《钱在哪儿》(Where the Money Was)翻译第15

这是必须要干的，我告诉威尔逊我们不顾一切都要去干。在约定的日期，他将佩戈兰（Perlango）带到我的公寓，这是第一次我允许佩戈兰（ Perlango）知道我住在哪。佩戈兰打算7点钟将车停在后街，穿过小巷过来。

我们完全按照计划通过屋顶进入（银行）。清晨，我们让佩戈兰（ Perlango）进来。站在窗户旁，透过百叶窗我可以清楚地看到守卫走过来。他依然很警觉，在打开防风门前向两边看了看。随后把门锁上。他打开那个大铜门，走进来，我在那坐在经理的桌子前。他露出极度恐慌的眼神，我以为他要心脏病发作了。"我认识你，"当他最终说得出话的时候，他说。"你打劫过我。"

"是的，"我说。"我回来拿回上次我在这没有得到的。"这时，我缴下了他的另一把手枪。

嗯，经理甚至比以往更加迟到。在他进来之前可能就到8:50了。这时候，已经有一群储户集聚在防风门外面。大多数是牛奶工，我被告知今天是这个月的第十五天，是收款的日子。他们站在银行门外准备将他们的收入存起来。

在10分钟内抢完银行这种事，你没有办法做到尽善尽美。我们离开的时候，人群已经增长到难以置信的地步，人们变得不耐烦甚至难以控制了。"还有几分钟就好了，伙计们，"我宣称。"我们会向你们解释，由于无法避免的延误，我们今天会晚一些开门。管理层就给你们造成的不便表达歉意。"然后我们三个人穿过拥挤的人群，又沿着同一条小巷回到车上。这是一次非常失望的收获。只有10，980美元。

我计划天气凉下来后，带奥尔加（Olga）去布拉多克（Braddock），现在佩兰戈（ Perlango）知道我住在哪里了，我要在离开前找到一个新的公寓。"我只是不像你那样信任他而已，"我告诉威尔逊。

这也是威尔逊告诉我的，他也在准备更换公寓。还是去布洛斯（Broads）。他给我这样解释，我们的一个名叫弗兰克·卡帕帕诺（ Frank Capapano）的朋友（布鲁克林的假释犯）给他介绍了两个姐妹。艾迪和年轻的妹妹约会了一段时间，然后又开始和姐姐约会。年轻的妹妹吃醋了，不知道是不是她，他总觉得被跟踪了。为了安全起见，当他回来的时候，打算将小车放到私人车库里，然后搬到一个新地方，重新注册汽车，这样就有一个不同的车牌。他是如此坐立不安，要求我呆在费城，直到他告诉我解决这些事情，这影响了我的计划。

他保证只会花上几天时间，最多一周。嗯，已经超过一周了，随着时间流逝，我开始有种被这些事情困住的感觉。在空气中有种紧张的气氛。我一直有这种预感，如果我按照预感行事的话，我的日子本来可以更好一些。电话来了，但不是艾迪威尔逊，是约翰尼费恩斯坦（Johnny Feinstein）。"威廉，"他说。"我知道你今天要离开城镇。"

意思是如此毫不含糊，我只能说一个字。"是。"
他说:"马上，不要拖延。"
不能拖延，我立刻挂断电话告诉奥尔加我要离开。"这是紧急事件，"我说。"我会在今天结束前打电话给你，告诉你我会在哪里见你。"

就目前而言，我要轻装简行，我自己和一些换洗内衣和一袋钱。钱袋子在我们卧室一个大彩色行李箱底部夹层中。当我跪着膝盖靠在行李箱上的时候，我的脑袋被重重一击，差点晕过去。我倒在地板上时发现这世上所有的警察都在我头顶上。

从新新（监狱）逃出来14个月后，我又回到了法律的掌控中。

威尔逊做的很好，和布洛斯（Broads）没有什么关系。这和佩兰戈有关。一直以来威尔逊不断向我保证，除非我要他做事，从来不联系佩兰戈。我不知道的是他们一直在纽约有规律的进行社交活动，佩兰戈和他妻子；威尔逊和丽塔（rita）。这种事情又发生了一次。

尽管佩兰戈和我们一起赚了这么多钱，他还是继续住在东部的贫民窟，在那里他的新车和昂贵的衣服不可避免的引起了警察的注意。因此他的电话被安装了非法窃听器。那天早上，威尔逊接上佩兰戈去拿他的新车牌，丽塔和他在一起。

他没有按照预想的计划去布鲁克林的汽车管理局，而是决定为了安全起见，去了温切斯特。

原文
159-160页

Well, it had to happen. I told Wilson we were going after it regardless, and on the appointed date he brought Perlango over to my apartment, the first time I had ever permitted Perlango to know where I was living. Perlango was to park the car on the rear street at seven o’clock and come around through the alley.

