Free Final Confession by Bill Crowley Dennis Lehane Gilbert Geis Brian P. Wallace

noted, “but we felt very good about the situation. We just weren’t sure of the take.” About twenty-five minutes later, the station wagon carrying the two guards pulled into the parking lot. Phil watched the guards lock the car and head inside for a hot cup of coffee and a lunch they would never forget.
    Phil got out of the driver’s seat. Tony slid over and picked up the binoculars, with which in a minute or two he would begin casing the area around the diner. Phil had a hat pulled almost completely over his face, a heavy coat, fake glasses, and winter gloves. To any person walking or riding by he looked as if he was just another guy trying to keep warm, to shield himself from the elements. As he got near the station wagon he quickly looked at the diner window where the two guards always sat. Though the window was ten feet from the station wagon, it was, as Phil had hoped, completely frosted over.
    Phil could have picked the lock in seconds, but he didn’t. Like an amateur, he simply broke the vent window and opened the front door. As he did, he spotted a cardboard box about the size of a case of beer on the front seat. He grabbed it and walked back down to the end of the driveway, where Tony was waiting. The robbery took less than thirty seconds.
    Once in the car, Phil had a hard time containing his excitement. He knew by the number of bags and manila envelopes in the cardboard box that this score was going to be profitable. “How’d we do, how’d we do?” Tony kept asking as he drove them away. Phil didn’t reply. The two met up with Angelo and ditched the stolen Buick.
    Meanwhile, the two guards, laughing, left the diner and headed for their station wagon. They quickly froze in their tracks—and not because of the weather. Then they ran back into the diner screaming, “Call the police! Somebody stole our deposits!”
    Within minutes, the Norfolk Downs section of Quincy was awash with police cars. Quincy Police, working with FBI agents from the Boston bureau, told the press that the actual amount of money stolen was $119,047.19. Guards Joseph Whitfield and James E. Carroll of the Skelly Detective Agency had just been “Crested.”
    AS PHIL, TONY, AND ANGELO drove along Route 3 to Cape Cod, Angelo asked, “Any problems, Phil?”
    â€œNaw, piece of cake,” Phil responded, laughing. He had finished looking over the take.
    â€œSpeaking of cake, I’m kinda hungry,” Tony said.
    Angelo and Phil just shook their heads, amazed at how anyone could be hungry at a time like this.
    â€œHow much?” Angelo anxiously inquired.
    â€œOver a hundred large.” Phil waited for a reaction.
    â€œWow! I thought these guys were small-time.” Angelo reached over to look in the bag. “I would’ve been happy with twenty or twenty-five large.”
    Phil slapped his hand. “Take it easy, we’ll count it more closely when we get to the Cape.”
    Angelo was quiet for a few minutes, but as they were passing Norwell he asked, “Did you pick it okay?”
    â€œI didn’t use a pick,” Phil shot back.
    â€œHow’d ya open it up?”
    â€œThe old-fashioned way.” Phil, the best lock man on the East Coast, smiled. “I broke the fucking window.”
    Phil could tell from the looks on their faces that they needed an explanation. “I knew the guards couldn’t see shit because the window was frozen over and the snow was coming down pretty good. Ya with me?”
    They both nodded like students at Christopher Columbus High in the North End.
    â€œI didn’t want to give the cops nothing to go on—no MO—especially with Tilley still out there. Okay so far?”
    Again they both nodded. They knew how angry Tilley still was that Phil had “stolen” his gang. Keeping Tilley thinking the Cresta team wasn’t making a lot of money was wise.
    Professor Phil went on slowly. “I wanted