Cop Out

Tuesday
The Deal

Malone went into action chewing on doom. I have no part or place in this, I知 the only one without a uniform or a gun, John doesn稚 trust me, I should never have gone to him, Ellen was right, it痴 not John痴 fault what else can he do it痴 his job, the fault is all mine I had no business becoming a cop. Being a cop is like being a Marine and what kind of Marine did I make. I should have handled this by myself all the way through. How could it have come out worse than this?

They were a force of twenty-two men, eight New Bradford officers besides Chief Secco and Malone, and a dozen troopers. They were packing shotguns and carbines and tear gas launcher attachments and gasmasks from the state police barracks and enough ammunition to face down a riot mob, no missing ingredient but the barricades.

And all for what. They don’t begin to realize the kind of kill-crazy kook they’re up against, a show of force like this is going to put his back up like a skunk and make him piss his stink, he’ll see all the dreams he dreamed of hate and glory in whatever shit pile he was dragged up in come true and he’ll go out blazing away and taking Bibby with him and me too I’ll be there I’ll be there to go with her. And what Ellen gets out of the deal is two graves side by side in New Bradford Cemetery. Poor kid. You rate better.

Unless… unless Hinch wants to live more than he’s scared of Furia. And wanting will find the brains he wasn’t born with to figure out a way to get on top. Get the better of Furia before it’s too late. You’re my ace, Hinch. In this hole I’m in.

One man one vote. That’s what it comes down to. Furia against Malone. Furia against Hinch. Not Furia against twenty-two law officers creeping up with funk in their mouths and guns in their hands.

“Don’t worry, Wes,” Chief Secco said. “It’s going to be all right.”

“Give me a written guarantee?”

“What you are and how you operate,” Secco said. “That’s the only guarantee there is, Wes.”

There was no communication after that.

The cars were left a quarter mile from Maccabee Road and they made their professional approach in the predawn lugging their weapons and ammo and masks to the Thatcher place like a platoon of grunts on search-and-destroy, every man’s face tight as a secret, every tongue tasting the death of somebody else. Can’t John see that? They’re disciplined and they’re set to follow orders but let Furia draw blood and see what happens.

John John. Bibby…

Come on Hinch.

Chief Secco’s operational plan was an attack in force while the enemy’s guard was down. Furia was not aware that his hideout was blown, he had no reason to post a lookout, they would have all the advantages of near darkness and a sleeping or sleepy foe, and overwhelming surprise would carry the day. A noiseless entry front and back, coordinated, the main group with rubbers over their shoes sneaking upstairs, Secco knew the old house well it was built in 1799 the chestnut floors were all creaked out and the stairs heavily carpeted… one burst into Furia’s room, heave a couple of gas cans, and that would be it. The child was sleeping with the woman in another bedroom according to Hinch, an auxiliary force would handle that at the same time. The woman was too smart to try anything foolish and Hinch was spoken for. If Furia elected or was able to shoot it out he would be blasted into a better world by a dozen guns before he could get his weapons up.

The sky was turning gray and there was just enough light to see by. Chief Secco had had the men synchronize their watches and every eye was on a second hand. There were eight men behind trees to the front of the house, eight men behind trees at the rear, and three men to each side hiding in shrubbery.

The men behind the house could see the back door broken half off its hinges where the gang had got in. The problem was the front door. It was shut and probably locked. They had debated whether to make entry in a body through the back door but decided to carry out the original plan. Sergeant Louis Lombard of the troopers had a picklock for tumbler locks and a can of 3-in-l to oil the hinges as a precaution against squeaks. The men at the rear were to give him forty seconds to get the front door open before they made their move.

Six men were to remain on guard outside against the impossibility that the gunman might break away from the force inside.

How could it go wrong?

It did. At zero minus fifty seconds Sergeant Lombard, allowing an extra ten seconds for his approach, ducked out from behind his tree. He was forty-three years old and he had a son fighting in Vietnam. He was a large man with large hands. In one he carried the oil can and the picklock, in the other his weapon. He ducked out from behind his tree and doubled over began to run on the balls of his feet across the lawn toward the front door. He was no more than a third of the way to the door when Furia shot him from a downstairs window, one-and-two-three. His favorite number. Because of the poor light the first shot missed Lombard’s heart and smacked into the shoulder of the arm carrying the oil can and the picklock. The oil can and the picklock flew up and over his head. The second shot struck him in the business hand and the revolver went off from the convulsion of his trigger finger. The weapon dropped in a plumbline to the grass. The third shot zinged over his head and struck the tree behind which Malone was hiding. The sergeant became a crab, by instinct skittering on all fours away from his death, shattered right hand between body and grass holding his shattered left shoulder.

