“Bill,” she said softly, “I’m getting really scared now. Are we all ready?”
“We’re all ready,” I said. “Listen—I’ve got to get Macaulay first. They’re not sure where he is, and if it works right they won’t even know he’s gone. They won’t suspect anything’s happening. But when you disappear, everything’s going to hit the fan.”
“I understand,” she said.
I went on, sweating inside the booth. I could see the watchman down in the other end of the yard. “Tell him to dress in dark clothes and wear soft-soled shoes. He’s to come out the back door at around nine-ten. That’ll give him plenty of time to get his eyes accustomed to the darkness and make sure there’s nobody in the alley itself. I don’t think there will be, because they’re too smart to be loitering where somebody might see them and call the police. They’re watching the ends of it, sitting in cars. I’ll come down Brandon Way and stop at the mouth of the alley at exactly nine-twenty—”
“But, Bill—You can’t stop there. He’ll know what you’re doing. He’ll kill you.”
“He’ll be busy,” I said. “I’ve got a diversion for him, and I think it’ll work. Now the truck will be between him and the mouth of the alley. Tell Macaulay to come fast the minute the truck stops. And if anything goes wrong he’s to keep coming toward the truck. If he breaks and goes back he hasn’t got a chance. But I don’t think there’ll be a hitch. Tell him when he reaches it to stand a little behind the door and just put his hand up on the frame of the window, near the corner. And he’s not to try to get in, or even open the door, until the truck starts moving. If he even puts his weight on the running board while it’s stopped, that guy may hear it. Got all that?”
“Yes,” she said. “Then what?”
“You’re next. Have you ever been to a drive-in movie?”
“Yes. Several times.”
“All right. As soon as he leaves the house at nine-ten you lock all the doors. Be standing right by the phone at nine-twenty. If you hear any commotion or gunshots, call the cops and hide, fast. A prowl car will get there before they can get in and clobber you for having him hidden in the house. But if you don’t hear anything, you’ll know he got away. So leave the house at nine-thirty. Just go out front to your car and drive off. Some of them will follow you, of course. Go to the Starlite drive-in, out near the beach on Centennial Avenue. Centennial runs north and south. Approach from the north, and try to time it so you get there at ten minutes before ten. If you look you’ll see a black panel truck parked somewhere in the last block before you get to the entrance. That’ll be me. Drive on in.
“Now, all this is important. Be sure you get it right. This is Saturday night, so it’ll be pretty full. But you know how they’re laid out, fan-wise, spreading out from the screen, and there are always a few parking places along the edge because the angle’s poor out there. Enter one of the rows and drive across to the exit, slowly, looking for a good spot. But there aren’t any. So you wind up clear over at the end. Sit there twenty minutes, and then back out. You’ve decided you don’t like that, and there must be something better farther back. So drop back a row and go back to the entrance side again. Park there for five or ten minutes, and then get out and walk down to the ladies room in the building where the projector is. Kill about five minutes and then come back to the car. The minute you get in, back out and drive toward the exit. Before you get to it, pull into one of the parking places along the edge, and step out, on the right hand side. Don’t scream when a hand grabs your arm. It’ll be mine.”
“Won’t they still be following me?”
“Not any more,” I said. “By the time you come back from the ladies’ room I’ll know who he is.”
“You think he’ll get out of his car, too?”
“Yes. It’s like this. There’ll probably be two cars tailing you. When they see you go into a drive-in theater one man will follow you in to be sure it’s not a dodge for you to transfer to some other car. And the other bunch will stay outside near the exit to pick you up coming out, because there’s a hellish jam of cars fighting for the exit when the movie breaks up and they could lose you if they both went inside. There’s just one thing more. If an intermission comes along, sit tight where you are. You’ve got to make those two moves and that trip to the powder room while the picture’s running and not many people are wandering around. It’s darker then, too; nobody has his lights on.”
“Yes, but how are you going to stop him from following me the second time? Bill, they’re dangerous. They use guns.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “He won’t even see me. When he gets out to follow you on foot I’ll just get in his car and pull all the ignition wires loose from the switch, under the dash. By the time he tumbles to the fact his car’s not going to start, you’ll already be down at the other end of the row and in my truck. When the picture’s over, we just drive out, along with everybody else.”
“All right. But you’ll be careful, won’t you?”
“Yes, if you say so.”
“I do say so,” she said softly.
“Why?” I asked. I couldn’t help it.
“Couldn’t we put it this way—if anything happens to you we wouldn’t get away.”
“We’ll call it that.”
“Yes,” she said. Then she added, “That, at the very least.”
She hung up.
* * *
I sweated it out. Somehow, after a long time, it was dark. I was growing increasingly nervous after eight o’clock and kept looking at my watch every few minutes. At eight-fifty I picked up the big flashlight I’d bought with the stores, and got in the truck. The watchman let me out the gate.
I skirted the edge of the downtown area and went on west. Crossing Brandon Way, I looked at the numbers and saw I was about ten blocks north of Fontaine Drive. I turned left at the next corner, went nine blocks, and turned left again. Just short of the corner I pulled to the curb under some big trees and stopped. This was a block and a half above him. I flipped the lighter and looked at my watch. It was 9:10. I waited, feeling dry in the mouth. A lot depended on just a flashlight and a panel truck.
The thing was to give him just a little time to look it over, so I wouldn’t spring it on him too suddenly, on the same principle that you never surprise a snake if you can help it. He’d be able to see what I was doing, and as I passed under the street light at the intersection of Fontaine Drive he’d see the black sides of the truck. My headlights would cover the Louisiana license plate. I took another look at the watch. It was 9:18. I stepped on the starter and eased away from the curb.
Switching on the flashlight, I held it in my left hand and shot the beam into dark places under the trees and back among the hedges as I came slowly down the street. After crossing Fontaine I could see him. He was in the same place, facing this way. I flashed the light into another hedge.
I had to calculate the angles fast now. I was well out in the center of the street, watching the mouth of the alley on his side. He was parked just beyond it. I stopped with my window opposite his, and at the same time I threw the light against the side of his car but not quite in his face.
“You seen anything of a stray kid?” I asked, as casually as I could with that dryness in my mouth. “Boy, about four, supposed to have a dog with him—”
It worked.
I could feel the breath ooze out of me as a tough voice growled from just above the light. “Nah. I haven’t seen any kid.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I said. I felt along the edge of the window frame in the opposite door. Hurry. For the love of Christ, hurry.