No Such Creature

SEVENTEEN

They’d been following the old man and the kid since Vegas, and now the girl too. They got Tucson from Pookie-his hotel booking in the datebook section of his PalmPilot. Roscoe had given them Dallas, and Zig had insisted on lugging the sap all the way to Dallas in case he might know any more. There were only half a dozen RV parks in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, and of these only two had facilities big enough for vehicles the size of Max Maxwell’s Winnebago. Which was how they’d tracked them to the Texas-T trailer park. Clem and Stu had split the bird-dog duties, meaning Clem had to waste his entire day following this girl around, and he could not for the life of him figure out why.

Clem seriously believed that if he stayed in the car another minute he was going to go out of his screaming mind. Parked in the McDonald’s lot, staring at the Texas-T sign-pretty soon they’d have to haul him off to a psychiatric hospital, to spend the rest of his days drooling before a TV set playing America’s Funniest Home Videos or some other lame-ass show he’d never watched except by accident in a bar maybe.

He’d been here for two hours now, rain tapping on the car roof and dribbling down the windshield. He couldn’t listen to the radio any longer without running the battery down. He snatched up his cellphone and called Zig.

“How much longer you expect me to do this?”

“Do what?” Zig said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m parked outside the goddamn trailer park waiting for something to happen. I’m telling you, the girl’s got nothing to do with these guys’ business. She’s a friend or relative or something. Spent the day shopping, for Chrissake.”

“Who with?”

“Some dame. Friend, I think. Older. Absolutely nothing of interest happened.”

“They see anybody else?”

“No one. Well, there was one guy come out of the old lady’s place when they got back from shopping. Could be the broad’s husband, I don’t know. Anyway, girl took a taxi back here an hour ago and I’m-Hang on, there’s a cab coming out of the park now. Yeah, it’s her.”

“Stay on her.”

“Zig, I’m getting sick of pissing in a bottle here. Why the fuck am I watching this girl?”

“Because we don’t know if she’s part of this crew or what.”

“Well, let Stu do it.”

“Stu’s watching Max and the kid downtown, and I’m watching Jeopardy Joe here. Don’t you lose her, Clem, or I’ll light up your ass, I swear I will.”

Clem threw the phone down and pulled out into the traffic, wipers flapping. The cab was two cars ahead. He snatched up the phone again and switched it off. What was Zig doing all this time? Probably screwing one of his underage druggies too stoned to know any better.

“Fuck you,” he said, and threw the phone in the glove compartment.

“There’s no way we can do it,” Owen said. “Not without Pookie and Roscoe. You checked out the new wing.”

Max steered the Taurus through the Dallas traffic, which seemed so used to sunshine that it was utterly stymied by rain.

“It’s a hospital, my boy. Hardly a fortress. My plan is not only feasible, it is elegant. A good round plan. The lobby will be filled with doctors and lawyers and do-gooders all drinking to excess. They’re opening a wing-they’re not expecting to get robbed. All those speeches, they’ll be stultified.”

“Max, just yesterday you didn’t know your own goddamn name.”

“That is a low blow, lad. I refuse to dignify it with a reply.”

“Max, you’ve got four mezzanines looking down on the lobby where everyone’s going to be. You’ve got four huge exits. And there’s going to be newspaper photographers, TV cameras, who knows what else?”

“I fear no cameras. A disguise is a disguise whether on camera or in the flesh. As to mezzanines-”

“Max, please. You’re scaring me. What’s the point of doing reconnaissance if you’re going to ignore everything you find out? Besides which, since when do we rob hospitals?”

“We wouldn’t be robbing the hospital, we’d be robbing the rabid right-wing lunatics who attend such things. Need I remind you that it’s to be called the Thomas P. Craine Center for Reconstructive Surgery? Do you know who Thomas P. Craine is?”

“Just because he’s a rich Republican doesn’t mean he isn’t doing something good. Hey, watch out!”

Max had suddenly pulled over in front of an FTD shop, eliciting even more horns from behind.

“Flowers to Tucson,” he said. “That fellow who was injured.”

“The one you shot, you mean.”

“There’s no need to call a spade a bloody shovel. It was a workplace accident. You mock my finest instincts.”

The florist was a Korean man dressed in a soccer jersey and a fisherman’s cap. An old newspaper clipping was taped to the cash register: “From DMZ to DFW: Korean Poet Kim Wa Yeung’s Long Journey from Word Power to Flower Power.” The transaction took forever owing to Max’s insistence on discussing Shakespeare with the florist. When they were finished, Owen bought a dozen miniature daffodils.

“Why this sudden urge for daffodils?” Max inquired, back in the car.

“They’re for Sabrina,” Owen said.

“Careful, laddie. She hasn’t had your upbringing. The Pontiff, bless him, was not what you’d call a family man. Business with him was not seasonal-no, no, he was a full-time thief-and I fear his daughter has paid the price. But to return to the subject at hand: I don’t want to rule out a ripe prospect at the first sign of adversity.”

“Max, have you totally forgotten yesterday? It’s okay-it’s not your fault you’re getting old and your synapses maybe don’t fire the way they used to-but you didn’t even know your own name. You’re not in any shape for a big show. It’s not even an option. You might as well hang a sign on your back that says ‘Arrest Me.’”

Max wouldn’t listen. He was feeling fine, never better. Yesterday had been a fleeting episode. One was only human. Mountain molehill. They went back and forth on the subject all the way to the campground. They were still arguing when they opened the Rocket’s door.

“Max, remember what you used to tell me? ‘One has to have the courage not to pull a job.’”

“Tush, boy. You mistake the howl of fear for the song of reason. Hang on …”

“What’s wrong?”

“The dishwasher’s been moved.”

“You moved it when you came back from visiting the Pontiff.”

“Just so. And I set it back exactly as always.”

Max got down on his knees and slid the dishwasher away from its fittings. Usually you had to unscrew two braces in the floor before you could do that, but they were loose. His head disappeared into the gap as he reached around behind the machine.

“It’s gone.”

“You’re kidding.”

“All of it.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“See for yourself.”

Owen dropped the flowers on the table. He got down on the floor and felt behind the dishwasher. There was nothing at all in the hutch.

The two of them stood in the galley, speechless.

After a minute Owen noticed the rack across from the bunks. “Sabrina’s suitcase is gone. So’s her backpack. They were up there next to mine.”

“She robbed us,” Max said. “The filthy little scrubber robbed us.”

“Jesus, Max. It’s far more likely the Subtractors got her. Or someone got her. Whoever got Pookie. Whoever got Roscoe. Now they’ve got Sabrina. Why would you assume she ripped us off?”

Max held up a piece of paper. Owen grabbed it from him and read the following: Owen, Max,Opportunity knocks and I hope as fellow thieves you will understand. Thanksfor everything!

“The filthy, cozening slut.”

“Don’t call her that, Max.”

“Obviously she noticed the dishwasher the other night. The false witch was feigning sleep when you stashed the stuff, and now she has stripped us bare. And you bought her flowers,” Max said, laying a damp, heavy paw on Owen’s shoulder. “How positively heartwarming.”