Ричард Деминг - The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK®

The plan seemed to please him, for he smiled. “That sounds smooth.”

“That’s all for now,” I told him. “I’ll phone you again tomorrow at the usual time.”

After he was gone, I considered means of taking off with the whole take. As I would have a gun and he wouldn’t, it would be simple merely to force him out of the car empty-handed when he stopped on East Central.

I finally decided against this, though. It probably would make him sore enough to phone the sheriff an anonymous tip describing my car and giving the license number. It seemed better just to short-change him. As I would be doing the splitting and his attention would be on driving, it would be easy to count most of the big bills into my stack and drive off with two-thirds of the loot. As he wouldn’t know exactly what the bag contained, he could never be sure he’d been short-changed, no matter what he suspected when he counted his cut.

Tuesday I reconnoitered the area immediately around the fire station. Aside from the one at the square, there were no alarm boxes exactly six blocks from it. I found some at four-block distance and at eight-block distance, but I wanted exact timing.

Finally it occurred to me how to get it without needing an alarm box.

That evening when I phoned Carr, I set up another meeting. When he arrived at the usual time, I explained how we would make the test.

“There are no alarm boxes at the right distance from the station,” I said. “But you can phone in an alarm as easily as you can pull a hook. At exactly five minutes to five tomorrow, I want you to phone the fire station and report a fire at West Central and Clark. That’s exactly the same distance as the square, but in the opposite direction. How good a watch do you have?”

“Pretty good. It loses about a minute a month.”

“That’s only two seconds a day,” I said. “Mine gains about the same, so I’ll set it four seconds slower than yours. Let’s coordinate watches.”

After we had adjusted our watches, there was nothing to do until the next day.

At ten of five on Wednesday I parked at the corner of Clark and Woodrow, which was a block north of West Central and gave me a good view of the intersection of West Central and Clark.

At four minutes of five I heard a siren begin to sound from the direction of the firehouse, which meant it had taken just one minute after the alarm for the first engine to get rolling. A minute and forty seconds later a pump truck pulled up at the intersection with its siren tapering off to a moan.

Andy’s guess of three minutes had been within twenty seconds.

We wanted the first engine to arrive at the square at one minute to five on Friday. An earlier arrival might cause Fat Sam to run to see what the excitement was, along with the customers, before he took the money from the safe. A later one would allow him to get out of the tavern while it was still full of customers. As a few seconds one way or the other wouldn’t matter, however, I decided that if Andy pulled the hook at four minutes to five, the timing would be just about right.

There was no point in holding another meeting just for that. When I phoned Andy at the usual time, I said, “All set. I’ll give you the exact time when I see you at the parking lot Friday.”

“Okay,” he said. “Until four-thirty Friday, then.”

I stayed away from the tavern the next day. At four-thirty p.m. on Friday I pulled onto the supermarket parking lot and backed into a slot. Andy Carr strolled over from the alley as I got out of the car.

I locked the car before tossing him the keys. He would have plenty of time to unlock it, and I didn’t want to chance some teen-ager lousing us up by deciding to take a joy ride at the crucial moment.

“Did you take care of that glass last night?” I asked.

“There wasn’t any. It’s a new type of box that just has a little door you lift. When shall I pull it?”

“Exactly at four minutes to five. Let’s check watches again.”

They were together to the second.

Minutes later I was seated at a table in Fat Sam’s with a beer before me. It wasn’t until then that it occurred to me that, while Andy and I had coordinated time, we hadn’t checked to see if we agreed with the tavern clock. Hurriedly I glanced at my watch, then at the clock over the bar.

I relaxed when I saw that they were within seconds of each other.

At a quarter of five the fat proprietor came from behind the bar carrying a stack of bills, which I assumed represented the day’s receipts so far. When he entered the small office, for an instant I thought he was going to jump the gun and spoil all our plans. But as time passed without the door reopening, I realized he was probably counting money and making up a deposit slip.

At four minutes to five my heart began to pump, as it always does just before a job. Andy would be pulling the hook right now, I thought. And now he’s walking toward the parking lot.

At three minutes to five there was the growl of a siren some blocks away. Conversation ceased, and customers cocked their heads to listen. As the siren neared, one or two began to drift toward the door.

At a minute and twenty seconds to five the scream of the siren rose to a crescendo, then died off as the first engine entered the square. Customers scrambled toward the door in a body.

My partner would be in the car by now, I thought, and would probably already have the engine going.

Because the patrons could crowd through the door no more than two at a time, it took a little longer than I anticipated for the room to empty. But it worked out just right. The door swung closed behind the last one exactly at five.

The bartender moved from behind the bar and started to walk toward the door at the same moment the office door opened and Fat Sam stepped out carrying a canvas money bag.

Standing up, I drew my gun and said, “Freeze, both of you!”

Both stared at me with their mouths open. The barkeep slowly raised his hands.

“Drop the bag, Sam,” I said, aiming the gun at the fat man.

The sack hit the floor with a plop, and his hands shot overhead.

“Into the office, both of you,” I ordered, gesturing with my gun.

They didn’t give me any trouble. Both scurried into the room, eager to please.

Standing in the doorway, I glanced around the room. The only window was identical to those in the barroom, high and barred.

I said to Sam, “Get up the key to this door. And do it fast.”

He dropped his right hand, still leaving the left raised, and felt in his pants pocket. Producing an old-fashioned key, he tossed it to me.

Backing out, I locked them in and dropped the key into my pocket.

When I hit the street, carrying the canvas sack, no one at all was on this side of the square. The opposite side was jammed, though.

Unhurriedly I walked up the alley. The car was parked exactly where I had left it.

But Andy Carr wasn’t in the driver’s seat, and the car was still locked.

I turned cold. Even if I had been able to get into the car, I had nothing with which to make an ignition bridge. Rapidly I strode back down the alley and gazed at the crowd across the square. What the devil had happened to the idiot?

Returning to the car, I stood next to it in frustrated indecision for a couple of minutes. When Andy still failed to appear, I started checking cars parked nearby. All of them were locked.

Too much time was passing for it to be safe to linger any longer. At any moment the first customers would be drifting back into Fat Sam’s.

In desperation I headed on foot up East Central, hoping that I could flag down a ride and take over the car at gunpoint.

There was a lot of traffic on East Central, but it was all heading for the square. I had plodded six blocks before a shiny black sedan going in my direction came along. When I signaled with my thumb, it pulled over to the curb.