“More beer?”
They all wanted more beer. When Edgars brought it back and distributed it, Parker got to his feet and said, “We’ve got some setting up to do. Paulus, you and Wiss ought to take a run out to Copper Canyon and look it over. See if there’s any problems we haven’t covered.”
Wiss said, “I don’t like showing my face.”
“We’ll sell insurance,” Paulus told him. “Don’t you worry, I’ve done this before. I’ve got identity cards and brochures and everything. All you do is do a bad job selling insurance, and in between you look around.”
Parker said, “If Wiss don’t want to, he don’t have to. Kerwin?”
Kerwin shrugged. “All right by me.”
“Wycza, you and Salsa go out there and take a look at this mining place. But don’t stay in Copper Canyon.” He turned to Edgars. “What’s some other town nearby, bigger than Copper Canyon?”
“Madison.”
“All right. Stay at Madison. Chambers, you pick us up a truck, right?”
“I surely will.”
“The biggest they make.”
“That’s the one I’ll get, all right.”
“Wiss, get together with Paulus and Kerwin before they leave, work up a list of the supplies you need. Then you and Elkins go get the stuff.”
Elkins nodded. Wiss said, “Who’s handling the cash?”
“Grofield.”
“Treasurer and disburser, at your service.”
“Littlefield, pick yourself up a car. You and Phillips drive on out there to Madison and start moving groceries out to the mine. Enough for twelve men for a week, just in case. We’ll need water, too. Edgars tells me the water there’s polluted.”
Littlefield said, “Is this the car we’ll use in the job?”
“Right. So stay away from Copper Canyon. Arrange with the boys for when any of them wants to bring a car out to stash at the mine, so you can drive them back. The back money pays for your car and the truck and that’s it.”
Salsa said, “What about the lookout’s car? I’m lookout, town line.”
“Get yourself a car in town, when we start the operation.”
Salsa nodded. “That’s good.”
Parker told him, “What you want to do right away is pick us up walkie-talkies. Four of them, for you, me, Wycza and Grofield. Grofield’ll be at the telephone company, and he can get in touch with anybody else by phone. Wycza and Elkins will be coming together at the truck all the time, so they only need one walkie-talkie between them.”
“Four walkie-talkies,” said Salsa. “Very good.”
“Buy them here in the East.”
Salsa nodded.
Edgars said, “What about me? What do you want me to do?”
Parker shook his head. “Just stay loose. You’ll have things to do later.”
“Well, what about you? What are you going to do?”
“Guns.”
Phillips leaned across the table and said, “Let me have some of that notepaper, will you, Paulus? And does anyone have a pencil? Then we’ll make arrangements for rendezvous at the mine, for those of you with cars to leave there.”
Wiss said, “Kerwin, Paulus, let’s go out in the kitchen and talk.”
Littlefield turned to Grofield. “We’ll have to work out expenses,” he said. “The car, and food, and living expenses.”
“No living expenses,” Grofield told him. “We shaved that much out already.”
Littlefield pursed his lips. “If you think it works better that way.”
Grofield grinned at him. “You want me to go get some more? And you pay it back double, so that way you pay your living expenses twice.”
“That’s the way my income tax will read,” Littlefield told him.
“Income tax?” Grofield stared at him. “You pay income tax?”
“On every penny.”
“I bet yourreturn shakes them up.”
“I account for every penny of income,” Littlefield told him, “but I am forced, of course, to invent my sources.”
“Why bother?”
Littlefield leaned closer to him. “You’re a young man, you can still learn. Pay attention to this. You can steal in this country, you can rape and murder, you can bribe public officials, you can pollute the morals of the young, you can burn your place of business down for the insurance money, you can do almost anything you want, and if you act with just a little caution and common sense you’ll never even be indicted. But if you don’t pay your income tax, Grofield, you will go to jail.”
“Oh, sure,” said Grofield. “Sure thing.”
“Parker knows I’m right. You pay tax, don’t you, Parker?”
Parker nodded. Under the Charles Willis name he owned pieces of a few losing businesses here and there and they gave him the background to cover his income on his tax return.
Grofield shook his head. “I don’t get it. You’re putting me on.
“Income tax is Federal,” Parker told him.
“So’s a bank, for Christ’s sake.”
“I don’t mean Federal offense, I mean Federal, whose money it is. A bank is stockholders, but income tax is government money.”
Pop Phillips said, “Those are words of wisdom, Grofield. I only fell twice, and once it was income tax. I got three years, and I’m still paying the back taxes. Why do you think I’m not retired?”
“I’ll put you on to my accountant,” Littlefield said. “He’ll get you straightened out.”
Grofield got to his feet, looking agitated. “That’s a lot of crap. Don’t talk to me about that. Income tax!”
Littlefield shrugged. “You’ll go to jail,” he said.
Parker saw Grofield getting mad, and said, “Back to business. We got a lot to set up tonight.”
3
“Machine guns,” said the blind man. “They’re expensive, machine guns.”
“I know,” said Parker.
“And hard to come by.”
“I know.”
“The government tries to keep tabs on them. It’s tough to find one without a history.”
“I need three. And three rifles. And eight handguns.”
“Rifles, handguns,” said the blind man. “No problem. Machine guns, that’s a problem.”
Parker shook his head in irritation, though the blind man couldn’t see it. He’d come to the blind man because he was the one to talk to if you wanted machine guns. Parker would have preferred to go to Amos Klee, in Syracuse, but Klee was only good on handguns. It was the blind man, called Scofe, who should be able to supply the machine guns.
Parker said, “You don’t have them? You can’t get them?”
“Sit,” said the blind man. “Sit, sit. Let me think.”
Parker sat, and let him think.
They were in the filthy back room of a cluttered hobby shop on Second Avenue in Albany, New York. Scofe owned the hobby shop, and it was run by a sloppy woman with red hair who didn’t trust anybody. The filth and the clutter and Scofe’s blindness and the woman’s surliness combined to keep customers at a minimum. Scofe didn’t need much to support himself anyway and he got most of his income from guns. He was good with his hands, could disassemble and reassemble a rifle faster than most men with eyes, and was even a good shot. He fired at sound targets, a small bell hung up in a breeze or his favorite kind of target a child’s toy of the click-click type.
Scofe scratched his chin. He hadn’t shaved for a few days, and his fingernails made a harsh dry sound against his beard stubble. He said, “Shotgun no good? I got good shotguns, sawed-off or what you want.”
“Machine guns. Three.”
“You know what the Germans call a machine gun? Kugelspritz. Bullet squirter. All noise, no accuracy.”
“Three.”
Scofe shrugged, and made a motion as though washing his hands. “Not my affair. I got a Schmeisser, a burp gun. Old, but in good condition.”
“That’s one.”
Scofe chuckled, his shoulders rising and falling. “Parker,” he said. “Parker, Parker. I hear you got a new face, but your voice don’t change, or your style. You don’t like me, do you, Parker?”