“One man,” the speaker-phone said.
Vigano frowned and sat forward in the chair, bringing his hands down to rest on the empty desk. Over on the sofa, Andy and Mike looked alert. Vigano said, “What’s that?”
“One man, civilian clothing, has approached our people.”
Just one? Move the cars into position now, or wait for the other one? “What’s happening?”
Silence for nearly a minute. Vigano frowned at the phone, feeling tense even though he knew everything had to be all right. But he didn’t want anything unexpected now; if he lost that two million, it would be his head.
He wouldn’t lose it.
“Mr. Vigano?”
Vigano gave the phone an angry look. Who else would it be? He said, “What’s going on?”
“It’s one of them all right. He’s taken some of the money out of the — Hold on a second.”
“Took some money? What the hell are you talking about?”
Nothing. Andy and Mike were both looking as though they wanted to find something cheerful to say, but they’d damn well better keep their mouths shut.
“Mr. Vigano?”
“Just talk, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, sir. The other one showed up, in a police car.”
“A what? In the park?”
“Yes, sir. In uniform, in a police car.”
“Son of a bitch,” Vigano said. Now that he knew what was going on, he felt better. Giving Andy and Mike a tight grin, he said, “I told you they were cute.” He turned back to the phone: “Move the cars in. Don’t change anything, do it all like we figured.”
“Yes, sir.”
Andy got to his feet in a sudden motion, betraying the nervousness he’d been covering up. He said, “They must really be cops.”
“Probably.” Vigano felt grim, but confident.
“How do we stop cops?” Andy spread his hands, looking bewildered. “What if they just drive out of the park, order our people to move over?”
Mike said, “We can follow them, take care of them some place quieter.”
“No,” Vigano said. “There’s too many ways to lose them outside. We finish it in the park.”
Mike said, “Against cops?”
“They’re just men,” Vigano said. “They wipe themselves like anybody else. And they can’t call their brother cops to come help them, not with two million bucks in the car.”
“So what do we do?” Mike said, and at the same instant the phone said, “Everybody’s set, Mr. Vigano.”
“Listen,” Vigano told Mike. He said to the phone, “Spread the word. They stay in the park. If they try to get out, we can force them to stop at our cars. When they do, kill them, take our goods, clear out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hold on, there’s more. If they don’t try to leave the park, we just keep them bottled up until the park is opened to cars. Then we drive in, surround them, finish it the same way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The main point is, they don’t leave the park.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vigano leaned back again, smiled at Andy and Mike, and said, “See? They’re cute, but we’ve got everything covered.”
Andy and Mike both grinned, and Andy said, “They’ve got a surprise coming.”
“That’s just what they have,” Vigano said.
Nobody said anything after that for a minute or two, until the phone suddenly said, in an excited voice, “Mr. Vigano!”
“What?”
“They’re crossing us! They took off with our goods and didn’t leave anything! And they’ve got Bristol with them in the car.”
“He’s gone over to them?” That didn’t sound right; the people to carry the money had been very carefully selected.
“No, sir. They must have pulled a gun on him.”
“They’re headed south?”
“Yes, sir.”
Vigano squinted, visualizing the park. If they’d come in to try a double cross, they had to have some method for getting away again. Where would it be? Vigano said, “Cover the transverse roads. They might decide to cut across the grass and out that way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pass that one on.”
While the man was gone from the phone, Vigano kept thinking. How fast would a car move, surrounded by bicycles? It was no good settling for holding them in the park now; they had to be stopped, as quick as possible.
“Mr. Vigano?”
“All spare men,” Vigano said, “get over to the section of the Drive on the east side, just south of the bridge over the first transverse road. Block the road there. Don’t let them through, finish them off.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Move!”
Andy and Mike were both leaning on the desk, giving him worried looks. Andy said, “What’s going on?”
“They’re starting from 85th Street,” Vigano said, “going south. The Drive takes them down to 59th, and then across the bottom of the park. They can’t move fast, not with all those bikes. Our people get over to the east side of the park first, block the road there. If they try to get out before then, they’re stopped. If they last that long, they’re stopped.”
“Good,” Andy said. “That’s good.”
“They’ve been cute for the last time,” Vigano said.
18
They were in motion. Joe faced front, steering the patrol car southward along the Drive, while Tom faced the rear, holding the .32 aimed at the guy in the back seat.
Joe tapped over and over on the horn, and ahead of him the bicyclists reluctantly got out of the way, their front wheels waggling back and forth as they glared at the automobile immorally in here during their special time.
From left and right, as they started away, they could see men running after them. There weren’t any guns in plain sight yet, but there might be any second. The other male picnicker was running along in their wake, leaving the two women sitting on the grass behind him, looking stunned.
They’d only been moving ten seconds or so. To both of them, every instant now seemed a distinct and separate thing, as though they were working in slow motion.
Tom said to the guy in the back seat, “You’ve got a gun under there. Take it out slowly, by the butt, with your thumb and first finger, and hold it up in the air in front of you.”
The guy said, “What’s the point in all this? We’re making the payoff.”
“That’s right,” Tom said. “And all your friends were here because they like fresh air. Take the gun out the way I said and hold it up in the air.”
The guy shrugged. “You’re making a big thing over nothing,” he said. But he pulled a Firearms International .38 automatic from under his jacket and held it up in front of himself like a dead fish.
Tom switched his own pistol to his left hand, and took the automatic away with his right. He dropped that on the seat, switched the pistol back to his right hand again and, still watching his prisoner, said to Joe, “How we doing?”
“Beautiful,” Joe said grimly. By keeping up almost a steady honking, he was managing to get bicycles and baby carriages out of his path without running over anybody, and was up to maybe twenty miles an hour; twice as fast as the general flow of bicycle traffic, and four times as fast as the men chasing them on foot.
The 77th Street exit was a little ways ahead. They couldn’t afford to stop and unload their passenger until they got out and away from the park, but that shouldn’t be long now.
Joe started the turn, seeing the sawhorses down at the other end of the feeder road, and just in the nick of time he saw the green Chevvy and the pale blue Pontiac across the road, just beyond the sawhorses. Three men were standing in front of the Chevvy, looking this way.
Joe hit the brakes. Tom, startled but not looking away from the guy in the back seat, said, “What’s the matter?”
“They got us blocked.”