We got in through the roof, exactly as planned. In the morning we let Perlango in. Standing alongside the window, I can actually see the guard through the blinds as he approaches. He’s still being very alert, looking both ways before he opens the storm door. Locking it behind him. He opens the big bronze doors, steps in, and there I am, sitting at the manager’s desk. The way his eyes bugged out, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. “I know you,” he said, when he was finally able to speak. “You held me up.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I came back to get what I didn’t get the last time I was here.” For the time being, I took another pistol from him.

Well, the manager was even later than usual. It might have been eight-fifty before he came in. By that time, there were already a bunch of depositors gathered outside the storm door. Milkmen, mostly. It was the fifteenth of the month, I was told, collection day. They were stopping off at the bank to deposit their receipts.

You can’t do a conscientious job of robbing a bank in anything like ten minutes. By the time we were leaving, the crowd had not only grown to alarming proportions, it was getting impatient and even unruly. “Just another couple of minutes, folks,” I announced. “Due to an unavoidable delay that will be explained to you, we’re a little behind time today. The management wants to convey its apologies for any inconvenience.” And then the three of us passed through the crowd and went up the same alley again to the car. It was a very disappointing haul. Only $10,980.

I had planned to go to Braddock with Olga until the heat died down, and now that Perlango knew where I lived I was going to move into a new apartment before we left. “I just don’t trust this guy the way you do,” I told Wilson.

That was where Wilson told me that he was going to have to change his apartment, too. Broads again. The way he explained it to me, a friend of ours named Frank Capapano (a parolee from Brooklyn) had introduced him to two sisters. Eddie had dated the younger one for a while, and then he started going out with the older one. The younger one had got jealous and whether it was because of her or not, he kept getting the feeling he was being tailed. Just to be safe, he was going to put the car in a private garage when he got back, move into a new place, and then reregister the car so that it would have different plates. All of which affected my plans only because he was so jumpy that he wanted me to stay in Philadelphia until he could call and tell me everything was all right.

A few days was all it would take, he promised. A week at the most. Well, it was more than a week and as the time passed I began to have the kind of feeling I get on these things. A kind of uneasy tremor in the air. I always had these hunches, and if I had always acted on them I’d have been a lot better off. The call, when it came, didn’t come from Eddie Wilson. It came from Johnny Feinstein. “Willie,” he said. “I know you’re leaving town today.”

The meaning was so unmistakable that I only had to say one word. “Yes.”
He said: “Immediately. Without delay.”
Without delay, I hung up and told Olga I was leaving. “It’s an emergency,” I said. “I’ll call you up before the day is over and let you know where I’m going to meet you.”

For the time being, I was going to be traveling very light. Just me and a change of underclothing and a bag of money. The money bag was in the false bottom of a big steamer trunk we had in the bedroom. While I was down on my knees leaning over the trunk, I got a blow on my head that almost knocked me unconscious. The next thing I knew I was down on the floor with all the cops in the world on top of me.

Fourteen months after my escape from Sing Sing I was back in the hands of the law.

Wilson had been made all right, and it had nothing to do with broads. It had to do with Perlango. What I didn’t know—here we go again—was that all the time that Wilson kept assuring me that he never contacted Perlango except when I wanted him for a job, they had been socializing on a regular basis in New York. Perlango and his wife; Wilson and Rita.

Despite all the money Perlango had been making with us, he had continued to live in the East Side slums, where his new car and expensive clothing had inevitably brought him to the attention of the police. So much so that an illegal tap had been placed on his phone. That morning, Wilson had picked Perlango up on his way to get his new license plates. Rita was with him.

Instead of going to the motor-vehicle bureau in Brooklyn, as he had intended to, he decided at the last minute to play it even safer and go all the way up to Westchester.