The Green Eagle Score

9

It made the eleven o’clock news, just as they were passing Glen Falls on the Northway, about fifty miles from Albany. “Mrs Ellen Fusco, sought in connection with Wednesday night’s payroll robbery at Monequois Air Force Base in upstate New York, walked into the home of her parents, Mr and Mrs Herbert Atkinson of Monequois, early this morning, her three-year-old daughter Pamela in her arms. Dazed, distraught, unable to tell police her whereabouts the last three days—”

“Good,” Devers said. He looked over at Parker. “She’s making up for it,” he said.

“If they let the news out,” Parker said, “it’s because they’ve already traced her back to the Godden house. Time to ditch this car. What’s the next exit off this thing?”

Devers looked at the map. “Saratoga.”

“We’ll unload it there.”

Parker kept it at the legal maximum the ten miles to the Saratoga exit, one eye always on the rear-view mirror. Saturday traffic was building up, and a green Cadillac wasn’t that out of place, but they could only push their luck so far.

Parker left the car in downtown Saratoga, at a meter. He and Devers walked the three blocks to the bus depot and boarded the eleven-thirty express to Albany. They got to Albany at twelve-oh-five, and Parker said, “This is where we split. You need somebody to show you how things work, and I don’t have the time for that now. There’s a friend of mine named Handy McKay, he’s retired now, runs a diner in a place called Presque Isle, in Maine. You go up there, tell him you’re from me. You can give him the story. He’ll take care of you.”

Devers said, “Thanks. This isn’t the way I had it planned but what the hell.”

“That’s right,” Parker said.