Murch had planned his route with the greatest care. He knew which secondary streets were wide enough to allow the bank passage, which major streets could be traveled for brief periods without the likelihood of running into traffic. He made left turns and right turns with a minimum use of brakes or lower gears, and behind him the bank rocked and reeled and occasionally took corners on two wheels but never did go over. The greatest weight in the thing was the safe, which was at the back, which gave it more stability the faster Murch drove.
Kelp and Dortmunder and the tool kit, meanwhile, were all over each other. Dortmunder surfaced at last to shout, “Are they on our tail?”
Murch gave a quick look to the outside mirror. “Nobody back there at all,” he said, and took a left turn so hard it popped the glove-compartment door open and a package of No-Doz dropped into Kelp’s lap. Kelp picked it up in trembling fingers and said, “Never did I need you less.”
“Then slow down!” Dortmunder yelled.
“Nothing to worry about,” Murch said. His headlights showed a pair of cars parked up ahead, opposite each other, both too far out from the curb, leaving a space that was under the circumstances very small. “Everything under control,” Murch said, jiggled the wheel as he went through, and simply amputated the outside mirror from the car on the right.
“Uh,” said Kelp. He dropped the No-Doz on the floor and shut the glove compartment.
Dortmunder looked past Kelp at Murch’s profile, saw how absorbed it was, and understood there was no way right now to attract Murch’s attention without actually setting up a roadblock ahead of him. And that might not do it, either. “I trust you,” Dortmunder said, since he had no choice, and sat back in the corner to brace himself and to watch the night thunder at their windshield.
They drove for twenty minutes, mostly heading north, sometimes heading east. Generally speaking, the south shore of Long Island, which faces the Atlantic Ocean, is less prestigious than the north shore, which faces Long Island Sound, a mostly enclosed body of water protected by the island on one side and Connecticut on the other. In taking the bank from the south-shore community it had serviced so well, and in heading north with it, Murch and Dortmunder and Kelp were moving by gradual stages from smaller older houses on narrower plots of land to larger newer houses on broader plots of land. Similarly, westward, toward New York City, the houses were poorer and closer together, but eastward they were richer and farther apart. In going both east and north, Murch was giving this branch of the C&I Trust a literal kind of upward mobility.
They were also moving into an area where there was still undeveloped land between the towns, rather than the undifferentiated sweep of suburb that characterized the section where they’d started. After twenty minutes, they had crossed a county line and were on a deserted bit of cracked and bumpy two-lane road, with a farmer’s field on the right and a stand of trees on the left. “This is close enough,” Murch said, and began tapping the brake. “God damn it,” he said.
Dortmunder sat up. “What’s the matter? Brakes no good?”
“Brakes are fine,” Murch said through clenched teeth, and tapped them some more. “Goddam bank wants to jackknife,” he said.
Dortmunder and Kelp twisted around to look through the small rear window at the bank. Every time Murch touched the brakes, the trailer began to slue around, the rear of it moving leftward like a car in a skid on ice. Kelp said, “It looks like it wants to pass us.”
“It does,” Murch said. He kept tapping, and very gradually they slowed, and when they got below twenty miles an hour Murch could apply the brakes more normally and bring them to a stop. “Son of a bitch,” he said. His hands were still clawed around the wheel, and sweat was running down his cheeks from his forehead.
Kelp said, “Were we really in trouble, Stan?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Murch said, breathing slowly but heavily. “I just kept wishing Christopher was still a saint.”
“Let’s go take a look at things,” Dortmunder said. What he meant was that he wanted to go stand on the ground for a minute.
So did the others. All three got out and wasted several seconds just stomping their feet on the cracked pavement. Then Dortmunder took a revolver from his jacket pocket and said, “Let’s see how it worked out.”
“Right,” Kelp said, and from his own pocket took a key ring containing a dozen keys. Herman had assured him that one of those keys would definitely open the bank door. “At least one,” he’d said. “Maybe even more than one.” But Kelp had said, “One will do.”
So it did. It was the fifth key he tried, while Murch stood back a few feet with a flashlight, and then the door swung outward. Kelp stayed behind it, because they weren’t sure about the guards inside, whether the carbon-monoxide truck exhaust had knocked them out or not. They had made careful calculations on how much of the cubic-foot capacity the gas would fill after x minutes and x + y minutes, and were certain they were well within safety limits. So Dortmunder called, “Come out with your hands up.”
Kelp said, “The robbers aren’t supposed to say that to the cops. The cops are supposed to say it to the robbers.”
Dortmunder ignored him. “Come out,” he called again. “Don’t make us drill you.”
There was no response.
“Flashlight,” Dortmunder said quietly, like a doctor asking for a scalpel, and Murch handed it to him. Dortmunder moved cautiously forward, pressed himself against the wall of the trailer, and slowly looked around the edge of the door frame. Both his hands were in front of himself, pointing the gun and the flashlight at the same spot.
There was no one in sight. Furniture lay scattered all over the place, and the floor was littered with credit-card applications, small change and playing cards. Dortmunder waggled the flashlight around, continued to see no one, and said, “That’s funny.”
Kelp said, “What’s funny?”
“There’s nobody there.”
“You mean we stole an empty bank?”
“The question is,” Dortmunder said, “did we steal an empty safe.”
“Oh oh,” Kelp said.
“I should have known,” Dortmunder said, “the first second I saw you. And if not you, when I saw your nephew.”
“Let’s at least look it over,” Kelp said.
“Sure. Give me a boost.”
All three of them climbed up into the bank and began to look around, and it was Murch who found the guards. “Here they are,” he said. “Behind the counter.”
And there they were, all seven of them, stuffed away on the floor behind the counter, jammed in amid filing cabinets and desks, sound asleep. Murch said, “I heard that one snoring, that’s how I knew.”
“Don’t they look peaceful,” Kelp said, looking over the counter at them. “It makes me woozy myself just to look at them.”
Dortmunder too had been feeling a certain heaviness, thinking it was the physical and emotional letdown after a successful job, but all at once he roused himself and cried, “Murch!”
Murch was half draped over the counter; it was hard to tell if he was looking at the guards or joining them. He straightened, startled by Dortmunder’s shout, and said, “What? What?”
“Is the motor still on?”
“My God, so it is,” Murch said. He reeled toward the door. “I’ll go turn it off.”
“No no,” Dortmunder said. “Just get that damn hose out of the ventilator.” He gestured with the flashlight toward the front of the trailer, where the hose had been pumping truck exhaust into the trailer for the last twenty minutes. There was a strong smell of garage inside the bank, but it hadn’t been enough to warn them right away not to fall into their own trap. The guards had been put to sleep by carbon monoxide, and their captors had almost just done the same thing to themselves.