***Where The Dough Is- With The Film Noir Cash On Demand In Mind
I remember once these guys, smart guys too, four or five of them, the mastermind who had the thing wired from jump street, had it worked up fine while he had time to while away in stir working off another matter, the fine-tooth safecracker, edgy and sharp, the whizz driver who was like some Indy racer behind the wheel, and the heavy work guy, the rootie-toot-toot guy, a little light upstairs but a stand-up guy and no snitch, no way, and maybe another guy, a lookout guy, I forget, for good luck planned this beautiful (on paper) caper of a high- end jewelry store. The night of the heist they were doing just fine, had it made until the last minute when one guy, maybe the look-out, accidently slipped since he had been sweating profusely in tight quarters and blew the whole caper to kingdom come. Blew some alarm and sent a covey of cops all over them in about two minutes flat. Naturally that crew, desperate at that point and not hip to any jail time, had to blast their way out killing a couple of off-hand coppers in the melee. After you waste a cop or two though you might as well walk to jail, walk to the big step off, after that since when a cop get killed in a caper then all bets are off, way off. Two and it is only fifty-fifty you will get to the big step off. You know the old “tried to escape” gag with about three slugs in your heart. So yah, I like my bank robbers to play it simple, play it by the numbers, and just take the money and run.
That is what bothered me about this guy Cecil I heard about recently, a sharp guy from all accounts over in England who had quite a record of success pulling off bank heists by himself, and without any bang-bang. A guy who took a big haul from some Bank of England vault while the clerk was making eyes at some dame (the dame proved to be his, the clerk’s, girlfriend so no foul on him, okay). Of course like every bank robber who has ever existed back to Adam and Eve time, maybe before, has done at least one jolt, done one stretch at uncle’s expense Or the queen’s). That comes with the territory. Cecil did his for an off-hand knockoff when he “forgot” that the alarm was reset after entry into some teller’s cage. He did a nickel for that one. They also say he never carried a gun, didn’t like them, didn’t know how to use one. That might have been an error on his last caper and as a general principle when you are in a tight spot in the bank robbery business, especially these days, but I will let the issue of guns pass. What bothered me was that his plan, and it was a good plan as far as such plans, go was kind of crazy, was way too wild in its application.
Cecil, who as a kid had been a carnival drifter, knew how to fake voices and that knowledge was the basis that he planned that last caper on. See what Cecil did was pick a Podunk branch of a big bank, something like Barclay’s, something like that and found out what the branch manager’s wife and kid’s voices sounded like and then he went into the branch and maneuvered his way into the manager’s office as an insurance inspector. Then he was off to the races. This manager, Basil I think his name was, a freaky kind of straight- laced, kind of a fussy sort, was afraid of losing his position, afraid of his own shadow really bought Cecil’s threat that he would kill his wife and child without compulsion if he didn’t follow his instructions to the letter. Cecil had faked the doom-struck wife and kid’s voices sending Basil into a panic. After that he was putty in Cecil’s hands. It must have been fun watching old Basil crack under the whip, carrying out each instruction, hell, begging to carry them out. Christ Cecil could have just sat in the manager’s office and let Basil pull the heist for him. Beautiful.
A great work of art, no question, as far it went. And that is my Cecil problem. He got too cute, had too many moving parts, had to ham it up a little too much like some low-rent midnight grafter rather than the potential hall of fame bank robber that he could have been. What happened was that one of the employees, a long- time employee sensed that old Mister Fussy boss wasn’t acting just right, seemed to be a little, well, nice, oh maybe not nice, but civil. That employee started to put two and two together with the combined actions of the two men not adding up and so he called the coppers and after some hi-jinx that doomed our man Cecil in the end. So he turned out to be just another number up in British stir, Darthmoor maybe. Just another of the endless examples that crime doesn’t pay. If he had only decide to just take the money and run ….
