The Holdup Men

By Philip Lear

The Holdup Men

By Philip Lear

October 2002

As I waited in my car, a scene flashed across my mind and for an instant I was back in Vietnam stationed at a firebase in the middle of Quean Tri province. It was the dead of night and my ears were ringing from the shells exploding all around us. As Marty and I crawled under the barbed wire, I could feel the sweat dripping off my forehead and my heart pounding. We were looking for the mortar emplacement that was firing at the base.

As we circled the perimeter, I saw a flash coming from out in the jungle. I nodded to Marty and he nodded back. We knew where we had to go. We crawled on our bellies towards our target through the hot dripping jungle. When we got to within 20 yards without drawing fire, we got up and with our bayonets drawn and guns blazing we charged.

It was now ten years later and I was sitting in my car on Third Avenue at 2:30 AM with my eyes fixed on the deli across the street waiting for the lights to go out. Marty and I really liked being holdup men. It was the closest thing we’d found to Nam. There was this rush you got when you were ready to move in for a holdup.

After the war we had returned to New York City and tried to find something to match the excitement of Nam. The closest we came was being firemen and initially there was a certain thrill to going into a blaze not knowing what lay in front of you. We did that for a while, but the initial excitement quickly wore off and it became rather dull. More of our time was spent waiting then fighting fires and the waiting got boring.

We continued to search for things to do without any success. Then one day it came like a bolt of lightening. The firehouse or engine company we were assigned to was located in mid town and it was surrounded by a variety of shops and stores. As we were leaving the firehouse we saw a robbery in progress. We actually saw the muzzle flash from the guns. Holdup men had gone into a jewelry store where there were cops lying in wait. A gun battle ensued and spilled out onto the street. The cops and the holdup men were having a shootout right there. I got a rush from just watching what was happening. We looked at each other and we both knew that our fates were sealed.

We'd scout around the city looking for potential targets like liquor stores, delis, bars and any other place that might have a lot of cash. But we weren't fools. Before hitting a place, we'd carefully look at the security and the people who were working there. Most of the time things went smoothly and we got out with our lives and our money. But sometimes our preparation wasn't enough. There were unknowns that could crop up. For those occasions we had to improvise and think on our feet.

Marty's appearance was quite bland. With his gray pallor and sunken cheeks he looked like a walking cadaver. His most distinguishing features were his full lips and his long bony fingers. When he talked and moved his hands, he looked very expressive. He had a grave sort of confidence that made believers of our victims.

When I saw the lights go out in one of the cases I knew it was time for us to move in. With our hands on our guns ready to draw, we angled our way across the street and positioned ourselves at either side of the entrance and were about to make our move when we saw these two other guys slowly backing out of the entrance. The instant I saw them, I knew they were holdup men. One of them was holding a paper bag and the other had his hand in his pocket and from the bulge I knew it was a gun.

I looked at Marty and he nodded back.

When they came out I said, “Freeze,” and as we both slammed them up against the wall and stuck our guns in their ribs. “One move and you're dead.”

They were young hoods with long hair and earrings wearing leather jackets and jeans. While Marty covered me, I frisked them and took their guns and the bag. I didn't realize how terrified they were, until I saw a darkness developing in the jeans of the one on the left followed by a puddle at his feet.

“My friend here doesn't have much patience,” I said. “Some people even think he likes killing. You guys have three seconds to get out of here.”

They turned and looked at Marty and he gave them his 'thousand yard' stare. I had seen it many times but I still felt the hairs on the back of my neck standing. There was extreme intensity in his look but it was more than that. He was looking right through them as though they weren’t there. It was a cold icy stare that for an instant made them believe that they were nothing more than specs on the windshield. As they realized who they were facing this look of horror came over them and they took off.

After they had fled Marty with his deadpan expression let out a sigh and said, “I haven't seen two guys run that fast since the Olympics.”

Then we both laughed.

"Jesus, this business is getting more complicated all the time. Holding up holdup men. Pretty soon you'll have to take a number and wait in line, " I said as I drove away.

As we traveled up third I watched the lights change from red to green as we passed them. It seemed as though our driving was causing the lights to change and for a moment, I felt this sense of control.

“Look at the way these lights are falling for us,” I said.

"I've heard about this liquor store over on the Bowery," Marty said. " Let's drive over there and take a closer look. But first, pull over and we'll take a look at what we got. I have this good feeling about it.”

I pulled over and Marty opened the bag and I could see his expressionless face change. His brow wrinkled and he looked perplexed.

Then he said, “Your gona love this.”

"Don't keep me in suspense. What did we get?"

He waited a little longer and then I saw him pull something from the bag.

“It looks like a salami hero with peppers and mayo,” he said.

“That's very funny.”

“Here,” he said as he handed half the hero, “we can split the take.”

“My God,” I said. “We've held up two guys for their lunch. If they had made one wrong step we could have killed them.”

“They must really think we’re lunatics holding them up for a salami hero,” he said.

We shared the hero and then drove on for a few minutes more and I was in shock. I looked over at Marty trying to figure what he was thinking. But he had this blank expression and it was tough to read.

Then he said, “You have to look at this philosophically. We didn't get any money but it was exciting and the hero wasn't bad either. We can go back there next week if we want to and do the job.”

“I don't think so. Maybe next time we'll get a chopped liver on rye,” I said.

“But don't you see,” he said. “That makes it all the more exciting. We're risking our lives for a $6 sandwich.”

"Did you think they were holdup guys," I asked.

"They sure looked like the real thing to me," Marty said.

"They had us both fooled. And their timing in being there right at closing and backing out of the store and them both having guns. It sure looked like they were holding the place up."

"Maybe they were holdup men but they were just going in there to buy a sandwich and case the joint," Marty said.

We drove a few blocks and looked in at the liquor store.

“The place looks good,” Marty said. “Let's come back here tomorrow and watch it some more. It looks like there's an armed guard there.“ Marty said.

I could see his eyes light up. Dreams of new excitement were starting to flow within him. But I wasn't feeling that way. Somehow I it didn’t grab me like that.

“You know,” I said, we've been doing this for many years and we've had a good run. I think we should take a break.”

But he wasn’t listening. His mind was back there still reliving the excitement.

“We sure have done great,” he said. “Years without getting caught and lots of money too.”

We drove for a little bit and then I looked at him and said, “The war's been over for a long time and we need to move on.”