Joe. He tried to step into the cab, but the hand on his shoulder was gripping tighter now. Also, he felt a strong
tug on the satchel.

“Hey, what’s this, yore winnin’s? You ain’t takin’ home all that money in this l’il ol’ bag now, is you?”

Joe jerked himself free and scrambled into the cab. He saw Al lean out the window on the opposite side and say something to
the bellhop, who then signaled the doorman. The doorman came forward, interposed himself between Tiny and the taxi, and firmly
closed the door. “Have a pleasant trip,” he said, and the cab began to move.

Joe closed his eyes and slumped against the back of the seat. He shuddered.

“Airport, please,” Al told the driver, and the cab picked up speed.

Joe shook his head. “Just tell me what you said to that bellhop,” he mumbled.

“Just asked him if he’d get someone to shut the door for a tired old man,” Al said with theatrical innocence. “Anyone would’ve
done the same as he did—especially for the hundred-dollar bill I handed him.”

Joe glanced out the rear window. “Well, at least
we ain’t being followed. So far, anyway. That’s a good sign.”

Al yawned broadly. “I still think you’re exaggerate’ everything. Personally, I think maybe we should’ve spent the night. I
am absolutely bushed.”

“Believe me,” said Joe, “this is the best way.”

“It’s the best way only if I live through it.”

“You’ll live,” said Joe. “You can get some sleep on the plane.”

“Are you kidding? I can sooner fall asleep on a roller coaster. I don’t like them jets.”

“You wanna go anywhere today,” Joe told him, “you gotta adjust to modern inventions. Any country that can put a man on the
moon can fly two old geezers back from Las Vegas.”

Al looked out the window. “I don’t care. I don’t trust no plane that ain’t got propellers.”

Forty minutes later they were airborne. Al looked down at the glowing, coruscating jewel beneath them that was nighttime Las
Vegas. He sighed. “Boy, I’d like to come back here sometime. I really would.”

“We will,” said Joe. “We can do whatever we want now. We’re free as birds.” He leaned back. He heard the steady drone of the
engines, felt their slight, but steady vibration. It was actually quite relaxing if you could put aside the newness of it
all, forget the fact that you were in a thin-walled metal container, thirty-five thousand feet up, hurtling at six hundred
miles per hour through the rarefied, freezing night air. Eliminate those considerations
and a man could nod right off, he thought. Miss the meal, the movie, and everything else….

Joe awoke just as they touched down, the wheels bumping and screeching on the runway, bright sunlight streaming in the windows.
He turned sleepily toward Al, who was sitting bolt upright. “What time is it?”

Al looked at him. “So… sleeping beauty awakes, huh? You missed the whole thing.”

“What? Where are we?”

The plane slowed and made a wide turn. “Where do you think?”

“Kennedy?”

“That’s right. Kennedy.”

“I can’t believe it.”

Al shook his head. “I can’t understand how a human bein’ can just conk out the way you done. Either you got nerves of steel,
or half a brain, and I’ll be damned if I can tell which.”

In the taxi, on their way into New York City from JFK, Joe kept glancing out the rear window. “We’re still okay.” he said
happily. “There ain’t no one behind us.”

“Jesus,” said Al, “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“Why don’t you take some more of them vitamins?”

Al managed a weak smile. “Yeah. “I’m sure they’d fix me right up.”

Joe noticed that Al’s mouth seemed to be sort of hanging open, and that his eyelids were fluttering uncontrollably. “Just
hold on a little while longer,” he pleaded.

“I’m holdin’,” said Al. “I’m holdin’.”

“We’re almost there.”

Joe tipped the cabbie two dollars when they came to a stop in front of their apartment building. “Funny,” he said as the taxi
pulled away, “it was all I could do to stop myself from givin’ him a hundred. Amazin’ how your values change.”

“Mmm.” Al was practically semiconscious.

“Come on,” said Joe, picking up both the leather satchel and the suitcase. “We’ll go upstairs.”

In the hall outside their apartment. Al leaned against a wall while Joe fumbled with his keys. At last the lock tumblers clicked,
the knob was turned, and the door swung slowly open.

“That’s it, Al,” said Joe. “We made it.”

Al lay on the bed. Next to him was a large pile of hundred-dollar bills. In a nearby chair, Joe too relaxed. They were both
in their underwear.