From The Pen Of Frank Jackman
Frankly I always like my bank robbers straight up. You know guys like the famous Willie Sutton who when asked why he robbed banks stated the no-brainer obvious that that was where the money, kale, dinero, moola, or however you describe cash in your area was. Moreover I like my bank robbers working alone, working without an elaborate net, working without about fifteen guys who will rat you out for three bucks and a shortened jail sentence if things get dicey.
I remember once these guys, smart guys too, four or five of them, the mastermind who had the thing wired from jump street, had it worked up fine while he had time to while away in stir working off another matter, the fine-tooth safecracker, edgy and sharp, the whizz driver who was like some Indy racer behind the wheel, and the heavy work guy, the rootie-toot-toot guy, a little light upstairs but a stand-up guy and no snitch, no way, and maybe another guy, a lookout guy, I forget, for good luck planned this beautiful (on paper) caper of a high- end jewelry store. The night of the heist they were doing just fine, had it made until the last minute when one guy, maybe the look-out, accidently slipped since he had been sweating profusely in tight quarters and blew the whole caper to kingdom come. Blew some alarm and sent a covey of cops all over them in about two minutes flat. Naturally that crew, desperate at that point and not hip to any jail time, had to blast their way out killing a couple of off-hand coppers in the melee. After you waste a cop or two though you might as well walk to jail, walk to the big step off, after that since when a cop get killed in a caper then all bets are off, way off. Two and it is only fifty-fifty you will get to the big step off. You know the old “tried to escape” gag with about three slugs in your heart. So yah, I like my bank robbers to play it simple, play it by the numbers, and just take the money and run.
That is what bothered me about this guy Cecil I heard about recently, a sharp guy from all accounts over in England who had quite a record of success pulling off bank heists by himself, and without any bang-bang. A guy who took a big haul from some Bank of England vault while the clerk was making eyes at some dame (the dame proved to be his, the clerk’s, girlfriend so no foul on him, okay). Of course like every bank robber who has ever existed back to Adam and Eve time, maybe before, has done at least one jolt, done one stretch at uncle’s expense Or the queen’s). That comes with the territory. Cecil did his for an off-hand knockoff when he “forgot” that the alarm was reset after entry into some teller’s cage. He did a nickel for that one. They also say he never carried a gun, didn’t like them, didn’t know how to use one. That might have been an error on his last caper and as a general principle when you are in a tight spot in the bank robbery business, especially these days, but I will let the issue of guns pass. What bothered me was that his plan, and it was a good plan as far as such plans, go was kind of crazy, was way too wild in its application.
Cecil, who as a kid had been a carnival drifter, knew how to fake voices and that knowledge was the basis that he planned that last caper on. See what Cecil did was pick a Podunk branch of a big bank, something like Barclay’s, something like that and found out what the branch manager’s wife and kid’s voices sounded like and then he went into the branch and maneuvered his way into the manager’s office as an insurance inspector. Then he was off to the races. This manager, Basil I think his name was, a freaky kind of straight- laced, kind of a fussy sort, was afraid of losing his position, afraid of his own shadow really bought Cecil’s threat that he would kill his wife and child without compulsion if he didn’t follow his instructions to the letter. Cecil had faked the doom-struck wife and kid’s voices sending Basil into a panic. After that he was putty in Cecil’s hands. It must have been fun watching old Basil crack under the whip, carrying out each instruction, hell, begging to carry them out. Christ Cecil could have just sat in the manager’s office and let Basil pull the heist for him. Beautiful.
A great work of art, no question, as far it went. And that is my Cecil problem. He got too cute, had too many moving parts, had to ham it up a little too much like some low-rent midnight grafter rather than the potential hall of fame bank robber that he could have been. What happened was that one of the employees, a long- time employee sensed that old Mister Fussy boss wasn’t acting just right, seemed to be a little, well, nice, oh maybe not nice, but civil. That employee started to put two and two together with the combined actions of the two men not adding up and so he called the coppers and after some hi-jinx that doomed our man Cecil in the end. So he turned out to be just another number up in British stir, Darthmoor maybe. Just another of the endless examples that crime doesn’t pay. If he had only decide to just take the money and run ….
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