Molly Moon's Incredible Book of Hypnotism (19 page)

A
flash of lightning lit up Petula’s cell. She hated thunderstorms, and by herself she was even more terrified of them. She shivered in the corner of the damp basement room where Nockman had imprisoned her.

After the kidnaping, Petula had been driven away from the theater and had spent the night in Nockman’s white van with Nockman stretched out flat in the back. Through the bars of her cage, Petula had studied the man’s walrussy face and his scorpion necklace, and as he snored, she’d wondered why this strange-smelling person had stolen her. She’d managed to claw at an old half-eaten bologna sandwich, pulling it into her cage. Then, with a full stomach, she’d fallen asleep.

The next day, the man had driven to the empty,
chilly industrial building they were in now. He’d parked the van inside the building alongside a big brown truck, and then, with gloved hands, he’d carried Petula’s cage down to this basement room. He’d undone the latch of the cage, ripped off her collar, and gone away. Luckily, a dripping pipe in the room meant that Petula had something to drink, but she had nothing to eat.

Petula circled around and around on an old, broken sofa that smelled of mold, trying to find a comfortable position. She wished that she had a stone to suck. She wished the lightning would stop.

The same flash of lightning lit up the pavement as Nockman scurried though the rain. He was hurrying through dark streets. His feet were sodden from stepping in puddles, and his hat was soaking, but inside he felt elated. He’d blackmailed Molly Moon perfectly. There was no way she could refuse his demands. Within a few days he’d be richer than any criminal in the history of crime. How he loved that pug!

On he went, dashing down alleys and side streets, making his way back to his warehouse. Once inside, he slumped in a chair, his heart still pounding from the run. After a few minutes he got up and poured himself a big whisky, and five whiskies later, he was asleep.

Nockman slept restlessly and woke up at six the next morning, with a dry mouth and a terrible headache. As he reached for a bottle of water and looked about the dark warehouse, he realized that no one had come after him, and this made him feel a lot better. At eight he was in a phone booth, dialing Molly’s number. To be safe, he was wearing his earphone contraption and was holding the microphone to the telephone.

Molly sat up in bed to answer the phone.

“Good morning, Molly,” said Nockman. “And congratulations for not doing anything stupid. Your dog is still fine.”

Molly nodded frantically to Rocky, who was on the sofa, to indicate that it was Nockman on the phone. Rocky sat up quickly.

“I assume you agree to do the job?” he said.

“Yes,” said Molly.

“Good. Have you got a pen?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have the address of the warehouse, where you are to bring the bank truck, once it is
full
. You’ll find the place open.”

Molly wrote down the address of the warehouse. It was on the west side of Manhattan, on 52nd Street, by the docks, where there were lots of derelict buildings.

“So I bring the bank truck to the warehouse, driven
by a hypnotized security guard,” said Molly, “and then …?”

“Dear me, Molly,” said Nockman impatiently, “it’s all in the instructions I gave you. I do hope you are up to this job.”

“Yes, yes,” Molly said. “Sorry, it’s just I’m a bit nervous.”

“You better not be so nervous that you blow it, Molly. Because I won’t look so kindly on your dog if you mess this up.”

“No, I’m so sorry,” apologized Molly. “I remember everything. The security guard loads the jewels from the bank truck into
your
truck. I send the security guard back to the bank, mind blanked, and
then
you come to fetch the truck, and after you’ve driven to a different place, far enough away, you will call me and let me know how to get Petula.”

“That is correct. And Molly, I won’t be calling until I am absolutely satisfied that you have delivered all the goods. Every last emerald.”

“And when do you want me to do this?” Molly asked.

“Today. This morning.”

“This morning!”

“Yes,” said Nockman. He’d decided that it was best to push Molly before she changed her mind. If he gave her time, she might work out some way to foil him.
Besides, he was very impatient and wanted to feel those jewels pouring between his fingers.

“These are your final instructions. I want the people in the bank to be in a trance
until two thirty
,” he said. “I will pick up my truck from the warehouse before they even report that their bank has been robbed. I will collect the goods at a quarter to two.”

“Quarter to two today?! But … okay,” Molly agreed.

Nockman put down the phone and took off his antihypnotism device. Then he left the phone booth and went back to his chilly warehouse. He tossed his coat into the back of the van, patted his brown truck, which was soon going to be stuffed with precious loot, and went down the stairs to get Petula.

When Nockman entered, Petula tried to put up a fight, but he was wearing gloves again, so her bite didn’t hurt him. Besides, she was feeling weak. Nockman grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and pushed her into the cage. Petula felt dejected and very, very hungry.

