Free the Onion Field (1973) by Joseph Wambaugh Page B

was surely a security officer, the one who watched him that day when he had his pockets loaded with loot and a set of wrenches under his coat inside his belt, and even his hands full of packages of screws and bolts and other items of hardware.
    The man in the yellow shirt had followed him, never taking his eyes from him. He had walked slowly toward the doory waiting, tensing, waiting for the sound of running footsteps or a shout: "Store security officer. You're under arrest."
    He had walked through the door with his loot and across the busy parking lot to his car. There had been no footsteps, no voice. He had made it.
    The gardener watched the mailman pass by and cross over to the other side of the street The gardener thought: No, that's not the man in the yellow shirt. Strange, up close he didn't even look like him. Not at all.

    Chapter 4
    The partners in the four-door Plymouth and the partners in the little Ford coupe were both battling traffic at that moment.
    Ian Campbell, the driver of the Plymouth was turning east on Hollywood Boulevard but decided momentarily it was a mistake and quickly got out of the traffic. Karl Hettinger was cleaning his glasses, feeling his belt binding him and wondering if a hamburger would add to the bulge.
    "One good thing about Saturday night traffic is it gives you a better chance to get lost after a job!' Gregory Powell said as they began to ride from Wilshire Boulevard to Hollywood in the little maroon Ford.
    His partner did not reply but continued fiddling with the gun in his belt, twisting in his seat.
    "Goddamnit, Jim, relax," said Greg. "You know I'll do all the real work once we get inside."
    Jimmy Smith grunted and watched the cars that passed them. The March night air was cold, but he was sweating, and his mouth and throat were dry and hot. He lit a fresh cigarette with the butt of the last one.
    "After tonight we'll have a stake, Jim," Greg said and Jimmy Smith wished his partner would shut up for five minutes. He had to think.
    "I've got a feeling you and me're gonna score big tonight," Greg said. "Our little family's gonna get well tonight."
    Family, thought Jimmy. If I hear another fuckin word about family Til. . . Then he looked toward his partner's belt. He couldn't see the Colt .38 in the darkened car but he knew it was there.
    He hated it when his partner talked about his family and how Jimmy was now part of it. Jimmy Smith had never been part of anybody's family, never wanted to be. And if he did, there was always his Nana. I'll go see my Nana one of these days, thought Jimmy. Soon as I cut this crazy bastard loose, that's what I'll do. I'll go find my Nana.
    "Jimmy is not really my son," his Nana would one day tell a jury, "but he's the onlyest son I'll ever have. I'm really his auntie, his great-auntie. I raised his mother from when she were a little girl and then she went and had her baby in Crowell, Texas, when she weren't but thirteen years old and she couldn't take care of him so she give him to me in Fort Worth. I think his daddy was a fifteen year old white boy but I ain't even sure of that.
    "When he were just a little tiny boy about three years old, I had this accident with a Colt .45 revolver, and he were there with me when it happened. What happened is my husband's gun was under my mattress. I slept on the floor. I just stuck it under the mattress on the floor, and when I got up to put the mattress on the bed, I rolled it up, little skinny mattress as it was. I looked back and Jimmy were there and I were afraid he would get the gun so I got the gun and the mattress all in one hand. I guess I got it by the trigger when I started to the bed with it. The mattress started to slip and I gripped the mattress. I guess I pulled the trigger.
    "I were shot in my left leg and I had to wear a cast for a year without turnin over. It went up to my waist, and over my left leg all the way down, foot and all. And I laid there a year with that cast on.
    "Well, you might say Jimmy