"It's Monday night and it's getting late."
"Midmorning's probably late out here. Gun weighs a ton, you ever notice? My pants feel like they'regonna get dragged down around my knees."
"You want to leave it in the car?"
"Are you kidding? 'This is your weapon, soldier. It could save your life.' I'm all right, Matt. I'm just running on nerves isall. "
"Sure."
He reached the door first and held it for me. The place wasn't much more than a glorified diner, allformica and stainless steel, with a long lunch counter on our left and booths on the right and more tables in back. Four boys in theirmidteens sat at a booth near the front, eatingfrench fries with their fingers from a communal platter. Farther back, a gray-haired woman with a lot of rings on both fingers was reading a hardcover book in a lending library's plastic cover.
The man behind the counter was tall and fat and completely bald. I suppose he shaved his head. Sweat was beaded on his forehead and had soaked through his shirt. The place was cool enough, with the air conditioning running full blast. There were two customers at the counter, one a round-shouldered man in a short-sleeved white shirt who looked like a failed accountant, the other a stolid girl with heavy legs and bad skin. At the rear of the counter the waitress was taking a cigarette break.
We took seats at the counter and ordered coffee. Someone had left that afternoon's Post on an adjoining stool. Skip picked it up, paged through it.
He lit a cigarette, smoked it, glancing every few seconds at the door. We both drank our coffee. He picked up a menu and ran his eyes over its listings. "They got a million different things," he said. "Name something, it's probably on here. Why am I looking? I couldn't eat."
He lit anothercigarette, put his pack on the counter. I took one from it and put it between my lips. He raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything, just gave me a light. I took two, three puffs and put out the cigarette.
I must have heard the phone ring, but it didn't register until the waitress had already walked back to answer it and come forward to ask the round-shouldered man if he was ArthurDevoe. He looked astonished at the idea. Skip went to take the call and I tagged along.
He took the phone, listened for a moment,then began motioning for paper and pencil. I got my notebook and wrote down what he repeated to me.
A whoop of laughter came at us from the front of the restaurant. The kids were throwingfrench fries at each other. The counterman was leaning his bulk onto theformica, saying something to them. I turned my eyes from them and concentrated on writing down what Skip was saying.
Chapter 16
Skip said, "Eighteenth andOvington. You know where that is?"
"I think so. I knowOvington, it runs through Bay Ridge, butEighteenth Avenue is west of there. I think that would put it inBensonhurst, a little ways south ofWashingtonCemetery."
"How can anybody know all this shit? Did you sayEighteenth Avenue? They got avenues up toEighteen?"
"I think they go up to Twenty-eight, butTwenty-eighthAvenue 's only two blocks long. It runs fromCropsey to Stillwell."
"Where's that?"
"Coney Island.Not all that far from where we are now."
He waved a hand, dismissing the borough and all its unknowable streets. "You know where we're going," he said. "And we'll get the map fromKasabian. Oh, fuck. Is this going to be on the part of the map they're carrying?"
"Probably not."
"Fuck. What did I have to go and rip the map for? Jesus."
We were out of the restaurant by now. We stood in front, with the winking neon in back of us. Skip said, "Matt, I'm out of my element. Why'd they have us come here first, then call us up and send us to the church?"
"So they can get a look at us first, I guess. And interrupt our lines of communication."
"You think someone's looking at us right now?How'm Igonna tell Johnny to follow us? Is that what theyoughta do, follow us?"
"They probably ought to go home."
"Why's that?"
"Because they'll be spotted following us, and they'll be spotted anyway when we tell them what's going on."
"You think we're being watched?"
"It's possible. It's one reason for them to set things up this way."
"Shit," he said. "I can't send Johnny home. If I suspect him, he probably suspects me at the same time, and I can't... Suppose we all go in one car?"
"Two cars would be better."
"You just said two cars won't work."
