I turned into the alley and drove along its length, reverifying that a left turn at its upper end led out to Piney Branch, bypassing the traffic light at the Georgia Avenue intersection. There was a new warehouse-type building at the end of the alley, but nothing else appeared changed. It was hard to escape the feeling that a quick run down the alley and out onto Piney Branch would be the best way of losing pursuers in the teeming morning traffic. And if by some chance the Piney Branch exit were blocked, it was just as easy to turn right at the end of the alley, beyond the new warehouse, and double back onto Georgia Avenue, there to head north or south as the situation dictated.
I was still sour on the idea of a hit-and-run job with so little advance preparation, but I had to admit that for the first time in a long time I had little choice.
I drove back to Virginia and the motel room, made a couple of sketches of escape routes from the bank, and went to bed although it was still daylight.
I was glad that Preacher Harris arrived at the motel in the morning before Dick Dahl. "What about it?" I asked him bluntly. "Is this your usual style of operation?"
"No, it isn't." Harris had on a fresh shirt and tie and looked even more conservative than he had the previous day, if that were possible. "But I need the cash." It was his turn to become blunt. "You're afraid of it?"
"Not as much as I was last night. I went out and scouted one I'd looked over some time ago."
"You liked it for today?"
I handed him my sketches and a large-scale map of the District. "Take a look at this. It'll go like a player piano," I said, turning on the hard sell.
He sounded relieved. "Good. I took another look at the setup in Rockville and didn't think as well of it."
So I hadn't needed the hard sell. Harris sat down in a chair and spread the map and sketches on his knees. He was still studying them when Dahl arrived. Dahl carried a briefcase, which he tossed onto the bed. "Everything set?" he inquired breezily after I chain-latched the door. He opened the briefcase and took out three Halloween masks. "Greatest little deceivers in the world, boys." He looked at Harris in his chair. "What'cha got there?"
"Drake sized up a job after we left here yesterday" Harris said. "It looks good."
"Fine with me," Dahl said. He looked and sounded completely indifferent as to which job it was. "So long's I'm out of town by noon. With the kind of operation I've got in New York, things tend to go to pieces if I'm not there to keep my finger on the button. Where do we take our shot?"
I let Harris tell him as a means of checking Preacher's absorption of the details. Watching Dahl, I got the impression he wasn't even listening closely. He kept nodding his head and glancing at his watch. "All right," he interrupted Harris's very sound explanation of the elements involved. "Let's put it on the road."
"Do we split up right after the job?" Harris asked me.
"We sure as hell do," Dahl replied before I could say anything. Since his statement echoed my own sentiment, I kept my mouth shut. I picked up the map of the District and showed it to Dahl. "We'll park my car on Military Road, halfway between Georgia Avenue and Thirteenth Street so we can approach it from either direction if there's pursuit. We'll meet-"
"There won't be no pursuit," Dahl said confidently. "We'll be gone like big birds. I'll go into the bank first an' herd the customers away from the cages an' the tellers out of them. Either one of you can come in next an' stand by the entrance to control the action. The third man in cleans out the cages an' is first man out an' the getaway driver."
I looked at Harris, who shrugged as much as to say it was simple enough to work. "What about a weapon for the man at the entrance who's controlling the action?" I asked. "A handgun won't do it."
"There's a riot gun in the trunk of my car," Dahl said.
"Bring it along." I marked an "X" on the District map. "Harris will ride with me, and we'll park here on Military Road, a mile beyond the viaduct where it drops down off Georgia Avenue. Dahl, you park in Brightwood, steal a car and pick us up, and we'll return you to your car after the stolen car gets us from the bank to my car on Military Road."
"Nothin' to it," Dahl said. "Let's go, cousins. You bring the briefcase. I'll bring the riot gun in the stolen car."
"Pick us up at nine fifteen," I told Dahl. "You leave here first."
"Like I've already gone," he said. He walked to the door, took off the latch, opened the door a crack and peered out, gave us a wave of his hand behind his back without looking around, and went out.
"Well, the Schemer said he had nerve," I said.
Harris didn't reply. He went to the bed, stripped a pillowcase from a pillow, folded it neatly, and tucked it into the briefcase. "I'll take the cages," he said. "You take the entrance."
"Fine with me. Walk out to the highway now while I check out of the motel."
Harris looked like any businessman on his way to work, briefcase in hand, when I picked him up ten minutes later. We had plenty of time. I drove slowly. Harris sat quietly, eyes straight ahead. I had no idea whether he was thinking about the job or the next whirl of the roulette wheel.
We had eight minutes to spare when I parked on Military Road. There was no conversation. Tension pressed downward from the roof of the car like something tangible. Harris took a package of gum from his pocket, peeled off a wrapper, and crammed a stick into his mouth. He offered the package to me, but I shook my head. It was a long eight minutes.
In the rearview mirror I saw a sleek white Oldsmobile draw up behind us. Dahl waved from behind the wheel. Harris and I got out of the VW and walked to the Olds. "Didn't even have to jump the switch," Dahl said cheerfully. "Found two in a row with the keys still in 'em. I took the one with the most horses."
Harris was staring at a blanket-wrapped bundle on the front seat beside Dahl. Alongside it was a bright-checked sport coat with one red sleeve and one blue one. "What the hell is that thing?" Harris demanded, pointing at the coat. "Camouflage," Dahl grunted. "It gives the animals somethin' to look at besides my height, weight, an' peculiar arrangement of molecules." He picked up the coat and began to struggle into it while still seated behind the wheel.
"You sit in back," I said to Harris. I got into the front seat with Dahl. The blanket-wrapped bundle was the riot gun. A half dozen loose shells were in the blanket, too. While I was loading the short-barreled, pump-type shotgun, Harris leaned over the front seat and placed two Halloween masks between us. I watched the road until no cars were corning toward us, then tried on the mask to make sure I could breathe properly. It wasn't too bad. There were sticky tabs at the temples-almost at the same place as my hairpiece tabs-and one under the chin to hold the mask in place.
I removed the mask. When I looked toward Dahl, he was grinning broadly. "What's the good word, cousin?" he asked. He was a bizarre-looking figure in the outrageously flamboyant jacket and the ever-present movie camera once again slung around his neck.
"Roll it," I told him. I gave him directions that would bring us into the bank alley from the Piney Branch Road exit. It was a short run. We turned smoothly into the exit when I pointed it out and headed up the alley the wrong way. Without my saying anything, Dahl turned the Olds around and headed it in the direction from which we'd come. There were only two cars in the alley. No chance of getting hemmed in by a car pulling in too tightly.
We put on our masks. Dahl was first out of the car. With the psychedelic jacket, the mask, and the camera, he looked like a freak pitchman for a carnival show. I carried the riot gun beneath the blanket draped over my left arm. My watch said nine twenty-two A.M. as we walked single file toward the bank's front entrance. There wasn't a soul in sight in the alley.