“Right.”
Wiss changed over to the car, Elkins switched on his headlights, and the two vehicles drove away.
Fifty-four
Parker held the flashlight while Handy worked on the wall safe in Buenadella’s den.
The whole thing had taken less than half an hour. Fred Ducasse was dead. Tom Hurley had been shot in the arm, not badly, and had been taken away by Nick Dalesia; they wouldn’t be coming back. Dan Wycza and Ed Mackey and Stan Devers were upstairs strapping Grofield onto a mattress for the trip down and out of the house. Philly Webb and Mike Carlow were away getting other cars, to replace the ones that had been shot up a bit on the lawn.
Just as Handy popped the safe, Devers walked in, preceded by his own flashlight. “The ambulance just pulled in,” he said.
“Good.”
Handy was pulling wads of cash out of the safe. “Looks good,” he said.
“Here.” Parker gave him the flashlight. “I’ll be right back.”
Parker and Devers walked to the front of the house and outside. The cars were still on the lawn but their headlights had been switched off, so the only light out here now came from the ambulance. It had just come to a stop in front of the door. Frank Elkins got out, grinning, and said, “Looks like you handled things without me.”
Devers said, “We went through like a cold wind.”
Elkins had left the engine running and the lights on. Coming around to the near side, he gestured at the ambulance and said, “Isn’t she pretty?”
”Fine,” Parker said. It was a Cadillac, a long low vehicle of the kind used by private ambulance services; he had told them specifically he didn’t want the big boxy kind used by official agencies. This one would look more natural on the highway. It was painted white, and the hospital’s name was on the doors in blue lettering. Parker said, “I’ll have to do something about that name.”
Elkins said, “How long to get him where he’s going?”
“Twelve, fourteen hours.”
“Shit, you can do that run. You’ll be out of this state by morning.”
Devers said, “Let me see if I can find some paint. They had lawn furniture here, they might have some of that white spray enamel.” He went back into the house.
Elkins said, “It was interesting, Parker. Ralph’s waiting for me. See you around.”
“Right.”
Elkins walked out the driveway to where Wiss was waiting in their car. Parker opened the rear door of the ambulance, saw that it was heavily equipped inside, and looked up as Ed Mackey and Dan Wycza came out, carrying Grofield between them. They had taken a mattress from a single bed, strapped two long boards underneath it and Grofield on top of it, and carried him down the stairs that way. Parker helped transfer Grofield to the bed inside the ambulance and strap him in, and while he was doing that Carlow and Webb came back with fresh cars. Mackey and Wycza got in with Carlow and drove away, and Webb said, “Anybody else gonna want a lift?”
“Devers and McKay.”
“They better hurry. I’m beginning to get nervous.”
Webb was right. Half an hour was long enough; law could come by here at any time. Parker turned toward the house, and Devers and Handy came out together. Devers was wearing some sort of white jacket, and had found a spray can of white paint. He went to work removing the hospital name from the near door while Handy gave Parker a small light blue suitcase. “I found this in a closet and put the money in it.”
“You count it?”
“Just over fifty-eight thousand.”
Parker looked around. Darkness everywhere except for the flashlights and headlights right here. “Not enough,” he said.
Handy said, “What did they owe you?”
“Seventy-three.” Parker looked at the house. The explosion in the living room had blown out the windows. He shrugged and said, “I’ll settle.”
Handy laughed. “You’ll settle? I think you can say you collected.”
Philly Webb said, “Listen, you want a ride? I’m anxious to get out of here.”
“Right,” Handy said. “I’m with you.”
Devers was coming around the back of the ambulance, meaning to remove the wording on the rear door. Webb said to him, “You coming?”
Devers looked at Parker. “Why don’t I ride with you?”
Parker didn’t see the point. “What for?”
“You like my white coat? If there’s any trouble, you’re the dumb driver and I’m the bright young intern.” Devers grinned. “I feel like going for a ride,” he said. “I never went anywhere in an ambulance.”
“Then come along,” Parker said.
Fifty-five
Vibration.
Grofield opened his eyes, and what he saw made no sense to him. A low curved ceiling, chrome bars. Vibration under his back. He tried to lift his head, but it was too heavy; every part of him was heavy, he could barely move at all. Slowly he turned his head to the left, and there was a window there, no more than four inches away. Daytime. Countryside rushing by. I’m in a train, he thought, and tried to remember where he was going. Then the vehicle he was in passed a slow-moving car, and he realized he was on a highway, in a camper or a trailer or some damn thing with a bed.
He let his head roll back the way it had been before. Low padded ceiling. Chrome bars. A faint recurrent clinking sound.
A goddam ambulance!
Now what? he thought, and faded out of consciousness again.
When he came back, the quality of the light had changed; it must be afternoon. The vibration was the same. This time, he remembered the previous waking, and then began to remember things from the other direction: who he was, and that he owned a summer theater. He was broke, as usual, the theater in its normal desperation. He had gone with Parker to a place named . . .
Why couldn’t he think of the name?
He almost drifted away again, trying to remember the name of the city, when all at once he remembered being shot. Buenadella, the French doors, the man out there on the lawn. “The son of a bitch didn’t kill me,” he whispered. He was in awe of that.
“Hello?”
A voice. Grofield looked around, turning his head in small increments, and a cheerful blond fellow in a white jacket loomed over him. “Be damned if you aren’t awake,” he said.
“A distinct surprise to both of us,” Grofield whispered. He tried to make sounds with his throat, but the equipment there seemed too weak for the job. He whispered, “You a doctor?”
The guy laughed. He was really in high spirits; but on the other hand, he hadn’t been shot. He said, “You like the coat? Gives me that official look.”
“I was shot once before,” Grofield whispered. “When I woke up, a beautiful girl was climbing in the window.”
“Aw,” the guy said. “You’re disappointed.”
“Just so I wake up. The girl’s name was Elly.”
“Right. I’m Stan Devers. Your friend Parker is driving this thing.”
Grofield tried to turn his head; it wouldn’t go. Parker was driving the ambulance? He whispered, “What the hell happened?”
“Well,” Stan Devers said, “that’s a long story.”