Joe leaned forward dramatically, thrust out his lips, and very carefully pronounced, “The Pettigrew Diamond.”
Lefty clicked his fingers. “The old lady! The one that called the FBI.”
“Fortunately,” Joe said, reminiscently, “gold-mine stock is not a Federal affair. By the time she had contacted the proper agency, we were well away from Lanesville.”
Lefty grew serious. “You thinkin’ of tappin’ her again?”
“This time,” Joe told him, “I want the diamond. Nothing less. The diamond.”
“She’ll remember us.”
“She never saw you.”
Joe said, “I’ve been racking my brains all morning. Think, Lefty. Who was I then in Lanesville? Wasn’t it then I had the black moustache and the black hair?”
“The monocle?” asked Lefty.
“No, I don’t think so. I think the moustache.”
Lefty thought. “You’re right. The moustache.”
“Now,” said Joe, “think about this. Clean-shaven, white hair, round spectacles — like Simpson’s, there.”
Lefty looked at Simpson, over by the main desk, blinking rapidly and mumbling digits. He nodded.
“It sounds good,” he said. “Who are you? Broker? College president?”
“Don’t be silly.” Joe tapped the magazine. “I’m the new minister.”
When they broke out they found a closed gas station about a mile from the prison. Lefty bent over the door for a moment, then pushed it noiselessly open, and he and Joe slipped inside just as the sirens began to wail behind them. Lefty whispered, “They know we’re out.”
“No,” said Joe. “They know we’re out of our cells, that’s all.” He closed the door behind them. “That’s the advantage of relocking doors. It takes an extra second, but it gains an extra hour. First they’ll look inside, then they’ll look outside.”
Lefty had found a flashlight. He turned it on, but Joe said, “No, Lefty! The place will be full of cops.”
Lefty doused the light. “We gotta see, Joe,” he said.
“We’ll see,” Joe told him, and he turned on the lights.
Lefty let out a screech. “What are you doin’?”
“We’re opening for business.”
The fluorescent lights flickered on, and Joe headed for the main switches. He turned on the lights out at the pumps, the lights in the rest rooms, the lights in the tube shop. Within seconds, the area was flooded in light, and Lefty stood blinking in the center of it, panic-stricken.
“Lefty, go unlock the pumps, will you?”
Dazed, Lefty went out and unlocked the pumps, then came back shaking his head. “Joe, you got gall,” he said. “You got lots and lots of gall.”
“Here’s a new Chevy in the wash rack,” Joe told him. “Go on into town and get us some clothes, will you? And get me my white hair dye.”
“Where’s town?”
“I don’t know. Let’s take a look at a road map.”
Together, they bent over a map and found out where they were. Then Lefty backed the car out, and Joe called, “Be sure you fill it up this time.”
Lefty blushed and filled it up. Joe took a look in the cash register, which was empty, and called Lefty back in. “Open the safe here, will you? I may have to make change.”
“Sure thing,” said Lefty. Once the safe was open, he got back into the Chevy and drove off. Joe sat down behind the desk and counted the take from the safe.
Business was relatively brisk. One of the customers, obviously a local resident, looked curiously at Joe. “When did Dick decide to stay open late?” he wanted to know.
“When he hired me, I guess,” Joe told him. “Good amount of trade at night.”
Fifteen minutes later a state police car pulled in and two troopers sauntered over to the office. Joe stayed seated behind his desk. He waved as the troopers entered, and said, “Hi, boys. What can I do for you?”
“Seen two suspicious-looking characters wandering around tonight at all?”
Joe thought. “No. Afraid not. What’s up?”
“Couple prisoners escaped from the state pen.”
“Thought I heard the siren a while back.”
“Better keep a wary eye out. They’re desperate, will be needing money and transportation.”
Joe looked worried. He got to his feet. “Maybe I better close up.”
“Wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Thanks for the warning, boys.”
As the troopers drove away, Lefty drove in. He got out of the car looking frightened and wary. “Wasn’t that a cop?”
“Uh huh. Dropped by to let me know two convicts broke out of jail tonight.”
“Yeah?”
“Desperate men. Maybe we ought to close up.”
“Yeah,” agreed Lefty. “Maybe we oughta.”
They changed clothes, and Joe spent some time in the men’s room with the bottle of hair dye. Finally, they turned off all the lights, locked the door and the pumps, climbed into the Chevy and, with the aid of a commandeered road map, headed toward Lanesville, Joe driving, Lefty squirming in the seat beside him.
Lefty was worried. “What about road blocks?” he wanted to know.
“What about them?”
“You can’t talk your way through a road block, Joe. You ain’t got a driver’s license.”
“I don’t intend to talk my way through road blocks. I don’t have to.” Joe tapped the road map on the seat between them. “Look at all those blue lines. One of them will get us to Lanesville.”
“You’re the boss,” Lefty said doubtfully.
“I’ve been thinking about a name,” Joe said thoughtfully. “What about Amadeus—”
“Who?”
“Amadeus.”
“What’s the first name?”
“That’s the first name. Amadeus. And for the last name, how about Wimple? Amadeus Wimple. How does that sound?”
“Cheez, Joe—”
“The Reverend Mister Amadeus Wimple.”
Lefty thought about it. “It does sound kinda-impressive,” he admitted.
“I thought so.”
“What about me?” Lefty wanted to know. “Who am I?”
“I don’t know. My son? No, not my son. Something... something in keeping with the role of minister.”
“Maybe I could be assistant minister?”
Joe glanced at Lefty, noticing again that unfortunate quirk of eye and mouth that branded the poor man as one of civilization’s undesirables, and he regretfully shook his head. “No, Lefty, I’m sorry. No one would ever believe you had the call.”
“Okay, so what am I?”
Joe clicked his fingers. “I’ve got it! You’re a juvenile delinquent.”
“A what?”
“The court paroled you to me at my request. I have undertaken to rehabilitate you.”
Lefty shrugged. “Okay by me,” he said. “Just so I don’t have to get a newspaper route.”
Ahead of them were lights across the road. A road block. Joe stopped the car. “Let’s see the road map, Lefty. We’re about to switch to another blue line.”
The Reverend Mister Amadeus Wimple brought himself back to the present. Here he stood, in the doorway of his office, in his home next to the church, and waiting for him was Miss Grace Pettigrew and the fabled Pettigrew diamond. Reverend Wimple folded his hands across his belly, resisting the impulse to rub them together, and paced slowly and deliberately into the room.
Miss Pettigrew turned as the minister’s shoes squeaked his arrival. Her face softened to a blur of joy and she purred, “Good morning, Reverend Wimple.”
The minister smiled. “Good morning, Miss Pettigrew.” Pausing behind his desk, he gazed benignly out the window at the garden between his cottage and the church, a garden maintained by the Ladies’ Aid to supply flowers for the church. “A beautiful sunny morning,” he said. “A lovely morning on which to be alive.”
“Amen,” said Miss Pettigrew reverently. She bowed her head.