"We'll try it this way," I said, and took his arm to steer him. We walked not toward the car whereKasabian and the others were parked but to Skip's Impala. At my direction he started the car up, blinked the lights a couple of times, and drove to the corner, took a right, drove a block and pulled to the curb.
A few minutes laterKasabian's car pulled up beside us.
"You were right," Skip said to me. To the others he said, "You guys are smarter than I gave you credit. We got a phonecall, they're sending us on a treasure hunt, only we got the treasure. We're supposed to go to a church onEighteenth Avenue and something."
"Ovington," I said.
No one knew where that was. "Follow us," I told them. "Stay half a block to a block in back of us, and when we park go around the block and park behind us."
"Suppose we get lost?" Bobby wanted to know.
"Go home."
"How?"
"Just follow us," I said. "You won't get lost."
WE tookConey Island Avenue andKings Highway intoBay Parkway, and then we got disoriented and it took me a few blocks to get my bearings. We went across one of the numbered streets, caughtEighteenth Avenue, and found the church we were looking for on the corner ofOvington. In Bay Ridge,OvingtonAvenue runs parallel toBay Ridge Avenue a block to the south of it. Somewhere aroundFort Hamilton Parkway it winds up still parallel toBay Ridge Avenue but a block north of it, whereSixty-eighthStreet used to be. Even when you know the area, this sort of thing can drive you crazy, andBrooklyn is full of it.
There was a No Parking zone directly across from the church, and Skip pulled the Chevy into it. He cut the lights, killed the engine. We sat in silence untilKasabian's car had moved up, passed us, and turned at the corner.
"Did he even see us?" Skip wondered. I said that they had, that was why they'd turned at the corner. "I guess," he said.
I turned and watched out the rear window. A couple of minutes later I saw their lights. They found a parking spot half a block back, and their lights went out.
The neighborhood was mostly prewar frame houses, large ones, set on lots with lawns and trees out in front. Skip said, "It doesn't look likeNew York out here. You know what I mean? It looks like some normal place in the rest of the country."
"A lot ofBrooklyn is like this."
"Parts ofQueens, too.Not where I grew up, but here and there. You know what this reminds me of? Richmond Hill. You knowRichmond Hill?"
"Not well."
"Track team had a meet out there once. We got the shit kicked out of us. The houses, though, they looked a lot like this." He dropped his cigarette out the window. "I guess we might as well do it," he said."Right?"
"I don't like it," I said.
"You don't like it? I haven't liked it since the books disappeared."
"The other place was public," I said. I opened my notebook, read what I'd written down. "There's supposed to be a flight of steps on the left-hand side of the church leading down to the basement. The door's supposed to be open. I don't even see a light on, do you?"
"No."
"This looks like an awfully easy way to get sandbagged. I think you'd better stay here, Skip."
"You figure you're safer alone?"
I shook my head. "I figure we're both safer separated for the moment. The money stays with you. I want to go down there and see what kind of a reception they've got set up for us. If there looks to be a safe way to make the switch, I'll have them blink the lights three times."
"What lights?"
"Some light that you can see." I leaned across him, pointed. "Those are the basement windows down there. There must be lights, and you'll be able to see them."
"So you wink the lights three times and I bring the money. Suppose you don't like the setup?"
"Then I tell them I have to get you, and I come out and we drive back toManhattan."
"Assuming we can find it." He frowned. "What if- never mind."
"What?"
"I wasgonna say what if you don't come out."
"You'll find your way home sooner or later."
"Funny man.What are you doing?"
I'd popped the cover of the dome light and I was unscrewing the bulb. "In case they're watching," I said. "I don't want them to know when I open the door."
"The man thinks of everything. It's good you're notPolish, we'd need fifteen guys to turn the car while you held onto the bulb. You want the gun, Matt?"
"I don't think so."
" 'Bare-handed, he went up alone against an army.' Take the fucking gun, will you?"
"Gimme."
"And how about a quick one?"
I reached for the glove box.
