***Out In The 1940s Film Noir Night –With The Film Adaptation Of Ernest Hemingway’s The Killers In Mind

 

From The Pen Of  Frank Jackman

Big Jim thought he had it all figured, figured as smooth as glass, at least that was the way he told his confederates the plan, including Swede when he corralled him into the deal, corralled him practically panting into the deal, make the run, make the heist, make a getaway in separate cars with each guy bringing his booty, then split the dough, split the dough at their designated hideout, including a share for his woman, his now woman Kitty, once the Swede was out of the way, now that Swede had disclaimed any interest in his fair Irish colleen Kitty, and then vanish for a while, maybe south to Mexico, south so Kitty could show off those shoulders and legs to the beach crowd in Acapulco or someplace like that. Yah, he had it all figured, except he didn’t figure on a dead guy, a copper, a private badge, dead by gun play as part of  the heist and he also had it figured just a little bit differently that he had scripted it to the boys, and to Kitty. See he wanted it all, wanted it all to set up some legit business, and, more importantly, after that trip south to keep Kitty in enough dough, enough legit dough to keep her away from dead- weight guys, from guys like the Swede, yah, definitely from palookas like the Swede. And so Big Jim figured wrong, figured wrong enough to get beaten down in the end.            

It didn’t have to be that way, not by a long shot, Big Jim figured in those long last moments, he could have played it, she could have played it, hell, damn Swede could have played it differently and if Swede had just left things along, had just kept his hands off they all might have made it, made a pile of dough and easy street. But then he said enough of that as thought back to the days when he first  set eyes on Kitty, Kitty the belle of the old Philly neighborhood, the old cold- water flats tenement neighborhood where the only thing anybody, anybody with any moxie, wished for was to get out, get scratching and clawing out. But there she was on the  dance floor at Saint Paul’s all radiant, all Irish proper Catholic girl with a novena in one hand and waiting, wanting habits in the other, all raven black hair and a body that would not quit.

And she saw him, saw him a good- looking guy, a guy moreover already even then making dough, and working out ideas for making dough and so she played her best come hither wanting habits game with him and he loved her, and so he was hooked, hooked bad, hooked so there was nothing he would not do for her, and to keep her, keep her in clover. Sure he knew she had a little tramp in her, Christ he had not been born yesterday and besides his older brother, John, had clued him in the secrets of proper Irish Catholic girls with those rosaries said on Sunday and all heat and flames the rest of the week, so he knew he was in for some tough nights, some restless nights wondering, wondering where she was, and with whom. That was the price you had to pay for the firebrands worth having, and so be it.              

So once Kitty, Miss Kitty Collins became Big Jim’s girl, and later his woman, he started hearing little things, little flirtations, but, he accepted that, or at least wasn’t going to do anything about it as long as she was there when he needed her. That is until Swede showed up at her door and swept her away. Jesus, Swede, nothing but a broken down pug, a boxer, a guy who had been hit one too many times. And a guy that Big Jim had a piece of, a piece for betting purposes. Anyway he wanted him, win, lose or draw. He quickly thought maybe there is where things tumbled, that first night he took her to the fights and she saw the lug, saw the sweat men make when they are doing primitive work and she loved it, and loved him, Big Jim always ready for her play, up that night in bed better than she ever did before, or after. Yah she had some tramp in her, some mother-derived tramp (she, the mother, had run off with a lotions salesman or something that when Kitty was ten) or maybe for generations in the old country where women sold themselves as best they could to keep a blanket and food around them and theirs. Christ when he thought about it he still couldn’t  believe she would take the big tumble for a Swede, not even Irish, hell, a damn Protestant and that counted. She had run off with him, of course, and then when things got tight, when Swede’s dough ran out, she came tumbling back, tumbling back no apology, no “this is where I was,” but just showed up. And he took her back.    

But he could tell that he Kitty had been marked, marked up by something in the mix and that unless he did something, something big that would eat at her, and him, forever. So that is when he planned the heist, the hold-up, the big time robbery that would give him enough dough to go legit, and to take care of his Swede problem, take care of it permanently. See after Kitty left Swede out in Los Angeles when he ran out of dough he knew she would go back to Big Jim and so he headed back to Philly too. Big Jim ran into him on some desperate street one day and they talked things over, talked things over man to man. Then Big Jim sprung his plan on Swede, a plan for everybody to get out from under and make some dough. Funny he could tell by the way that Swede drank in the plan he could almost see what Swede had in mind for his share. Big Jim kept egging him on, and he was in, in for more than he expected.     

 The caper was pretty straight forward, four guys, Big Jim, Swede  and two hired hands, two local grifters hungry for short dough, would pull off a noontime Friday heist of the Security Trust armored car when it hit the Velvet Hat factory, the biggest employer in town. It was a cinch, according to Big Jim, with about half a million in cold cash. Beautiful. And it was except for that anxious armed guard who started shooting and got nothing but lead back for his efforts. The price you pay for a big score. When they got to the hiding place though that is where Big Jim’s real plan came into effect. As each man, except Swede, put his dough in the pot Big Jim gathered the dough together for safe-keeping. But where was the Swede. Big Jim had sent Kitty to work on him, to get him to go along with her idea that they take the whole thing, every cent and start over again. All Swede had to do was go in guns blazing, if necessary, to the hideaway and get the other dough. Swede licked his lips. In the event it was easy, easy pickings, since when heavily armed Swede showed up Big Jim said just take the damn dough, but he was going to get even no matter what. The other guys agreed. Swede just laughed.  Later Swede met Kitty and they headed to Big Sur out in California dough in tow. Then one night, one night when Swede got drunk and they had made love, hot love, Kitty money in tow had scrammed, scrammed as they had planned back to Big Jim. Swede, knowing he had been framed, framed and squared, headed underground, headed deep underground.               

Big Jim was not finished with the Swede, not by a long shot. You don’t survive on the hard Irish streets of Philly by being soft, or by forgetting. And so Big Jim brought himself an insurance policy, bought two contract killers, two “hit men” who would scour the earth for the Swede. And they found him, found him easy enough out in Podunk Idaho. At the end he just let them face up do their work on him, he was finished, a depleted man after Kitty got through with him and so he, friendless, faced his maker. 

But see the cops don’t like it when one of their own, even a private badge, takes a bullet from some cheap gunsels and they want to do something about it. Want to make an issue out of it. So eventually, a few years later, they came to Big Jim and Kitty’s door, and Big Jim, no man built for jail cells and prison shot it out with them. Kitty, well, Kitty stayed true blue until the end, she begged Big Jim since he was dying anyway to take the fall himself. And he did. She just took the dough hidden up in their bedroom and fled out the back door. Fled to her newest lover, some young Irish pug, Johnny Ireland, by professional name, and parts south. Big Jim as he made one last gasp cursed out Swede, cursed him to hell and back for creating so many problems for him…