“I had it coming,” Beaghler said. “I got a bad temper, it gets me into trouble all the time. I’d be rich and retired and well off today, except I shoot my mouth off all the time.”
“All right.”
“So I wanted you to know that, in front.”
“Now about Uhl.”
“Right.” Beaghler paused to make a right turn, then said, “I guess you know the San Simeon thing didn’t work out.”
“I knew Ducasse left.”
“It was my own fault. I should of done it different. Anyway, after it fell through, George Walheim went over to Sacramento and tied in with some other people that were doing a thing over there. You remember him? George Walheim?”
“The lockman I met at your place.”
“Right. And they already had a driver, so they didn’t need me. But George worked with them, and damn if another guy in on it wasn’t this fellow you’re after, George Uhl. You know, two guys named George, you remember the name. It struck us both at the time. I mean, George Walheim and me.”
“Is that where Uhl is? Sacramento?”
“Not any more. Let me tell you the story.”
Parker shrugged. He didn’t need the whole story, but if he had to wait through it he could.
“George didn’t tell me about this— I mean George Walheim.”
“I know who you mean.”
“Yeah. Anyway, he didn’t tell me about Uhl until after they did their job together, you know?”
“What was the job?”
“I don’t know exactly. I think it was one of those discount stores at a shopping center outside Sacramento. I think that was the one they did, but I don’t know exactly.”
“How much did they get?”
“I don’t know. But I do know George is flush. George Walheim. He’s very happy about it. I’d guess he got maybe ten grand or more for himself out of it. He’s really happy.”
“So Uhl should have the same amount.”
“That’s what I figure.” Beaghler gave Parker a fast grin, then faced front again. “And I figure half of it is mine,” he said. “I’ll show you where Uhl is, I’ll help you take him, and we’ll split the money.”
“Where’s Uhl now?”
“In a farmhouse in the mountains.” Beaghler grinned again and said, “Hiding out from you.”
“How do you know he’s there?”
“It’s the place they all went after they pulled their job. Then when they split up, Uhl said he was going to stay there maybe a month or two, because there was a guy looking for him and he wanted to lay low.” Beaghler gave Parker another bright-eyed look and said, “That was you.”
“Walheim told you how to find the farmhouse?”
“I already knew about it. I used it a couple times myself.”
“Who else is there besides Uhl?”
“Nobody.”
“You know that for sure?”
A touch of Beaghler’s underlying nervousness showed through. He said, “He was alone when George left, that’s all I know for sure.”
Squinting at Parker, he said, “You think maybe he’s got friends with him now?”
“I don’t know.”
Beaghler brooded through the windshield at the traffic. He said, “Well, we’re gonna come at him from the back, so it should work out okay.” Another quick glance at Parker. “Don’t you think so?”
“We’ll see,” Parker said.
Six
“Here’s where we switch,” Beaghler said.
They were just below Fremont, on a secondary road heading southeast, already starting to climb toward the mountains. Beaghler was making a left where a wooden sign in need of fresh paint said: Doughtery’s Campsites—Mobile Homes—Sales, Service—Trailer Park—Eat. A gravel road led in between two ragged lines of old-looking trailers. A white clapboard house, also in need of paint, was up-slope to the right.
Parker said, “Switch to what?”
“The ATV. I told you about it.” Beaghler drove slowly down the gravel road, the Chevy’s engine growling low as if in greeting to all the wheeled houses.
“Why do we switch to that?”
“I told you, we’ll come at him from the back.” Beaghler steered around a group of children, who gave blank-faced stares as the car went by. “There’s only the one road in,” Beaghler said. “It’s dirt, it’s dryer’n hell, you drive along there you raise a dust cloud you can see for ten miles. That’s what makes it such a good place to hole up.”
Remembering Beaghler’s scheme of driving through mountains for ten hours with the statues from San Simeon, Parker said, “How far is it, the back way?”
”Ten miles, fifteen miles.” Beaghler said it in a dismissing way, as though the distance were unimportant.
“How long to get there?”
“From here? Less than an hour.” Beaghler had reached the end of the line of trailers. He turned right onto a dirt lane that climbed up and curved around behind the white house. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it won’t take long. Not like down around Big Sur.”
Parker said, “Who are the people here?”
“Friends of mine. I keep my ATV here, I don’t like to drive it in the city. Wait’ll you see it, it’s a sweetheart.”
Parker recognized the vehicle the instant it came into view, around behind the house. Amid the half-dozen junkers scattered around the weeds, the high and boxy ATV stood out like a Marine sergeant in a roomful of winos. It was of the type of a Land Rover, jeeplike in the bottom half and trucklike in the top, with windows all around and the spare tire mounted high on the back like a man wearing a holstered gun waist-high on his hip. The tires were large and wide and deep-treaded, and the grill and headlights were covered by a mesh screen. A five-gallon gasoline jerry can was mounted on the left side, just ahead of the driver’s door, and the whip antenna curving back over the roof suggested a short-wave radio inside.
Beaghler parked between his ATV and a wheelless Volkswagen Microbus. He said, “I’ll just go in and say hello to my friends. Be right back.”
They got out of the car, and while Beaghler went off to the house Parker strolled around the ATV. It was made in Japan, a brand name he’d never seen before. There were four separate seats inside, two and two, all bolted to the floor and easily removable. The stowage area behind the rear seats contained a toolbox, a coiled length of heavy chain, a hatchet, and two folded wool blankets, blue, with U S on them in black.
The vehicle was unlocked, and its floor a high step up. Parker sat in the front passenger seat, left the door open, and looked around at the interior. A bubble compass in fluid was mounted on top of the dashboard, there were seat belts for all four chairs, and four cans of oil were stowed in a cardboard box under the rear right seat. A first-aid kit was mounted under the dash, and the glove compartment contained flashlight, matches, two red flares, and a pair of heavy canvas work gloves.
Beaghler came back while Parker was still going through the glove compartment. He opened the driver’s door and grinned in, saying, “Outfitted pretty good, huh?”
“Yes,” Parker said. Whatever else Beaghler might be, he took his vehicles seriously.
Beaghler swung up behind the wheel as Parker shut the glove compartment. “This is my baby,” Beaghler said, and touched the steering wheel and gearshift just as he had done with the Chevy. And once again he seemed to get strength and power direct from the machine; it made him grin some more, and hold the stance.
Parker looked around some more. He moved the two sun visors up and down, then reached under his seat and found the Smith & Wesson Military and Police .38 tucked away in a holster attached to the under part of the seat. It wasn’t a spring clip holster like the one Parker used when traveling, but an ordinary leather pocket; the revolver made a snug fit in it, and the opening was at the side, but the gun could still fall out on a bad jounce.
Beaghler’s grin had gotten a little tight. He stayed where he was, hands on steering wheel and gearshift, and watched Parker holding the gun. “That’s just for in close,” he said.