With the cage in the van, Nockman then drove to Brooklyn, where he owned another, larger warehouse. This second warehouse was where Nockman kept all his stolen property. It was crammed to the ceiling with boxes and bags full of stolen things, from glass goblets
to cutlery to lawn mowers to garden gnomes; anything that Nockman could steal and then sell.

Nockman drove inside the warehouse, parked the van, got out, and happily kicked one of the smiling garden gnomes. Operation Hypnobank was going according to plan. Nockman had nearly Frisbeed himself into the Super League of Crime. He was almost there! No more small-time crime for him now. He’d be rolling in money soon. The next step was to put this stupid dog somewhere and be ready to go back to Manhattan to collect his booty. Nockman was tense with excitement. He had a quick drink of whisky to steady his nerves.

A room-service table stood in Molly’s room with the leftovers of two breakfasts. Molly looked at Rocky and pulled at her hair.

“Today! I can’t believe he wants us to do it today. It’s eight fifteen now, and he wants the jewels and stuff in his warehouse, repacked into his lorry, by quarter to two. That gives us …”

“Five and a half hours,” Rocky calculated, “to rob the bank, to pack up the loot in the bank truck, to drive it to his warehouse, and then to transfer it to his truck.”

“But we haven’t memorized the plans.”

“We’ll take them with us.”

“I mean, is it possible?”

“We’ll just have to try.”

“More than try,” said Molly. “We’ve got to do it one hundred percent right.”

“True,” said Rocky.

They both sat quietly for a moment, contemplating the monstrousness of the task. Then Molly said, “What are we waiting for? Let’s get it over with.”

It was time to move.

A
t eight forty Molly and Rocky were outside Shorings Bank. It was a huge, austere fortress, with walls steep and solid like the side of a cliff. On two balconies were window boxes full of holly and red berries. Hidden in the holly were cameras that filmed the bank’s entrance. It didn’t open until nine o’clock.

Molly and Rocky sat on a bench on the other side of the street, hidden from sight by a bush. Hiding Nockman’s plans behind comics, they were testing themselves on the layout of the bank, trying to visualize where everything was and where all the people who worked there would be. Through the bushes they watched New Yorkers hurrying to work. Molly and Rocky threw pebbles into the gutter as the last few minutes ticked by.

“I just hope they’re all easy to hypnotize,” said Molly. “And you can do it, can’t you, Rocky? I mean, I’m not being rude, it’s just you said that
most
of the time it works for you. I mean, how often doesn’t it work? The thing is, if they get alerted to the fact that we’re trying to hypnotize them, then we’re in big trouble….”

“I hypnotized y
ou,
didn’t I?” said Rocky.

“That’s true,” admitted Molly. “But are you sure you can still do it when you’re nervous?”

“Yup. Well, I think so.”

“Are you feeling nervous now?”

“Yup.”

“Same here.”

“Keep calm, Molly,” Rocky said. “You’re just getting the last-minute jitters. We can do this. As long as you remember everything we worked out last night.”

“Okay,” said Molly, trying to relax.

A clock on the side of the bank chimed nine, making them both jump. The heavy cast-iron doors of the bank opened.

“Do you reckon all the people who work there are in now?” she asked nervously.

Rocky shrugged. “I suppose so.” He stuffed the bank plans into Molly’s knapsack alongside the hypnotism book, which was all wrapped up for Nockman.

The two friends walked slowly to the bank. The
closer they got the bigger the bank got, and the more their stomachs churned.

“I’ve got butterflies,” Rocky said.

“You’re lucky,” said Molly, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I’ve got jellyfish.”

Gingerly they stepped up the stone steps. As they walked through the immense entrance, Molly noticed the huge metal bolts that kept the doors locked at night, and two gorillalike security guards, who seemed to look straight through her.

Inside the bank it was cool and quiet. Copper fans and green lamps hung down from the high ceiling, and the floor was polished black marble. Molly glanced up at the high, barred windows and saw cameras, like menacing black flies, crouched on the walls. Dotted about were smart-looking, leather-topped desks with weighing scales on them, where bank clerks sat. Here and there were tables where customers could lay out rubies and gems on white cloths for bankers to inspect through magnifying lenses. Along the back wall were glass-fronted booths shielding more bank workers from the public, and strung out across the room were heavy red ropes held up by brass posts. A few customers were already lining up. Telephones were ringing and being answered. The place was buzzing with activity.

“Oh dear,” whispered Molly. “Look at the cameras. This is going to be tricky.”

“Not if you stick to our plan,” said Rocky encouragingly. “You’ll see, we’ll be fine … and … and good luck, Molly.”

Molly swallowed hard and nodded. “Likewise,” she said.