I got out and stayed low, keeping the car between me and the church basement windows. I walked half a block to the other car and ran down the situation for them. I hadKasabian stay with the car and told him to start the motor when he saw Skip enter the church. I sent the other two around the block on foot. If the other side made their getaway through a rear exit of the church and over a fence and through a yard, Bobby and Billie might be able to spot them. I didn't know that they could do much, but maybe one of them could come up with a license-plate number.
I returned to the Impala and told Skip what I'd done. I put the bulb back in the dome light, and when I opened the door again it went on, lighting up the car's interior. I swung the door shut and crossed the street.
The gun was tucked into the waistband of my slacks, the butt protruding, the whole thing positioned for a draw across the front of my body. I'd have preferred to have it riding in a holster on my hip but I didn't have the choice. It got in the way as I walked, and when I was in the shadows at the side of the church I drew the gun and walked along holding it, but I didn't like that either, and I put it back where I'd had it.
The flight of stairs was steep.Concrete steps with a rusted iron railing that was loosely mounted into the surrounding brick. A bolt or two had evidently worked loose. I walked down the steps and felt myself disappearing into the darkness. There was a door at the bottom. I groped until I found the knob and I hesitated with my hand on it, listening carefully, trying to hear something within.
Nothing.
I turned the knob, eased the door inward just far enough to be sure that it was unlocked. Then I drew it shut and knocked on it.
Nothing.
I knocked again. This time I heard movement inside, and a voice called out something unintelligible. I turned the knob again and stepped through the doorway.
The time I'd spent in the pitch-dark stairwell had worked to my advantage. A little light filtered into the basement through the windows at the front, and my pupils had dilated enough to make use of it. I was standing in a room that must have measured about thirty by fifty feet. There were chairs and tables scattered around the floor. I pulled the door closed after me and moved into the shadows against one wall.
A voice said, "Devoe?"
"Scudder," I said.
"Where'sDevoe?"
"In the car."
"It doesn't matter," another voice said. I couldn't recognizeeither of them as the one I'd heard over the phone, but it had been disguised, and for all I knew these voices were disguised, too. They didn't sound likeNew York but they didn't sound like anyplace else in particular, either.
The first speaker said, "You bring the money, Scudder?"
"It's in the car."
"WithDevoe."
"WithDevoe," I agreed.
Still just the two speakers.One was at the far end of the room, the other to his right. I could place them by their voices but the darkness shrouded them, and one of them sounded as if he might be speaking from behind something, some upended table or something of the sort. If they came out where I could see them, I could draw the gun and throw down on them, shoot them if I had to. On the other hand, it was more than possible that they already had guns trained on me and could drop me where I stood before I got the gun out of my pants. And even if I shot first and got them both, there could be another couple of armed men standing in the shadows, and they could shoot me full of holes before I even knew they existed.
Besides, I didn't want to shoot anybody. I just wanted to trade the money for the books and get the hell out of there.
"Tell your friend to bring the money," one of them said. I decided he might have been the voice on the phone, if he were to let his speech soften into a southern accent."Unless he wants the books sent to the IRS."
"He doesn't want that," I said. "But he's not going to walk into a blind alley, either."
"Keep talking."
"First of all, put a light on. We don't want to do business in the dark."
There was a whispered conference, then a fair amount of moving around. One of them flicked a wall switch and a fluorescent fixture in the center of the ceiling came on one tube at a time. There was a flickering quality to its light, the way fluorescents get when they're starting to go.
I blinked, as much at what I saw as at the flickering light. For a moment I thought they were hippies or mountain men, some curious breed. Then I realized they were disguised.
There were two of them, shorter than I, slender in build. Both wore full beards and fright wigs that started low on their foreheads and concealed not only their hair but the whole shapes of their heads. Between the low hairline and the beginning of the beard, each wore an oval mask over the eyes and the top half of the nose. The taller of the two, the one who'd turned on the light, had a chrome-yellow wig and a black face mask. The other, half concealed by a table with chairs stacked on it, sported dark brown hair and a white mask. Both had black beards, and the short one had a gun in his hand.