Elmore Leonard: 52 pickup

Mitchell stopped, thirty feet from the truck now, and looked around.

"You got it. What do you want me to do, count it for you?" He turned, holding Barbara, and kept going.

Alan had the.38 on him, dead center on his back moving away, halfway to the door of the plant.

But the black attache case with the wire around it was next to him, right there, two feet away. He glanced at it.

Open it. Do it quick.

His hand reached over and felt the twisted ends of the wire, wrapped around each other two or three times, as stiff as a coat hanger.

They were almost to the building, in the arc of the high spotlights that spread down over the pavement.

"I count to three-you're dead!"

Mitchell stopped. He didn't turn around. He moved Barbara in front of him and pushed her gently, so that if she reached out now she could touch the door.

Alan held the gun on Mitchell's back and kept his eyes on him as his free hand untwisted the wire. He felt it come loose and bent the top strand back, out of the way. He glanced at the case then, turning it so the front of it faced toward him.

He looked toward Mitchell again and began to bring in his hand holding the gun.

"You move, man, you're dead!"

He laid the.38 on his lap and turned to the attache case with both hands.

Mitchell said to his wife, "Barbara, how're you doing?"

He saw her nod. "I'm all right. A little sick."

"When I touch your back, go through the door fast. Don't hesitate. I'll reach in front of you and open it."

"Mitch-"

"Right now," Mitchell said, and moved with her, his hand flat against her back.

Alan saw them. He caught a glimpse of them over his shoulder. He wanted to pick up the gun and blast away, catch the guy before he got inside. But even as he saw them he knew it was too late, the way he was twisted around, his thumbs on the metal clasps of the attache case.

This was what he had come for and he had to open it. Right now.

It was in his mind, for part of a moment, that the case wasn't broken. The lock wasn't sprung. It was closed now. It didn't need the wire to hold it. But again he was too late. His thumbs were already pressing open the clasps.

The panel truck, with super-rite drugs lettered on the body and Alan Sheldon Raimy inside, exploded, blew apart in a burst of fire and scattered pieces of itself all over the Ranco Manufacturing parking lot.

Koliba turned from the shattered window in the door to look over at Mitchell standing with his arm around the lady in the raincoat.

"Was he in it?"

"Who?"

"Jazik," Kolib said. Like, who else?

"I don't know," Mitchell said. "Somebody was."

"I'll call the fire department. Twice in two days. We're keeping them guys busy, eh?" Koliba started to move away. He glanced back to see Mitchell taking his attache case from the metal shelf against the wall. "You want me to call the cops too?"

"If you want to," Mitchell said. He was taking the lady by the arm again as he looked at Koliba. "But who're they going to arrest?"