The Friends of Eddie Coyle (14 page)

“You’d like those bank robbers,” Waters said.

“Yes indeed,” Foley said, “mighty fine.”

“Okay,” Waters said, “you tell Brown. Then what happens.”

“I dunno,” Foley said.

“I do,” Waters said, “he gets arraigned on charges of possessing unregistered machine guns. Then he gets turned loose. Then what.”

“He goes looking for Coyle,” Foley said.

“Sure,” Waters said, “he goes looking for Coyle, and when he finds him, he kills him. Then what’ve you got? One machine gun salesman and one dead fink. Is that what you want?”

“Probably not,” Foley said. “Is there any way I can hold him without bail?”

“No,” Waters said. “The purpose of bail . . . do you want to hear the whole lecture?”

“No,” Foley said. “ ‘To insure that the accused will appear for subsequent proceedings.’ Even with machine guns?”

“Even with machine guns,” Waters said.

“Okay,” Foley said, “he gonna get out. I can still tell him.”

“And then he’s going to tell you?” Waters said.

“Probably not,” Foley said. “He looks like the type that wouldn’t tell you if your coat was on fire.”

“So what’s going to happen?” Waters said.

“He’s going to go looking for Coyle,” Foley said, “and I’m going to tail him.”

“Come on,” Waters said.

“I’ll put a homing device in his car,” Foley said. “I’ll track him on a fucking radio.”

“Just like
Mission Impossible
,” Waters said.

“Efrem Zimbalist is my favorite,” Foley said. “Just like the Eff a-Bee-Eye.”

“Remind me to get you transferred to Topeka,” Waters said. “You got any other bright ideas?”

“Yeah,” Foley said. “I can tell him it was the guy that sold him the guns.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Waters said. “Let’s explore that. Who was it?”

“Some young punk soldier, I bet,” Foley said.

“Where’d he get the gun?” Waters said.

“It’s probably his,” Foley said. “Him and four buddies want a little dough to get a high class piece of tail.”

“Numbers on them guns?” Waters said.

“Yup,” Foley said.

“Serial numbers registered to the soldier who gets the gun?” Waters said.

“Yeah,” Foley said.

“Soldier got to account for the gun when it turns up gone?” Waters said.

“Yeah,” Foley said.

“What do we gain from that?” Waters said. “We’re going to find out anyway.”

“You win,” Foley said. “I don’t tell him it was the soldiers.”

“And you don’t tell him it was the people in the bus, and you don’t tell him it was Coyle,” Waters said.

“I don’t tell him nothing,” Foley said. “I let him go in personal surety.”

“Then what happens?” Waters said.

“He hits the street,” Foley said, “and I start trying to get that bastard in the courthouse to indict him.”

“But what does he do?” Waters said.

“He goes home and thinks,” Foley said.

“Right,” Waters said, “stupid, he isn’t. What does he think?”

“The first thing he thinks is whether the people in the bus dumped him,” Foley said.

“Right,” Waters said, “and what does he decide?”

“He decides, no,” Foley said. “They were there, but they didn’t know anything. He decides it wasn’t them.”

“Then what does he do?” Waters said.

“He starts thinking about who else could’ve dumped him,” Foley said.

“Who’s he gonna pick?” Waters said.

“Coyle, first,” Foley said. “If he knows Coyle’s name. He saw Coyle this afternoon, I’d bet on it. Coyle probably saw the machine guns. He’s gonna blame Coyle.”

“How’d Coyle see the machine guns?” Waters said.

“The kid opened the trunk,” Foley said.

“Why would he open the trunk?” Waters said.

“To get something out of it for Coyle,” Foley said. “Of course.”

“Coyle bought himself some guns today,” Waters said.

“Of course Coyle could’ve sold him the machine guns,” Foley said.

“Where would Coyle get machine guns?” Waters said. “Army machine guns? No. Coyle was buying something.”

“So he thinks it was Coyle and he goes looking for him,” Foley said. “Now what can we do about that?”

“You think he knows who Coyle is?” Waters said.

“His name?” Foley said. “Maybe. Probably not. Maybe his first name. Not the rest of it. Who he fits with? Probably. He’s a tough, smart kid. He probably started thinking Mafia, the minute Coyle went out for guns. Coyle ain’t no Panther, that’s for sure, and he’s no revolutionary. The kid probably knows Coyle’s a gangster.”

“Okay,” Waters said. “Now maybe we got something. The kid gets bailed and he wants to know who set up the grab, so he starts thinking, and he decides he got set up by the boys. If he’s smart, he isn’t going to go around shooting one of them, and
he’s smart. So he’s gonna want to get even. Now, how can a fellow get even with one of the boys that set him up?”

“Well,” Foley said, “he could call him up at all hours of the night and breathe at him.”

“Yes,” Waters said, “and he could poison the guy’s water hole and put it out around town that the guy’s wife’s fucking somebody else. But there’s an easier way, isn’t there?”

“Certainly,” Foley said. “One calls one’s friendly law enforcement officer and finks on the bastard that finks on you.”

“Exactly,” Waters said. “Now, do you suppose you could think of something to say that would express to Jackie Brown the deep regret you feel personally at having to arrest him, and your sincere conviction that he was set up?”

“Leave me give it some thought,” Foley said. “I always hated to see a kid taken advantage of.”

“I know how you feel,” Waters said.

“Particularly since we missed the revolutionaries,” Foley said. “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody.”

Robert L. Biggers of Duxbury, having been unable to sleep, dawdled over breakfast and read the
Herald
thoroughly. His wife walked sleepily into the kitchen with the baby as he was getting his coat. “Your head hurt or something?” she said.

“No more’n usual,” he said, “why?”

“You’re up so early,” she said. “I thought something was the matter.”