For two seconds there was nothing but the morning. Then, as one man, as by an order heard in the blood, Chief Secco’s army opened fire front and rear. Every window on the ground floor was a black hole in a moment.

They kept firing.

Sergeant Lombard reached the trees, gave Sherm Hamlin a white grin as Hamlin hauled him to safety, and passed out.

“Stop firing, stay under cover!” Secco was yelling. “Harry, work your way around to the back and tell them to stop firing there, too!”

Soon they stopped. A truce settled over the unconscious trooper’s moans. One trooper ran back in the direction of the cars, another began to drag the wounded man away.

“They could have killed Bibby,” Malone was saying brokenly, “maybe they did, John.”

“No, she’s all right, I tell you, I know she is.” The seams in Secco’s cheeks seemed rubbed with dirt. He grabbed a bullhorn. “Furia! Can you hear me?”

“I hear you.” The call, a saucy spin, came from behind a wide crack in the front door. “Anybody else shoots and I blow the kid’s head off. I got her right in front of me. Want to see?”

The door opened wider. The light was better now and Malone saw a small white valentine face with blank eyes like her doll’s. Behind her crouched Furia. The Colt was jammed against her head, just behind the ear.

She’s alive she’s still alive. Hinch why don’t you jump him from behind? Now.

“Nobody’s going to shoot any more if you don’t.” The enlargement of Chief Secco’s voice by the bullhorn gave it an almighty quality, stern, patient, paternal. “Furia, the house is surrounded by twenty-two police officers. You can’t get away. You wouldn’t have a prayer. Send Barbara out unharmed and toss out your guns. If you do that without any further resistance or bloodshed the district attorney says he’ll take it into account. You’ll get the best break possible, I have the D.A.’s word on that. What do you say?”

Now Hinch while John does his thing.

The door banged open and Furia rose from his heels where he was squatting. He had Barbara about the waist with his left arm, holding her up before him. As the gunman straightened Secco grunted in surprise. Furia’s face was covered by the Papa Bear mask.

So now you know what you’re dealing with, John.

“You think you can con me with that D.A. crap?” Furia shouted through the mask. His right hand flourished the Colt, the Walther automatic was stuck in his waistband. “No more than Hinch. Your stooge is a Mr. No-Brains, don’t you know that? He couldn’t keep nothing from me, I’m way ahead of him, always was. I worked him over and it wasn’t ten minutes ago I got out of him about that call to the kid’s old man. I know all about your deals. Here’s the only deal Hinch rates. And it’s not from you, fuzz, it’s from me.”

Hinch appeared. His arms were jammed behind his back, apparently lashed together. A handkerchief had been shoved into his mouth, his own belt was the gag that secured it, nothing-sounds were coming out. His pants were halfway to his knees, he was wriggling like a go-go dancer from the waist down in a comical effort to keep them up without hands. His hair had turned a brighter shade of red that had run down his face and dripped onto his shirt. The same shade of red was dribbling from his mouth. One eye was closed and swollen a funereal purple-black.

“Go, man, go,” Furia gurgled. He set his foot in the small of Hinch’s back and kicked. Hinch staggered forward and fell on his face. He was up in an incredible acrobatics and hobbling furiously toward the trees. Furia leveled the Colt and shot him one-and-two-three. He stuck the Colt in his belt and whipped out the Walther. The child shielding him showed no expression.

“You wanted my answer, fuzz, there it is,” the little man in the Papa Bear mask said. “Malone?”

“Here I am,” Malone said.

“Wes, for God’s sake!”

Malone stepped out from behind his tree.

“Here I am,” Malone said again.

“Your fuzz buddies think I’m putting on an act,” Furia said. “They think that’s ketchup on Hinch and we’re playing like in the movies. Go over to Hinch and tell your fuzz buddies that’s real blood and he’s real dead.”

“Wes, he’ll shoot you, too… “

Malone walked over the grass to Hinch. Hinch lay on his face with his knees drawn under him as if he were praying to Mecca. All three of Furia’s bullets had gone into the back of his head, most of which was not there.

Malone looked around and nodded.

“Come back, Wes!”

