''Don't quite look old,'' Sandy said. ''You look old, but you move young.''
''We need some practice,'' LaChaise said. And then, a spark in his eyes, ''Let's go on out to this big fuckin' mall. What do they call it-the Mall of America?''
Sandy was appalled by the idea: ''Dick, you're nuts.''
His smile vanished. ''You never fuckin' say that,'' he said.
She shut up: Dick, she thought, was losing it. Play to him, look for a chance.
Try not to be in the way when the shooting started.
MARTIN TOOK THE TRUCK, AND SANDY AND LACHAISE followed behind in the
Continental. Martin left the truck in a neighborhood north of the airport. He patted it once, like he might a horse, looked it over, then got in the
Continental.
''Makes you want to cry,'' LaChaise said.
''Damn good truck,'' Martin said, looking back at it as they drove away. ''You know, it was perfect, mechanically. New engine, new tranny-new about everything.
I could go anyplace, and nobody'd give it a second look. Good thing, too, when you're dealing guns.''
''Where're we going?'' Sandy asked, still behind the wheel.
''The mall,'' LaChaise said.
''We oughta take care of some business first,'' Martin said.
''Yeah? What's that?''
Martin had a map of the downtown area. ''I want to go look up the hospital where they're taking these people… Hennepin General. Then I want to go over to this other one, where Davenport's old lady works. Just a recon, to see where it is.''
''All right,'' LaChaise said. ''I'm just glad to be out.''
The first hospital, as it turned out, was only six or eight blocks from Harp's apartment. There were cop cars parked by the entrances.
''That'd be tough,'' Martin said.
''But we could get to it on foot, if we had to,'' LaChaise said. ''If that big storm comes in…''
The other hospital was farther away, but easy to get to- straight down Eleventh to Washington, right, a couple of naturalturns, across the river and up the hill past a building that looked like it had been built from beer cans-and there it was.
No cop cars.
''This one would be simpler,'' Martin said.
''But it's big,'' said LaChaise. ''Finding her could be a problem-even knowing for sure that she's in there could be a problem.''
''We could work it out,'' Martin said.
Sandy drove, listening; she was shocked by the coolness of the discussion.
They'd done robberies, she was sure: Candy and Georgie hadn't started on their own. Still, she was reluctantly impressed by the cool appraisal of the targets.
''Now: out to this mall,'' LaChaise said. He stretched out in back, favoring his side. The wound was tightening up. ''Feel like I'm being held together by banjo strings,'' he grumbled. But he sat up as they approached the mall.
''Looks like Uncle Scrooge's money bin,'' he said.
''You ain't far wrong,'' Martin said.
Sandy found a parking spot in the ramp, and they went inside. The mall was packed, but nobody gave them a second look. And LaChaise was fascinated.
''Goddamnedest thing I ever seen,'' LaChaise said, as they stopped outside the
Camp Snoopy amusement park. A gangbanger dragged by, looked them over-two old guys with beards and long black coats. They looked like cartoons. The gang-banger smirked, kept going.
LaChaise took them on a circuit of the mall, browsing through the stores, checking out the women, dragging Sandy along.
''We gotta get out of here,'' Sandy said, after the first circuit.
''We just got here,'' LaChaise said, enjoying himself.
''Dick, please…''
''Tell you what, let's catch a movie.''
''We can see a movie back at the apartment, he's got HBO. Please.''
''Then let's get a pizza, or something. God, is that cinnamon rolls I smell?''
The gang-banger went by again, this time from the other direction-they'd both made a circuit of the second level- but this time, after he passed, he turned and followed them.
There was something not quite right here, the banger thought. There was something wrong with the old guys, and the blond was nervous. Her nervousness gave the whole trio a sense of vulnerability. The feel of vulnerability brought him in, like a mosquito to bare flesh. Victims…
There may have been ten thousand people in the mall, but there were also dead spots. One of them was next to an automatic teller machine. The banger watched as the trio bought cinnamon rolls and Cokes, then sat on a bench next to the
ATM.
Nobody real close. The banger put on a grin and wandered up, put his hand in his pocket and dropped the blade on a butterfly knife.
''How's it going, folks,'' he said to LaChaise. LaChaise bobbed his head, didn't look up, but the banger could see the smile. The victims usually smiled, at first, trying to pretend that the contact was friendly. ''Whyn't you just give it up? A few bucks,'' the banger said.
Now LaChaise looked up at him, his voice soft. ''If you don't go away, I'm gonna take that fuckin' blade and cut your nuts off.''
The banger took a step back. ''I oughta…''
''Fuck oughta. You want to do something, do it, pussy,'' LaChaise said. The banger looked at Martin, and the pale eyes fixed him like a bug.
The banger said, ''Fuck you,'' and walked away.
''We gotta get out of here, Dick,'' Sandy pleaded.
''Felt kinda good,'' LaChaise said to Martin, and Martin's head bobbed. ''Hey, c'mon; let's go see a movie.''
''Dick, please…''
LaChaise pulled her close. ''You shut up, huh? Quit whinin'. I haven't been outside in years, and goddamnit, I'm gonna enjoy myself one afternoon. Just one fuckin' afternoon, and you're coming along. So shut up.''
LACHAISE COULDN'T FOLLOW THE MOVIE: BUILDINGS blew up, cars got wrecked, and the cops seemed to have antitank missiles. All bullshit. Martin fell asleep halfway through, although he was awake when it ended.
''Let's get out of here,'' LaChaise muttered.
On the way out, they passed an electronics store with a bank of TVs lit up along one wall. As they were passing, the chief of police came up: they knew her face from the hours of news. ''Hold it,'' Martin said. They watched through the glass, and suddenly Martin's face came up.
''Shit,'' he said. ''They got me.''
''That means they got the truck,'' LaChaise said.
''We knew they would,'' Martin said.
LaChaise looked him over, then looked back at the TV, and said, ''You know, nobody'd recognize you in a million years. Nobody.''
Martin looked at Sandy, who looked at the TV picture, back to Martin, and nodded in reluctant agreement.
Martin watched until his picture disappeared, and then said, briskly, ''Let's get a beer.''
LaChaise nodded. ''We can do better'n that. Let's find a bar.'' And he turned to
Sandy and said, ''Not a fuckin' word.''
• • •
THEY FOUND A PLACE ACROSS FROM THE AIRPORT, A long, low, yellow log cabin with a
Lite Beer sign in the window, showing a neon palm tree. The sign looked out over a pile of dirty snow, freshly scraped from the parking lot. Above the door, a beat-up electric sign said either Leonard's or Leopard's, but the light bulbs in the fourth letter had burned out, along with the neon tubes on one side. Seven or eight cars and a few pickups, all large, old and American, were nosed toward the front door. Inside, they found a country jukebox, tall booths, a couple of coin-op pool tables and an antisocial bartender.
The bartender was drying glasses when they walked in, and twenty people were scattered around the bars, mostly in clumps, with a few lonely singles. Two men circled the pool table, cigarettes hanging from their lips. They checked
La-Chaise and Martin for a long pulse, and then started circling again.