“Nothing at all,” he said, “I just thought, you know, it’s the early bird that catches the worm. I get in early today, I can wrap up those Christmas Club promotions and maybe get home at a decent hour, for once.”

“Have a good day,” she said.

“I will,” he said. He kissed her goodbye.

Robert Biggers locked his car and walked through the parking lot at the West Marshfield Shopping Plaza toward the principal
office of the Massachusetts Bay Cooperative Bank. He used his key to open the front door of the bank. He locked the door behind him. He went directly to the coat closet, removing his trench coat, and hung it up. He emerged from the anteroom, humming a Supremes song he had heard on his way to work. Facing him was a medium-sized man. The man wore an orange nylon ski parka and a nylon stocking mask. In his right hand the man held an enormous black revolver.

“What the fuck?” Robert Biggers said.

The man motioned to his own right with the revolver.

Robert Biggers said: “What the fuck are you doing here? What the fuck is going
on?
”

“Move,” the man said.

In the branch officer’s private office, Harry Burrell sat in his chair with his hands clasped across his stomach. There were two more men in the office with him. They wore orange nylon parkas and nylon stockings over their faces. Each of them had a black revolver.

“We’re being held up, Bob,” Harry said. “I hope you and the rest of the staff won’t do anything courageous or foolish, which is much the same thing in these circumstances. These men have a friend with them. He’s at my house with my wife, who is probably having hysterics by now. They’ve assured me they don’t want to hurt anyone, they only want the money. You’re to stay here until the normal opening time and then go about your business. When the time lock opens, they will take the money and leave. I will go with them. Just don’t do anything to interfere with them, and everything will be all right.”

“My God,” Robert Biggers said.

“It’s not all unusual,” Harry Burrell said. “I’ve been in this
business for thirty-six years. I’ve been held up, this is the fourth time. It’s been my experience that people like this’re generally telling the truth. They want the money. They don’t want to hurt us. If we can keep calm, we’ll be all right.”

“None of this is happening,” Robert Biggers said.

“I’m afraid it is,” Harry Burrell said. “Just keep calm and everything will be all right. Now, I have something for you to do. Can you handle it?”

“Of course,” Biggers said.

“Go out front,” Harry Burrell said. “As the rest of the people arrive, let them in. Close the door each time. Take them into the cloakroom and explain to them what’s going on, and that they’re not to do anything that would jeopardize anyone. Keeping in mind that my wife’s under a gun at home. Can you do that?”

One of the men spoke. “Just keep everybody nice and easy,” he said. “No commotion, no alarm, no nothing. That’s what he wants you to do.”

“I can do that,” Robert Biggers said.

“Fine,” Harry Burrell said. “You go ahead now, and remember, I’m relying on you.”

Robert Biggers sat at his desk and made no pretense of working. His mind ran furiously, in no apparent direction. As the three tellers arrived he let them in, made the same explanation to each—“We’re being robbed. They’re waiting for the time lock to open. Don’t make any noise, or do anything. There’s another man with Mrs. Burrell, waiting.”—and ushered them to the cloakroom.

Nancy Williams was the only one who did not react calmly.
She was nineteen, just out of high school the previous June. Her eyes opened very wide. “You’re kidding me,” she said.

“No,” he said.

“They’re really here?” she said.

They were standing in the corridor next to the coat closet. One of the men with guns had padded up while they were talking. Nancy Williams turned around and stared into the black revolver. “Oh my
God
,” she said.

Robert Biggers felt a surge of wrathful protectiveness. On three Thursday evenings, after eight o’clock closing, he had taken Nancy Williams to dinner at the Post House. He had purchased several drinks for her. Then he had taken her to the Lantern Lodge and undressed her and screwed the socks off her. She was young and firm, and her nipples came up fast under tweaking. “Hey,” he said.

“Get to work, sweetie,” the man said. He motioned with the gun again. “You too, Gene Autry. Never mind this hacking around in the coat closet.”

Nancy Williams hesitated, then walked toward the tellers’ cages.

“Nice piece of ass,” the man said. “You ripping off some of that?”

Robert Biggers stared at him.

“Look,” the man said, “I don’t care what you’re doing. I was just asking. Now get the hell over there and mind your own god-damned business. Go on.”

Robert Biggers returned to his desk.

At eight fifty-two the time lock released. Harry Burrell and the other two men emerged from Burrell’s office. One man stood
with a revolver pointed at Mr. Burrell. The other two men stuck their guns in their belts and removed green plastic bags from under their coats. They entered the vault. In a while one of them emerged with two bags bulging. He went inside again. In a few minutes, both of the men came out.

“May I have your attention?” Mr. Burrell said. “I am going to leave now with these men. We are going to my house. We will pick up the man who is still at my house. Then I will go with these men. They will release me when they feel they are safe. For my sake, do nothing until ten o’clock. Keep the shades drawn until nine-fifteen. Then let people in, and do the best you can to appear calm and that everything is all right. If anyone wants a large sum in currency, tell them the time lock is stuck and I’ve gone to get assistance. Is that clear?”

The tellers nodded.

Mr. Burrell and the man with him left by the rear door. The other two men stood at the vault. They had their guns out again. One of them put his gun in his belt. The other held his gun in his right hand. Each man stooped slightly to pick up the green plastic bags.

Robert Biggers moved his left foot slowly to the left under the desk and hit the alarm button. His face relaxed as he hit it. It was a silent alarm. It rang only in the police station.

The man with the gun in his hand said: “What did you do?”

Robert Biggers looked at him.

“I said what did you do?” the man said.

Robert Biggers stared at him.

“You hit the fucking alarm,” the man said. “You stupid fuck.”

“I didn’t,” Robert Biggers said.

“You lying bastard,” the man said. The black revolver came
up slowly. “I told you not to do that. And you did it. You stupid fuck.”