The Den of Thieves

The Writer’s Cramp for 05/03/2012
Contest prompt: “The police received a tip today concerning...”
970 words

***

The man sitting in the comfortable chair in front of the fireplace hadn’t told his guests to shut up in several minutes as he read the newspaper. That was all about to change.

“Shuddup, you mugs, and listen to this,” he demanded as he stood up and faced them. “The police received a tip today concerning the thefts of rare art objects from homes in the exclusive Hollywood Hills neighborhood of Los Angeles,” he read from the newspaper. He seemed to emphasize every noun as he read the article, and the verbs too. “Detectives investigating the burglaries believe a den of thieves is responsible for the crimes, and report that arrests are imminent.”

He crumbled up the newspaper and threw it into the fire. It burst into flames, mirroring his rage. He grinded his teeth so hard the jaw muscles in his face were flexing. He scowled at the stocky short man known as Mac who claimed he could crack any safe in a matter of minutes. He glared at the tall and skinny Charlie, who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. He gave the evil eye to Johnny the wheelman, whose lead foot was legendary, but had a problem with the ponies. He finally looked over Ruby who was still wearing her glittering lounge dress and distracting him with a bit of leg. He knew she was trouble but that’s why he kept her around, even though she played hard to get. “Anyone have anything to say?” he finally asked. His tone wasn’t very friendly.

Everybody in the room looked down at the floor avoiding eye contact except the skinny man wearing the hat. His fidgeting drew the attention of the others in the room. “Uh, boss,” he said.

“Yeah?” the boss snapped.

“You said I could read the funnies after you was done reading da news,” the Charlie said.

The boss frowned, shook his head, and breathed in deeply. “I understand what you are trying to say. I shouldn’t have thrown the newspaper in the fire. I should have rolled it up and smacked you across your puss like ma used to do but that’s probably what made you stupid.”

Charlie decided to look away and not talk anymore.

The boss squinted and said, “Just so there are no misunderstandings, I am going to be very specific, see. Does anyone have anything intelligent to say about what I just read in the newspaper?”

“Hey boss,” a short man said. “We’re in a den, and we’re thieves. Do you think they’re talking about us?”

“Yeah I think they’re talking about us!” the boss shouted back.

“Well I think we gots ourselves a rat,” Mac said, folding his arms. “One that squealed like a pig and sang like a bird to the coppers. I think it’s the dame.”

“What?” the woman objected.

“Yeah, dames sing,” the wheelman suggested.

“So does Sinatra,” she responded.

“He ain’t in the gang, but you are,” Johnny said.

“That is the dumbest thing you’ve said all day,” she remarked. “And there has been a lot of competition.”

“Well I ain’t so dumb that I sang to the coppers,” Johnny insisted.

“And that would be pretty damn dumb if anyone sang to the cops because the cops are so dumb they could never figure out that we were behind those jobs,” she said. “I bet they planted that story in the paper to make the fatcats we’ve been stealing from feel safer.”

Charlie laughed. “That’s dumb,” he chuckled.

“Do you know what’s really dumb? You three: dummy, dopey, and dunderhead,” she responded. “If you put all your coconuts together, I’d still be twice as smart as all of you,” she proclaimed.

“Well that’s where you’re wrong, sister,” Mac insisted. “We ain’t got no coconuts so you don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know where to steal coconuts in this town.”

Veronica looked at Mac with a puzzled look on her face and then laughed. She lit he cigarette on the end of a long cigarette holder and puffed out a cloud. “I got nothing on you,” she laughed.

“That’s right, you don’t,” Mac grunted. Empowered, he said to the boss, “I don’t like the way you treat Charlie.”

“Yeah?” said the boss.

“Yeah,” said Mac.

The boss walked right up to mac and looked him up and down. “Tough guy, huh?”

“Maybe,” Mac said.

The boss bit his lower lip looking right into the face of the safecracker, while smoking a cigar. Daggers of resentment stabbed at the short man, and he didn’t even see the punch coming that knocked all the wind out of him and caused him to double over.

“All right, you mugs, listen up,” the boss demanded once again. “I’m the boss. I’ve got the nice chair in front of the fire while the rest of you have to share a couch in the middle of the room, I do the thinking. You do what I say, or there will be trouble, see!”

Nobody responded, but a moment later there was a loud knock on the door. Every person in the room was startled and pulled out their guns, which was either a snub-nosed .38 or a war surplus .45, which seemed to be the only handguns that were ever available.

“The copper are coming to get us!” Charlie squealed as he panicked.

The boss slapped him across the face. “Shuddup, you. Veronica, get the door and charm whoever it is and get rid of them quick, see. We don’t like visitors.”

***

The Police Blotter the next day in the newspaper reported that the so-called den of thieves was discovered by police due to a noise complaint. The gang immediately confessed to their culpability in the crimes. The only statement they made to the Press was: “Who’s the rat?”