Plunder Squad (14 page)

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?”

Tommy, hunched over the wheel of the Dodge, grinned and said, “Right on time.”

Parker nodded, but kept his eye on the back seat, where both troopers were tensing up a little, particularly the one without a name. They would finally be understanding what was happening now, and one or the other of them just might decide to be
moronic. While the radio kept talking in two voices, saying idle things while the switch of responsibility was being made, Parker said over it, “Bob, why don’t you talk to your partner? Explain to him how it would be better to stay alive and hope to be a witness at my trial.”

“Neither one of us is stupid,” Trooper Jarvis said coldly. “We know when to bide our time.” And beside him, the anonymous trooper could be seen to relax and give up his dreams of kicking Tommy in the head, opening the door with his teeth, and dashing to the nearest headquarters for help.

“That’s good,” Parker said, being careful to talk exclusively to Jarvis. There was no point tensing the other one up again.

“The only question is,” Jarvis said, “how stupid you people are.”

“We won’t kill you unless you push it,” Parker said. “That answer the question?”

“Partly.”

The radio had stopped talking; the switch had been made, and Mackey and Devers were now out front of the convoy, leading it down the road.

Grinning, Tommy said, “I like things neat. Neat and sweet and organized.”

“Then you won’t mind jail,” the anonymous trooper said.

Nobody reacted. His remark just sat there, being ignored by everybody, even Trooper Jarvis. Slowly, the anonymous trooper blushed. He blinked, he stared defiantly out the window, he pretended he wasn’t blushing, he even bit the insides of his cheeks to make it stop, but he was blushing.

It was another several miles to the exit for U.S. 51. Vandalia was to the south, but they turned north, following in the wake of Noelle, who would be taking 51 and 29 up to Springfield. But the people in the Dodge weren’t going that far. They weren’t going even as far as Ramsey; a few miles short of that town they turned off on a small road to the right, toward the Kaskaskia River.

Just about now, Mackey and Devers would be stopping the convoy and explaining to everybody that they’d just received
word on their radio about a bad accident up ahead, short of the Hamburg exit, blocking the entire road. They would have to make a detour, around through Ramsey and Hillsboro, rejoining the Interstate again at Greenville. If anybody in the convoy had a road map to follow, it would all look sensible, and not too much of a delay.

If there was trouble, Devers would get on the radio and say, “Is this Tobin?” Then Parker and Tommy and Lou Sternberg would get out of this part of the country as quickly as they could, leaving Devers and Mackey to work things out as best they could for themselves.

About half a mile in the side road, a small dirt track led off to the right. Tommy nosed the car in there, and stopped, leaving the engine and lights on.

“We get out here,” Parker said. “But we’re very slow and careful about it.”

Jarvis would be getting out on Tommy’s side, leaving Parker to take care of the excitable one. But there wasn’t any trouble, and when both troopers were out they were marched into the woods to the right of the car, put in seated position with their backs against trees, and then tied there with their belts through both elbows and around behind the tree.

“I’ll see you two again,” the anonymous trooper said. He sounded grim and dangerous, but it was just to soothe his ego.

Tommy laughed at him. “You wouldn’t know me if you fell over me. How can you tell one hippie from another?”

“That hair’s all a disguise,” the trooper said, loud and angry. “Don’t you think I figured that out? I know what you really look like, I’ve been studying your face.”

Tommy roared with laughter, clutching a tree to hold himself up. Parker looked at the other trooper, Jarvis, and saw him being expressionless and aloof. He would know, as Parker did, that his partner had just said something incredibly stupid, whether he was right or wrong. If he was wrong, he’d made a fool of himself, and if he was right, he’d just asked to be killed.

Still laughing, Tommy said to the trooper, “Man, you are something else. You’re a trip and a half. I’d like to keep you
around in a cage, poke you with a stick every once in a while, and just listen to you talk.”

Quietly, Jarvis said, “But that’s what we’re going to do to you.” Said without his partner’s bluster, it was an effective remark.

Tommy lost all his humor. He stood glaring at Jarvis, and even in the dim shine from the car headlights Parker could see him thinking about doing some kicking. There was no point in that, and no need for it; Parker said, “Come on, it’s time.”

Tommy looked over at him, his eyes glinting slightly. “Right,” he said, his voice flat, and followed Parker through the trees back to the car.

They switched roles now, Parker getting behind the wheel to do the driving, and Tommy sliding in on the passenger side. They’d left the motor running, and Parker shifted into reverse, made a tight U-turn, and drove back out to the two-lane main road. Instead of turning either left or right when he got there, he angled almost directly across the blacktop, moving slowly, and steering to the left for the last few feet so as to put the right front wheel in the ditch. Now the rear of the car jutted out diagonally into the road, its headlights visible in the direction the convoy would be coming from.

Tommy said, “Can we get it back out of the ditch later?”

“Yes,” Parker said. He switched off the motor but left the lights on, and got out of the car. Tommy also got out, and they walked back across the road and then down along the shoulder southbound, their way illuminated by the Dodge’s headlights. They walked about two hundred feet, and then Parker stopped and looked back, judging the distance. “This should do it,” he said, and led the way off the road and in among the trees.

The two of them went ten or twelve feet in from the road, and then stopped and waited, leaning against tree trunks and looking out toward the road. Tommy said, “Just so no Good Samaritan shows up before they get here.”

“We checked it out well enough,” Parker said. “There’s no traffic on this road before seven, seven-thirty.”

“You never know,” Tommy said. “You never know who’s gonna get drunk and go visit Aunt Tillie.”

Parker said nothing to that. It was true, and it was the variable in any situation, the unexpected civilian walking into the middle of somebody else’s plan. But there was never any way to prepare for it, so all you could do was hope it wouldn’t happen. Or, if it did happen, hope you could absorb it without lousing things up.

They waited about five minutes, neither saying anything more, and the first they knew of the convoy’s arrival was when a dim red light began to flicker on the branches over their heads. Mackey and Devers, having seen the apparent accident ahead of them, had switched on their overhead flasher, would now accelerate away from the rest of the convoy, and come to a stop next to the Dodge, finishing at a slight angle so that the two vehicles, the patrol car and the Dodge, would completely block the road.

Headlights, out through the trees. Parker felt Tommy tense up beside him; the boy was surprisingly good and cool for his age, but everybody tenses.

The police car went by, red light turning. Tommy whispered, “Come on, come on.”

And here came the rest. The first Plymouth went by, and then the truck, slowing down, and finally the second Plymouth; its brake lights made a red pool on the road surface, to match the turning red light sliding along the tree branches up above.