St. Ives Page #5

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but don't ask any questions.

Too many questions for the night.

Sure. We can just count

out-of-state license plates.

That's a cruel thing to do to a cop.

No questions.

- I'm clean, Charlie.

- Maybe.

But you're pushing a bucket of sh*t

around with a short stick.

That's a nice figure of speech.

And you could fall in

the bucket, easy. Just like me.

- You, Charlie? I don't believe it.

- Oh, teeter-totter, buddy. Teeter-totter.

I've thought about it, and so have you.

Like when you hustled crime

exposures for the newspaper.

Exposs.

Yeah. Well, the right kind

of payoff here and there...

...and some stories

might not have appeared.

You're right. I have thought about it,

but if I fall in, I'll let you know.

Don't wait too long.

If you're in up to your ears,

I might not be able to pull you out.

I'd depend on you, Charlie, anytime.

Yes?

You're in early from a big night out.

I have to get some rest for tomorrow.

- Where's Mr. Procane? He with you?

- Not with me, no.

But I'll connect you.

- What is it?

- It's St. Ives.

Yes, Mr. St. Ives.

You have the information?

It didn't work out.

I'll return the 20,000 tomorrow.

Good night.

St. Ives...

...can I help you?

That's all right. Go back to sleep.

Pistol in the fifth.

You think he's ready to go?

I don't know about him, but I am.

Give me my keys.

- Do you dream much, Mr. St. Ives?

- Yes, I do.

Of course.

Only stupid people don't dream.

Do you have good dreams?

- No.

- Neither do I.

- You sure you won't have more coffee?

- No, thanks.

I dream always of dying.

I dream mostly of being hungry.

- Were you ever hungry?

- Now and then, yeah.

I've never been hungry,

so how can I dream of that?

But then I've never died either.

So why should I dream of dying?

Dr. Constable explains it quite easily:

"Fear of impotence," he says.

Now, I can't quite make that connection.

Besides, I've always been impotent,

so why should I fear it?

You know, Mr. St. Ives, I'm truly pleased

that you blackmailed me.

That's what it was, wasn't it?

Blackmailed into taking you into this...

...new venture of mine.

We could be friends, you know.

What makes you think so?

Because we're both

essentially so very honest.

And now we must rest.

We leave promptly at 6:30.

Let me show you to the guest room.

It's afternoon.

You know something?

You're all right.

- Did you have any doubts?

- That's what it's like these days.

You're all right.

Now that I've got you on my side,

I have a question.

Go right ahead.

Briefly, your connection with Procane.

Well, I used to be a cop.

Nowhere, no time,

did a cop ever look like you.

I was a special kind of cop.

That's how I met Procane.

And he made you a better offer, huh?

Yeah. That's it.

Briefly.

- Hello.

- Everything's set.

We'll check the money,

then it's on its way to the drive-in.

Wonderful.

I can't decide whether I'm feeling

apprehension or anticipation.

- Perhaps a little of both.

- You look nervous to me.

- Nonsense. He loves cloak-and-dagger stuff.

- I really do.

Misterioso rigmarole.

Keeps you young!

Okay, my dear.

Nine-millimeter Oberndorfer.

Really excellent.

- No, thanks.

- Worried?

The usual nightmare, an early death

after a long life in prison.

But we're a public company.

- lf our shareholders ever get ahold...

- Relax. Times change.

You just worry about the cost

overage on QT-20.

- Well, just be goddamn careful.

- I've hired the best in the business.

- What's his name again?

- Kluszewski.

- Wasn't he involved in Watergate?

- No, that was Ulasciewicz.

All this Mickey Mouse cops and robbers.

- Why can't we just meet in a hotel?

- Because this is the way they do things.

Here goes.

Time to go.

Pull in here.

There's Kluszewski, the moneyman.

In about 30 seconds, a blue Ford

will park next to the moneyman's car.

That is the Arab go-between.

Now we wait until whoever took

the plans steals the money.

Face masks.

They're following the plan exactly.

They're a little off. I allowed 25 seconds.

They took 45.

Get out!

Get out. Out.

Come on, the bag!

Let's have the bag over here.

Come on, the bag.

Let's see who they are.

That's Carl Oller and Frank Deal.

- The two cops?

- Yeah.

We're almost a minute behind schedule.

Let's get out of here.

Let's all have a drink.

Mr. St. Ives, would you like

to spend the night?

That's all right with me.

How did you know it was Oller and Deal?

Little things.

What little things?

Well, at the Laundromat,

it wasn't just coincidence.

What?

Them dropping by like that.

That could happen.

- There was something else.

- What?

The second phone call...

...the one that set up the exchange

at Union Station.

The instructions were to use

the same Pan Am bag.

Now how did he know it was

a Pan Am bag unless he had seen it?

Who saw it? Oller and Deal.

What about the safecracker?

Peskoe? They killed him too.

They were on the scene too damn fast,

just like at the Laundromat.

Then they killed the officer you

were about to pay $20,000 to...

...for their names.

- Yes?

- No.

- No?

- No.

After I took Frann to the hospital,

I called Deal.

He lives way over in Chatsworth.

Oller was with him.

There's no way they could have

killed Frann...

...driven to Chatsworth in time

to answer my phone call.

That's devilish, Mr. St. Ives.

Then who did do poor Officer Frann in?

I don't know.

Who's there? Who's there?

Who is it?

John?

John?

Yes, Abner.

That's a very theatrical entrance.

What on earth are you doing there?

And what are you doing with that gun?

I'm going to kill you, Abner.

For this money?

For that money.

Old fellow, you can have the money.

Four million dollars, and it's all yours.

You don't need to kill me.

I must, Abner. I know

how your mind works.

There would be no way to e...

Escape.

Sorry. My cold got worse.

- You too, Janet?

- There's no other way.

Mr. St. Ives, are you in this with them?

I'm afraid I'm going down

the tubes with you.

I'm sorry. I really am.

Poor little Janet here. What were you

going to give her for her loyal support?

Not even 10 percent.

And I, what have I been paid all these years

to listen to your mewling little troubles?

Your mewling little troubles drove me mad!

For nights, for hours,

I had to listen to them.

And what did you pay me?

Compared to the millions you stack

in your Swiss bank accounts...

...I have been paid in pennies.

I had no idea.

I thought, John, I really believed...

That we were friends?

God knows I loved you, Abner.

And God knows I admired

your devious intellect.

But this obsession of yours with money...

And that you always took other people

to do the job for you...

...and then you did the job to them.

So I said to myself suddenly one night:

"Why him? Why not me?

Why don't I do the job to him?"

It was a Freudian revelation, Abner.

God knows I loved you.

But God knows I hate you now.

I caught your bullet!

You're just delaying matters,

Mr. St. Ives.

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