“Stay there, Malone, I’m talking.” Malone remained over Hinch’s body. “Okay? Got the message? Now here’s the rest of my answer. You fuzz sonsabitches out there blow. You’re going to let me and my woman and Malone’s kid ride out of here and you ain’t going to raise a hand to stop us. I give you five minutes to make up your mind. If you ain’t gone in five minutes, every mother’s fuzz out there, I’ll throw the kid out on top of Hinch without a head.”

He stepped back with Barbara. The door all but closed.

Malone walked back to the trees.

“He means it,” Secco said thoughtfully.

“Aren’t you going to do it, John?” Malone asked.

Secco was silent.

“You’ve got to. He told you what he’d do to Bibby if you don’t.”

“He killed Tom Howland. He’s shot Sergeant Lombard. He murdered this Hinch in front of my eyes.”

“So you want him to add my daughter to his list?”

“Let’s not go for each other, Wes. Even if I were willing I have no authority to order the troopers away. With Sergeant Lombard out of commission I’d have to get in touch with the barracks-”

“There’s no time for that. Five minutes, he said.”

Secco touched Malone’s arm. “We’ll have to rush him. There’s no other way now. We’ll use the tear gas first so he won’t be able to see Barbara to shoot her-”

Malone twitched and the hand fell away. “You’d gamble on that after what you just saw?”

“I have no choice.”

“I have.”

“Where are you going?”

Malone walked out into the clear again. The sun had come up and it threw a long extension of him over the grass. He saw it and thought that’s me too.

“Furia? You still behind the door?”

The crack widened. “What do you want?”

“Listen. You and Chief Secco both.” I’ve got to stop shaking, why am I shaking, I feel great. “John? I’m going over to the other side.”

“What?” Secco cried.

“I’m through. I’m not playing on the team any more.”

“What team? What are you talking about?”

“Look at what it’s got me.”

“Wes,” Secco said. “Come back a minute. Let’s talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Not any more.”

“But Wes, you can’t do a thing like that!”

“Watch me.”

“Think of Ellen-”

“Who else am I thinking of? How long do you suppose she’d live with me if I let Bibby die? How long could I live with myself?”

“But this isn’t the way to do it-”

Malone took the badge out of his pocket and Secco stopped talking. It said new Bradford police and the number 7. Lucky seven. He hurled it at the trees. It caught the sun and glittered like a hooked fish. It fell and was lost.

“Furia, you still there?”

“I don’t fall for no fuzz trick.”

“No trick, Fure. They won’t make a deal with you, I will. I know where the payroll money is.”

“Where?”

“That’s my price. I’ll help you get the money back. And get away. You give me back my daughter when you’re in the clear. That’s the deal. I have no gun and I don’t give a damn if you steal a million and live to be a hundred. All I want is my child back and to get her I’m ready to face prison if they arrest me. Deal?”

“And what are your fuzz buddies going to be doing all this time, hold my hand?”

“They’ll do what I say. To get you they’re going to have to risk shooting me and Barbara, and they won’t do that. Will you,John?”

“Won’t you think a minute, Wes?” Chief Secco said. “He’ll never give you Barbara no matter what you do for him. He’ll kill you both after you get him out of New Bradford.”

“That’s the chance I take.”

“If you’ll do it my way-”

“I’ve done it your way. It doesn’t work. All I have left is me, myself.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s always been true.”

“Then it’s always been wrong. Nobody makes it by copping out.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“What would you call it, Wes?”

“All right, then I’m copping out.”

“People have to pull together. When we’re in the same boat. And we all are.”

“Don’t preach to me, John.”

“Every decent man.”

“Every decent man isn’t in my spot.”

“That’s when it’s most important! Wes, before it’s too late-”

Malone turned his back on the tree. “Furia?”

“Yeah.” The spinny voice sounded interested.

“Will you hold off on your five-minute deadline till I can come in and talk to you?”

“What for?”

“You still want that money, don’t you? Well, without me you’ll never get it. It’s in a bank vault.”

“In a what?”

“Let me come in and I’ll explain the whole thing. You’ll never swing the money and a getaway with just Goldie now that you’ve killed Hinch. You’ll need help and I’m your only answer. Do we have a deal?”

“Shut up, Goldie!” The crack widened further. “Okay, you big men out there, I hold off my deadline while your boy tries to sell me. Only I tell you in ABC, if this is some kind of a cop play and you rush the house while we’re talking, my first two shots are for Malone and his kid. Put your hands on your head, fuzz, and come on in.”

