Wayward Angel by George Wethern

Author:George Wethern
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lyons Press
Published: 2008-10-03T16:00:00+00:00

Owsley apparently had plenty of money to invest or otherwise unload. He told Tramp he had socked away money in Swiss banks. Tramp said he accepted an invitation to stash some funds there too, but I declined outright. “Tramp, you gotta be kidding,” I snorted at him privately. “I’m too busy giving money to my people. And, anyway, that’s too far away to keep your money. If ya can’t spend it at the corner store, then it’s no good.”

People conjectured about Owsley’s bankroll, and one day I got a pretty good idea of its magnitude. Tramp pulled up to my house on his motorcycle. “Hey, George! How ’bout takin’ the Chrysler on a little drive? We gotta get some money for the Man.”

“Whatta ya mean?” I always had assumed that Owsley got his forty percent cut when the deal was closed.

“He asked me to put it away for him,” Tramp explained.

That was my first strong indication that Tramp’s ties to hipster friends were stronger than club loyalties. And Owsley’s trust in Tramp also was substantial—if the size of the nest egg meant anything.

At each bank, the routine was the same. Tramp went inside, was admitted to the vault area, dipped into a safe deposit box and exited with shocks of currency that he stuffed into a suitcase on the back seat.

“How much we gonna bring him?” I inquired.

Tramp only smiled and shrugged. But after he sauntered out of a bank on East 14th Street with $80,000, I knew it was time to keep my .357 magnum ready. Gripping the pistol with one hand and steering with the other, I drove to several more banks. Along the way, we eyed every passing car and pedestrian and monitored the rearview mirror. Matters easily could have become deadly. Many men had murdered for a small fraction as much money.

After the final pickup, we were dripping with sweat and ready to shoot anyone or anything confronting us. We killed an hour watching the car from inside a sporting goods store. Then we drove a short distance out Telegraph Avenue to the Sears parking lot. Walking briskly, Owsley approached, grabbed the suitcase, thanked us, then drove off. As the man at the top, he could afford to let others do his banking. But he wasn’t above counting his money. Later that day, he telephoned Tramp to complain the suitcase was $1,000 light. There was only $326,000!

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