Rocky went to sit on a chair by the wall. Molly walked toward a desk in the corner of the hall. She sat down opposite a young, freckle-faced clerk. “Good morning,” she said, “I’d like to deposit some rubies.”

“Certainly, madam,” said the clerk, looking up. The poor young man was an easy target. He fell into Molly’s web like a blind caterpillar.

Soon Molly had given her instructions.

“From now on you will do exactly as I say, or as my friend says. Until
ten
o’clock you will behave normally to other customers. Then
at ten
you will come to the front of the bank and await further instructions.”

The clerk nodded. “And when would you like to bring these jewels in?” he asked, behaving normally.

“That’s very good,” said Molly. “Now, please take me to see the bank manager.”

The clerk led Molly through a security door. Acting as innocently as possible, she looked straight ahead and followed the freckly man along a grand corridor until
they came to a door with a golden plaque on it that read MRS. V. BRISCO, MANAGER.

The clerk knocked and they entered. This startled the manager’s secretary, who stopped her typing and looked very irritated by the unannounced visitors, but after a few seconds of Molly’s glare, she too was captive. She spoke to Mrs. Brisco through an intercom. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Brisco, there’s someone here to see you called …”

“Miss … er …” Molly’s eyes darted desperately about the room for inspiration. “Miss Cactus,” she said, seeing a spiky potted plant on the windowsill. She winced inside as she heard the stupid name coming out of her mouth.

“Miss Cactus,” repeated the secretary. “I think you ought to see her.”

“Send her in,” came the manager’s reply.

The bank manager was a small, thin woman of fifty or so. She greeted Molly with an impatient frown, examining her through horn-rimmed glasses and wondering what on earth a child could want with her.

“I’m afraid we don’t give tours of Shorings to schoolchildren. But you may pick up some Shorings bank literature from our information desk for your school project. I’m sure that will be adequate for your needs. Good-bye.”

“No,” said Molly, “I would like your
personal
assistance on my project, please.”

As a bank manager, Mrs. Brisco had learned to be very untrusting of people. So she was tricky to hypnotize. Molly found her surprisingly resistant. She was like a dog, pulling on a leash, refusing to come, but Mrs. Brisco’s coming was inevitable, since she was on Molly’s leash. She twitched and she twisted, and she tried to defend herself, but she couldn’t resist Molly’s tugging eyes. In half a minute Molly had her well and truly hooked.

Soon Mrs. Brisco had agreed to do everything Molly asked.

With no time to lose, she had all the bank workers and security guards brought one by one into her office, where Molly worked her magic on them. Molly gave each one the same instructions: to keep working as normal until ten o’clock, then to assemble in the lobby of the bank and wait for more orders.

Meanwhile, Rocky was at the front of the bank, keeping an eye on any new arrivals. He saw customers come and go, and he watched as the clerks behind the glass partition left their desks and came back again with a glazed look in their eyes.

Now Molly turned her attention to the cameras, which were spying from every corner. Some, she knew
from Nockman’s plans, were hidden on the sides of wastepaper baskets. Already Rocky and Molly would have been recorded by them. It was very important to wipe this evidence clean away, and then work could begin. Mrs. Brisco took her to the video suite, and every camera was switched off.

“Now,” said Molly, breathing a sigh of relief, “I want you to rewind the tapes and erase all this morning’s film.”

“Impossible,” said the manager. “It goes—electronically—straight to our—records office.”

“What?” exclaimed Molly, incredulously. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Rocky and her, on tape, at the records office! This was terrible. Molly would be recognized! Even the stupidest of detectives would be suspicious, seeing her walking around the back rooms of the bank. Nockman’s notes hadn’t said
anything
about a records office. Molly was filled with fury and thrown into panic at the same time. “Wait here,” she commanded. She hurried out to Rocky.

“Rocky,” she growled, “we’ve got a problem. We’re on tape and it can’t be erased because the film is automatically transmitted to the records office…. We can’t go ahead, we’ll be caught straight away, but, Rocky, if we don’t, what will happen to Petula?”

Rocky looked worried. “Take me to the video room,”
he said. “I’m not promising anything, but I may just be able to sort this out.”

After extracting the telephone number of the records-office manager from Mrs. Brisco, Rocky settled down with a telephone and tried to focus. He’d hypnotized over the phone only a few times before, and it was very difficult to relax with Molly sighing and biting her lip beside him.

Concentrating as if his life depended on it, he dialed the number. An operator answered the phone, and since the person was very unsuspecting, it was much easier than Rocky expected to hypnotize him long distance. Soon the operator had erased all that morning’s tape. Feeling much more confident, Rocky then telephoned the bank’s security company and had the guard there switch off the Shorings Bank alarm.