Malone stood loosely in the Thatchers’ cold hall while Furia searched him. His eyes were on Barbara. Barbara was sitting on the stairs a few steps up, beside Goldie. Her little fingers were buried in the pile of the stair carpet, clutching. She was staring at her father in disbelief.

“Daddy?”

“Everything’s going to be all right, Bibby. You all right?”

“Daddy.” She started to get up.

“Keep her there,” Furia said, stepping back. “It ain’t Old Home Week yet.” Goldie pushed her back down without looking away from Malone.

Suffer you bitch.

“It’s okay, Bibby, daddy’s here, and I’m not leaving you again.”

Malone was in a state of excited peace. He had never felt so strong, so secure.

“Never mind with the hearts and flowers, fuzz. Start pitch-ing.”

The Colt Trooper was back in Furia’s hand, he had reloaded. The Walther was back in his waistband, the rifle was leaning handily against the radiator. The revolver was four feet from Malone’s navel.

“We’d better do something about that back door,” Malone said. “Just in case. It’s broken and eight officers are outside there.”

“What do you think I am, some punk? I got a great big freezer and an icebox across it. They start shoving,” Furia ripped the Papa Bear mask off and Malone saw his teeth, long and pointed, “bang bang bang. Now what’s this crud about a safe deposit box? What kind of a dummy hijacks a heisted payroll and parks it in a bank vault?”

“A smart one,” Malone said. “Right, Goldie?”

“Since when did you start bellying up to fuzz?” Goldie wanted to know. “I tell you, Fure, this is a con. I tell you.”

“And me with the drop? Relax, doll. I want to hear what’s on his fuzz mind. Okay, Malone, it’s in a bank vault. How do we get it?”

“Simple,” Malone said. “We walk in there and we open the box and we walk out.”

“And your buddies let us.”

“They’ll let us. As long as you have Barbara and me. They’ll let us walk out and they won’t lift a finger to stop our getaway. Stopping you means Barbara and I die, you’ve convinced them of that. They won’t interfere after I lay it on the line.”

Furia looked amused. “And how do we open the box?”

“They’ll give us the bank’s master key.”

The Colt snaked out and bit into Malone’s middle.

“You don’t have to do that,” Malone said. He had not moved. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“Yeah? What do you take me for?” His short fuse made Furia’s Mickey Mouse ears burn to their points. “You think I don’t know how a safe deposit operates? You got to have two keys to open a box, the bank’s and yours. So where’s the other key? You got it?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“Tell him, Goldie,” Malone said.

“Tell him?” Goldie said. “Tell him what? You see what I mean, Fure? He’s trying to break us up. That’s his con.”

“Wait a minute,” Furia said. “What’s she know about it?”

“She knows all about it,” Malone said. “She’s the one hijacked that payroll from my house and took it that same day to the Taugus National in town. My wife only saw the pants and jacket and thought it was a man. She’s the boxholder, Furia. Look at her. Look at her face.”

Goldie’s face was like the rest of her, in the deepfreeze. The cold breath had turned her cheeks white with frost.

“He’s making it up.” Her tongue crept over her lips. “Fure, this is Goldie, remember? Would I lie to you? Did I ever?”

“You say,” Furia said to Malone. “How about proving it?”

“She had to sign when she rented the box. She signed a phony name, but with the same initials. I got hold of a letter she wrote her sister Nanette, went to the bank, and compared handwritings. They’re the same.”

“Show me.”

“I’ll show it to you at the bank. They wouldn’t let me have it.”

“See?” Goldie said. “See, Fure, he’s got nothing. Who you going to believe, him or me?”

“You didn’t rent a box at the bank, Goldie?”

“No.”

“You ain’t got a key?”

“No!”

“I think,” Furia said, “we’ll have ourselves a look. Come down off there.”

“Down where?” Goldie chattered. “What are you going to do to me, Fure?”

“See if you got a key. Go into the room.”

Goldie rose. “And if you don’t find it on me?” she said shrilly. “You’ll let me give this sonofabitch what he’s got com-

Q?? ing.’

“That’s my trip. Get in there. You-kid. Go up in the bedroom.”

“What are you going to do?” Goldie said again.

“Bibby,” Malone said. “Do what the man says. Go upstairs and stay there till I call you.”

Barbara scuttled up to the landing and then she was not there. He had not thought she could move so fast. She still had her baby fat.

“Inside,” Furia said to Goldie. He took the rifle with his left hand and brandished it. “You, too, fuzz.”

