“I’ll check out the car,” Trooper MacAndrews said. He needed to get away from that girl for a few seconds.
Trooper Jarvis nodded, and kept frowning at the boy.
As Trooper MacAndrews moved away, the boy started the inevitable this-is-the-first-time-can’t-we-just-forget-it number. Well, maybe they could and maybe they couldn’t. Partly it would be determined by what, if anything, Trooper MacAndrews found in their car. And he was inclined to believe he would find either liquor or marijuana, and most likely marijuana.
The girl’s body was too close to the right side of the car for comfort, so Trooper MacAndrews walked around to the left. It was a two-door model, with busted glass in the side windows and Kentucky license plates; amazing it was permitted on the road in any state in the Union. Trooper MacAndrews shook his head in disgust as he walked up to the driver’s door and opened it, and looked in at the man crouched on the floor on the right-hand side. He was big, crowded in there, and he looked very mean. So did the pistol in his hand, which was pointing straight at MacAndrews’ head.
“One move,” the man said, “and you’ll never live again.”
Part 4
One
Parker watched the state cop slowly absorb the situation. His own gun was tucked away neatly in its regulation holster, and he didn’t have a prayer of either slamming the door or ducking out of sight before Parker could put a bullet in his head.
“Just stand right there,” Parker said softly. “Wait it out, everything’ll be okay.”
Matching Parker’s quiet tone, the cop said, “I don’t know what your game is, mister, but you’re making a big mistake if you—”
“All set!”
Stan Devers’ voice. Parker said to the cop, “Straighten up and look at your partner.”
The cop’s brow was furrowed, more in perplexity than alarm. He had been half leaning forward, still in the position of having just opened the car door, but now he slowly straightened and looked over the top of the car toward his partner. Parker watched his face, and saw him take in what had happened over there. The two troopers had been first distracted, and then separated, and were now both under control.
“Keep your hands away from the car door,” Parker said, “and back up three paces. Straight back, slow and easy.”
The trooper looked angry, affronted. “You’re going to regret this, my friend,” he said, his jaw tight, but he backed up three paces and stood there obediently waiting for what would happen next.
Which was that Devers appeared, in a State Police uniform, a gun in his hand. He wore the uniform well, and he was grinning. “Okay,” he said to Parker. “I’ve got him now.”
Parker at once shifted position, lifting himself up out of the awkward crouch on the floor, twisting around so he could open the passenger door and step out onto the gravel.
Noelle was just to his left, dressed now and folding the blanket. She was a very serious girl, methodical and humorless almost all the time, and her expression was intent as she squared off the corners of the blanket on each fold.
Off to the right, Ed Mackey, in another State Police uniform, was holding a gun pointed at the second trooper while Tommy Carpenter manacled his hands behind his back with his own cuffs. Tommy was also dressed again by now, and being fast and serious. Mackey didn’t look as good in a uniform as Devers; even though it was the right size for him, it gave an impression of having been made for a slightly different species of creature, like the overalls on the monkey in the circus who rides the tricycle.
Parker looked at his watch; they still had about four minutes. He said to Mackey, “Everything all right?”
“Just fine,” Mackey said. “This guy’s sensible, you can tell by looking at him.”
What Parker could tell by looking at him was that the second trooper was even madder than the first. But he was controlling it, and he looked smart enough to go on controlling it. So long as everybody stayed alert and didn’t give him any openings.
Devers was bringing the first trooper around to join them, and Noelle was tossing the blanket in the car. Then she shut the passenger door, and hurried around to the driver’s side to get behind the wheel and take the Chevrolet away from there. Her part of the job was finished; after unloading the Chevy, she’d wait up in Springfield with the Volkswagen Microbus for Tommy to rejoin her when everything was over with.
”Done,” Tommy said, and stepped away from the second trooper. He moved over to take care of the first trooper the same way.
Parker walked over to the second trooper, who looked at him and said, “You’d be smart to give this up right now.” Parker ignored that. He said, “What’s your name?”
“Trooper Jarvis.”
“First name.”
“Robert.”
“They call you Bob?”
Trooper Jarvis’ eyes narrowed. “Some people do,” he said, being reluctant about it.
“All right, Bob. Take it easy.” Parker walked over to the first trooper, as Tommy finished handcuffing him. “What’s your name?”
This one was younger, and was still feeling more insulted than angry. And also more insulted than scared, which might be trouble. It was better to deal with a man who understood the situation. Instead of which, this one was getting on his high horse. After a quick glance over at Trooper Jarvis, he said angrily, “You don’t need my name.”
Time was getting tight. This one would follow Trooper Jarvis’ lead, so the hell with him. Keep Jarvis reined in and you’d have them both. “That’s all right,” Parker said. He motioned with his revolver. “Start walking that way.”
“Maybe I’d rather not.”
A mule, and stupid. Parker was deciding whether to use words or the gun butt when Tommy Carpenter kicked the trooper in the rump hard enough to make him hop, and said, “Move your ass, or I’ll whip it into the next county.”
Country boys understood one another. Glaring around in all directions, the anonymous trooper started to move.
Now Tommy led the way, with Jarvis and the other trooper behind him, and Parker bringing up the rear. Back at the U-turn, Noelle was driving off, accelerating the Chevrolet like a stock-car racer, while Mackey and Devers were getting into the Highway Patrol car. Mackey would drive, and Devers would operate the radio.
Ahead of Parker was their other car, a two-year-old Dodge sedan, also equipped with a police radio, on which they’d heard these troopers arranging when and where to meet the art convoy. Griffith’s first ten-thousand-dollar payment had bought this car and its radio, and the old Chevrolet, and the State Police uniforms, and the Reo cab waiting up ahead, and everything else—with a few dollars left over.
The Dodge was a four-door, so there was no trouble getting the troopers into the back seat. They sat awkwardly, because of their hands behind their backs, but there was room for them to make themselves fairly comfortable.
Tommy drove, and Parker sat beside him, half turned and watching the two troopers, his revolver showing atop the seat-back. He didn’t expect to have to shoot anybody, and didn’t want to shoot anybody, but it was a good idea to remind them both—particularly the one without a name—that the possibility was still there.
The Dodge had been left on the center grass strip of the highway, just beyond the U-turn, out of sight of the troopers when they arrived. It was facing toward the U-turn, the same direction that the paintings would be coming. Once everybody was in place in the car, Tommy took right off, driving in the same style as Noelle. When they passed the U-turn, all Parker could see was a State Police car with two troopers inside it.
They’d traveled another mile or two down the road when the police radio began to talk. A somewhat hoarse voice said, “Five-six-two?”
“We’re here.” That was Stan Devers’ voice. “Is that you I see coming?”