“Phhheewww,” Molly murmured. “That was brilliant, Rocky!”

“Lucky it worked,” said Rocky, breathing more easily now. “It just shows, though,” he pointed out, “that Nockman’s plans aren’t perfect. I hope there aren’t any more nasty surprises waiting for us.”

Molly nodded, feeling sick. Then on they went.

Both the front-door security guards were summoned to Mrs. Brisco’s office. As they stood beside each other in their hypnotic states, with their tongues
dangling from their mouths, Molly thought how like Stone Age men they looked.

“Which one do we choose as our driver?” she asked Rocky. “Which is the more intelligent-looking one?”

“I wouldn’t say either has a brain bigger than a sugar lump,” said Rocky, “but I think the one on the left looks the cleverest.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because he’s not trying to eat his collar.”

The security guard they chose was the most muscly and also the hairiest. Rocky took the hungry one back to the lobby of the bank, and Molly was led by the other guard to the bank garage. This was at the back of the building, down a narrow passage, at the end of which was a black fire door with a metal handle. Behind this door was a steel balcony and a flight of steps that led down to the concrete floor of a garage the size of a tennis court. There stood their truck. A gray truck the size of a small elephant. Molly imagined that she would just be able to stand up in the back of it.

Molly left the guard there and went back to the lobby, where she hypnotized the thirteen customers who were there. Soon they stood in a line like toy soldiers, standing at attention. And as the clock struck ten, the doors of the bank were closed. A notice was put up outside: CLOSED UNTIL 2:30 DUE TO STAFF TRAINING.
WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE.

Some very annoyed customers who wanted to come in were left on the steps, complaining. Then hypnotized bank workers started to fill the lobby and soon they, too, all stood in a line like zombies.

“This is like a dream,” Rocky whispered.

For a moment he and Molly stood still. It was eerie to be standing there, with the working day on hold.

In the background a ringing phone made Molly jump, but it was quickly answered by a receptionist, who, as instructed, said, “I’m afraid he isn’t available at the moment. He will call you back. Good-bye.”

“Okay,” said Rocky, “let’s hit the basement.”

Mrs. Brisco led them down a gray passage to an elevator. There she tapped a ten-digit code number into a small silver box. The doors opened with a swish, and Molly and Rocky followed her into the elevator. As it moved down its shaft, Molly started to feel claustrophobic. They’d hypnotized roughly thirty-five people, who would all be on the phone to the police immediately if they came out of their trances. And these people were all
upstairs
while Rocky and she were about to conduct their business
below
. If anyone were to wake up, she and Rocky would be trapped.

Molly banished the thought from her mind and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. Her knees were
feeling all prickly, and she kept shivering from nerves, and on top of this her fear kept making her want to go to the bathroom, even though she didn’t
really
want to go at all. Rocky’s face, she noticed, was looking distinctly pale. Molly was reminded of all the times he had helped her out of trouble at Hardwick House. She felt guilty now for getting him involved. “I’m sorry about this,” she whispered as the elevator doors opened.

“Forget it,” he said with a nervous smile.

Now they were standing in the basement. Ahead of her Molly recognized, from Nockman’s plans, the entrances to the private counting rooms. As Mrs. Brisco led them down the tight, low-ceilinged passage to the strong rooms where the jewel vaults were, Molly lagged behind. She wanted to check that no guards were inside the counting rooms, unhypnotized. So, peeling away from Rocky and Mrs. Brisco, she went inside one. It was extremely lucky that she did.

A stony-faced man wearing a heavy striped suit looked up. He had a safety-deposit box tray on the table in front of him and was pawing over a very large diamond. “What da heck is a kid doin’ down here?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing and his face wrinkling into a scowl. Quickly, Molly zapped him, and she removed the diamond from his grip. The diamond was heavy and hard and enormous. It caught Molly’s
reflection as she rolled it around in her hand.

“Jeepers, this must be worth a fortune,” she marveled.

“You betcha,” the man growled. “Stole it—today.”

“Where from?” Molly asked, shocked and fascinated.

“From—another—crook.”

Molly shuddered, put the diamond in her jacket pocket, and caught up with Rocky. He looked as if he’d just been told that Petula had been made into mincemeat.

“What’s the matter?”

“The locks,” whispered Rocky hoarsely. “That
idiot
Nockman doesn’t know a thing about this place. It’s all been
updated
since he was here. There’s absolutely no way we are ever going to get into these strong rooms and get these safety-deposit boxes open.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mrs. Brisco here has told me that she can’t open them by herself. Both she
and
the customers who rent them have to be present to open their boxes. There are five strong rooms, each with eighty deposit boxes. That’s four hundred boxes, and four hundred customers who need to be here.”