They went into the big living room. A tall fire was blazing away. “Is it all right if I stand near the fire?” Malone asked. “I’m cold.”

“You stay put. Them fire tools might give you ideas.” Furia squinted at Goldie. “Start stripping.”

“What?” Goldie said.

“Take it off.”

“In front of him?”

“He’s pulling a fast one he won’t live long enough to enjoy. Get going, Goldie.”

Goldie began to fumble with the zipper at the side of her slacks. “You fuzz bastard, you know how many times I saved your brat from getting her head shot off? This is my thanks!” She kicked her shoes away and stepped out of the slacks. She kicked the slacks in Furia’s direction.

“I don’t think she’d keep it on her,” Malone said. “She’s hidden it somewhere.”

“Oh, you ain’t so sure now,” Furia said. “Look in her shoes and slacks.”

Malone picked up the shoes. He examined the soles, the linings. He tugged at the heels, tried to twist them. Then he picked up the slacks and went through them. He shook his head.

“The shirt,” Furia said to Goldie.

She unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off, long gold hair swinging. She flung the blouse at Malone’s head. He ran his hands over it with special attention to the seams. He shook his head again.

“Bra,” Furia said.

She unhooked it, glaring. It fell to the floor. Malone walked over and picked it up. Her flesh was very near his face and he could see through her sheer pink panties. It left him colder.

He was very thorough searching the bra. The stuffing of the cups would make a good hiding place.

“No,” he said.

“Drop your panties,” Furia said.

“Fure, how could I hide-?”

“Drop ‘em.”

She dropped them. She stood there looking at Malone. “I’ll kill you,” she said. “I’m going to kill you after this, you know that?”

“This part I do personal,” Furia said. He stepped behind her. “Bend over, Goldie.” She began to curse Malone. The last time he had heard a woman use such language was in an offlimits Greek whorehouse, it had somehow not sounded so bad in broken English. He found himself a little shocked. “Turn around.”

“Go to hell, goddam you!”

Furia turned her around gently. After a while he stepped to one side and said, “You struck out, fuzz.” He raised the Colt. “I told you not to con me.”

“And I told you,” Malone said. “She’s too smart to hide it on herself.”

The revolver hesitated. “Then where?”

“She’d hide it where she could get to it fast. It’s got to be somewhere in this house.”

Furia glanced over at the sofa. Barbara’s coat and hat lay there, and two open suitcases. Evidently he had had the woman pack in the early hours for a quick getaway after he began to suspect Hinch’s runout. He waved the revolver. “Her bag. The tan one. Go look.”

Malone rummaged through the tan one. He was sure the key was not there and he was right. He went through the other bag for luck. It was not there, either.

When he straightened up Goldie was putting her clothes on and Furia was studying her.

“You know something?” Malone said. “She could have been just smart enough to hide it in Barbara’s coat or hat.”

“She could,” Furia said, “if she ever had it. I’m playing along with you so far, fuzz, but don’t take advantage of my good nature. You better start getting results.” He gestured with the Colt. “Okay, try your kid’s things.”

Malone handled Bibby’s coat and hat as if they were nothing in particular, as if the warm blue wool and her chubby little body had never met.

“No.” He deliberately flung the coat and hat aside. He stood studying Goldie, who was zipping up her slacks. He tried to see into her head. “I know,” Malone said. “She hid it on you.”

“On me?” Furia said.

“Do you carry a wallet?”

“What the hell do I need a wallet for, Diners Club? You’re way out, man.” Furia looked angry. “Unless you think I’m dumb. Is that what you think?”

“No, no,” Malone said. “It has nothing to do with you, only with her. Why not take a look, Furia? What have you got to lose?”

“Plenty,” Furia said. “Rolling over to fuzz for one.” But then he said, “Hook your fingers at the back of your neck.” Malone hooked his fingers at the back of his neck. “One move and you’ve had it.”

“I’m not going to try anything,” Malone said.

“Give me that other gun, Fure,” Goldie said. Some spit came out. “Let me be the one.”

“Why, Goldie. Ain’t you the bloodthirsty one.”

“I’ll cover him, I mean. While you search yourself.”

“You’ll do what I tell you.” Furia began to paw himself with his left hand. When he was finished with his left side he transferred the Colt to his left hand and felt all over his right side. He even got down in a crouch and ran a finger around the insides of his trouser cuffs. “Okay, Malone, nobody makes a monkey out of me.”

“I know,” Malone said. “I know now.”

“You know what now?”

