TWENTY-NINE

The next Tuesday Little and I met with Tobe Perkins in a beer joint on the north side of Fort Worth. Perkins was a solid, calm-looking man with brushy gray hair and steady eyes. We held our little conference in a booth at the rear of the place, far from the half dozen rowdy cowboys clustered at the bar.

“You talked to Little, I suppose?” I asked.

“Yeah…”

“And you trust him, don’t you?”

“Sure I do. But I don’t know you, and I don’t know if I trust you or not.”

“You’re sitting here talking about a heist with me,” I pointed out. “Why are you doing that if you don’t trust me?”

He smiled. “Sometimes you have to take a few chances if you’re ever going to get any work in this business. You know, just feel things out. But talking about it and doing it are two different things, and what you have in mind seems a little strange to my way of thinking.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’ve never had a job steered by a guy who didn’t want any of the take. That’s the first thing that makes me think there might be something wrong. And secondly, you don’t talk or act like any criminal I’ve ever known in my life.”

“What If I told you I’m not really a criminal?” I asked.

“Then what are you?”

The waitress appeared and we all ordered Falstaff. When she was gone I said, “I’m an oil man and a lawyer. I served honorably in the United States Navy where I tried cases with the Judge Advocate General’s Office.”

Perkins turned to stare at the old man for a moment. “This business don’t make no sense at all, Little,” he said.

“How does fifty grand above what you get from the job itself sound?” I asked. “Does that make better sense?”

I had his attention. “No, but it’s sure got an interesting ring to it,” he said with a reluctant smile. “What do I have to do for it?”

“You have to stool on a guy—”

“Never,” he said empathically.

“I’m not talking about anybody you’ve ever run with, any of your partners or anything like that. You don’t even know this guy, but I guarantee he’s got it coming.”

“What is this?” he asked. “It sounds like some kind of personal vendetta deal to me.”

“Oh, you’re right about that,” I said. “It’s a vendetta, but it’s not personal. Or if it is, there’s a lot more than just my own feelings at stake here. So how about it?”

“I dunno,” he said, shaking his head dubiously.

I could tell he was reluctant. Most criminals will snitch under the right circumstances. But not all. There are a few, an elite upper echelon, who really are thieves with honor. Or at least there were back in those days.

“Think about it,” I said. “You’ll never get another chance for this kind of money backed up by somebody with the resources to make things go easy on you if you’re caught. You’ve never pulled a job under those conditions in your life, and you know it.”

“Tell me about this guy,” he said, rubbing his chin in thought.

I smiled. I was getting close to hooking him and we both knew it. “Tobe, are you patriotic?” I asked.

“Huh?” The waitress came in the door with our beer. When she left, he took a long pull at his bottle, and said, “I don’t get it. I’m talking about a hijacking and you’re acting like you’re trying to sell me war bonds or something.… What is this?”

“Just answer the question, please,” I said gently. “Do you love your country?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, as much as the next guy, I guess. I mean, everything I got is here. All my family, my friends. I fought in the First World War. Got wounded, too. But what’s that got to do with?…” He turned to Little. “Is this guy nuts?” he asked.

“Not in any way that adversely affects our business,” the old man said with a grin. “Just hear him out.”

“Okay,” Perkins said with a puzzled shrug. “Fire away. I’m all ears.”

“Tobe, my good man,” I began. “I’m going to tell you all about a gentleman who’s uniquely lacking in the civic virtues. So much so, in fact, that…”

An hour later Little and I stood on the sidewalk outside the little tavern watching Perkins drive away.

“Think he’ll go for it?” I asked.

“He already has,” the old man said. “Never fear.”

*   *   *

When I got home that night I told Della I needed some money.

“Sure, how much?”

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. In large bills.”

She gazed at me impassively through her glasses for a moment, then asked, “What’s going on? Is somebody selling Indiana and giving a cash discount?”

“Seriously … Can you sneak it out of our various accounts a little at a time over the next few weeks?”

“It depends on how many weeks you’re talking about,” she said.

“We have until late November.”

“It can be done, but you need to realize there’s really no way to cover something like this up.”

“That’s okay. I’m not trying to cover anything up. I just don’t want the withdrawals to cause any talk. Make them random both as to times and amounts.”

“Okay. Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“Later,” I said. “Afterwards you get to know everything.”