“I thought she was too smart to hide it on herself. I didn’t know how smart she is. She figured nobody would think her stupid enough to do that. Neck. Look at the back of her head. Under her hair.”

“Fure, let me kill him!” Goldie screamed.

Furia stood very still.

“Yeah,” he said.

He stalked over to her.

She backed off, all the way to the fireplace. She got so close to the fire that Malone was afraid for her hair.

“Fure, I swear to you.”

He grabbed her hair and yanked. She yelped and fell against him. He yanked again, downward, and she dropped to her knees.

“I swear, I swear… “

Furia took a fistful of the long golden hair at the back of her head and pulled it straight up.

Something was plastered to the back of her skull with adhesive tape.

He ripped it away.

Stuck to the adhesive side, along with some gold and brown hairs, were two flat keys.

“Jesus H. Christ. My own broad.” Furia glanced from the safe deposit keys in his left hand to the Colt in his right as if he did not know quite what to do. “You know what I got to do now, Goldie. Don’t you?”

Goldie was very fast. “Wait, Fure, wait.” Her upturned face schemed with her fear, she was trying to stop him by sheer eye-power. “You kill me and who’s going to stay with the kid while you’re getting the money back out of the bank? You need me, Fure. You still need me.”

“She’s right,” Malone said. For some reason he was not feeling strong any longer. It was like the tiredness of a week ago, as if none of this had happened.

I’ll wake up and Ellen will laugh Loney you’re dreaming.

Time came back. “Yeah,” Furia said heavily. “What I ought to done, I ought to listened to that yellowbelly Hinch. He always said you were my bag… Get up, you twotimer bitch. But you ain’t my broad no more.”

He sounded sad.

“You ain’t nothing.”

Malone stepped out through the front door. The lawn was empty. They had removed Hinch’s body.

Behind him Furia spat, “They took the garbage away.”

“Don’t shoot,” Malone called. “It’s me.” He was wearing the Baby Bear mask. Furia had ordered him to put it on before he delivered his speech. When Malone had balked the little hood said, “It’s like you’re my boy now, right? Right, Malone?”

“Right,” Malone had said.

The sun was well up now. It was going to be a sparkler.

“John?” Malone said. “You can come out from behind the tree. He won’t shoot you. No, not the others. Just you.”

Chief Secco stepped out from behind his tree.

“You went over,” he said. “You really went over.”

“There’s no time for a sermon, John. I want you to take your men, the whole lot, and clear out of here.”

Secco turned away.

“Wait, I’m not through.”

Secco turned around.

“We’re coming into town-Furia, the woman, Bibby, me-at twelve noon on the dot. There’s to be nobody in the bank, John. Nobody, and I mean that. Have Wally Bagshott leave the bank’s master key to the boxes on the table outside the vault along with the key to the vault.”

“How are you going to open the box without the box-holder’s key?” Secco asked almost absently. “You bringing dynamite?”

“I found Goldie’s key.”

Secco blinked.

“You’re to clear the Green, John, the whole area. I don’t want anybody or anything on the Green or the side streets, no cars, no trucks, no pedestrians, no shoppers. The stores along Main and along Grange down to Freight Street are to be locked and the salespeople sent home. The offices upstairs in the bank building are to be closed and vacated. You got that?”

“Yes,” Secco said.

“Wait, I’m still not through. To make sure there’s no interference I want your men and the troopers to line up around the bank, including the parking lot. But without weapons, John. Repeat: unarmed. They’re to let us go in, get the money out of the vault, and get out and away. What you choose to do after that is on your own conscience. And John?”

“Yes?”

“You can conceal weapons, you can try throwing tear gas into the bank, there are any number of ways you can stop us. But if that’s in your mind I want you to remember: If you don’t do just what I said, Barbara and I die first. Furia won’t let me carry a weapon, he doesn’t trust me. So I’ll be helpless. The Vorshek woman will be outside with Barbara waiting and believe me, John, at the first sign of anything wrong she’ll kill her, she’s worked up a real hate for me because I found the key on her and proved to Furia she was the one stole the payroll from him. They may shoot us anyway after we get clear, like you said. That would be on my head, John. But if you try to queer this, or let the troopers, you’ll be as guilty of our deaths as if you pulled the trigger yourself.

“Okay, John, that’s it.”

Whatever John Secco was thinking-of his responsibilities, of his affections, of victory or defeat as a man and a law officer-the sun on his face did not reflect it.

He raised his arm to the trees.

“You men. We’re leaving.”