“Yes, sir.”
It seemed like a pretty long pause, but finally he heard a ringing sound, and then a male voice said, “Police headquarters, Officer Nieman.”
“I” He didn’t know how to phrase it. He cleared his throat, and blurted it out: “There’s a bank robbery going on! The Merchants’ Bank.”
“What? Who are you?”
“Eddie Wheeler. They broke the door, and they’re back by the vault.”
“What are you doing out at this time of night?”
“For Pete’s sake, will you listen to me? There’s a”
It was like a crack of thunder, the sudden sound, not too far away. Eddie looked up, startled, knowing they’d blown open the vault door. “They just blew up the vault!”
A different voice answered him. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the phone booth at Raymond and Whittier.”
“Stay there, the prowl car will be right there.”
“All right.”
The connection was broken.
Even with the light off, Eddie felt exposed, in the glass phone booth. He stepped out, and went over to lean against the side of the nearest building, Komray’s Department Store. He stared down toward the bank, waiting and watching, wondering what was keeping the police.
The prowl car, when it arrived, came without siren or flashing red light. It seemed to roll along leisurely, and then it stopped at the curb by the phone booth. Eddie stepped toward it, away from the wall, and saw the driver getting out. “They’re down at the Merch”
The driver was wearing a hood.
Eddie just stared at him. The driver came around the front of the car, and he was holding a pistol aimed right at Eddie’s stomach. He said, “You ought to know better than to be out after curfew, Eddie.”
“You’re one of them!”
“Walk down Whittier, Eddie. Ahead of me. Do like you’re told and you won’t get hurt.”
Eddie turned, and started walking. He didn’t believe it, didn’t believe that he wouldn’t get hurt. He was going to be murdered, he knew it.
He thought of Betty’s breasts, gleaming behind the robe. He thought of her asking him to stay the night. He thought of sex with her, thought of the glimpses of her body.
Why didn’t I stay?
“Turn right, Eddie.”
It was the loading dock behind the department store. God, it was dark back there! Eddie hesitated, and the hooded man said, “I don’t want to kill you, Eddie. I got nothing against you. I’m going to tie you and gag you, and early in the morning somebody’ll find you here, safe and sound. But if you try anything cute, I’ll have to cut you down.”
Eddie swallowed, painfully.
“Why you out after curfew anyway, Eddie?”
“I wish I knew.”
He walked into the darkness.
7
One a.m.
Most of Copper Canyon was asleep. Three policemen, six firemen, three telephone company employees, three plant employees, and a boy named Eddie Wheeler were all awake. Most of these were tied and gagged; none of them was sure he’d live till morning. Aside from these sixteen, there were about twenty other citizens awake in Copper Cannon; insomniacs reading, couples making love, two young mothers warming baby bottles.
The Merchants’ Bank and City Trust had both been blown open. Wycza was carrying trays of money from Merchants’ to the truck, Elkins was carrying trays of money from City to the truck. Paulus was working on the Nationwide Finance & Loan Corporation safe, and Wiss was working on the Raymond Jewelers safe. At the plant, Kerwin hadn’t yet opened the safe containing the payroll; he worked slowly, because he enjoyed his work.
Parker was in the prowl car, driving aimlessly this way and that, the walkie-talkie on the seat beside him. At the firehouse, Chambers had commandeered the playing cards and was dealing out hand after hand of solitaire, waiting for George to make a run for the door. At the telephone company, Grofield was playing charades with George’s niece Mary; she was laughing. At police headquarters, in the Command Room, Edgars sat inside his hood and brooded on his own plans.
Pop Phillips was half-asleep, sitting on a tilted-back chair in the guard shack by the east gate. In the main plant building, Littlefield sat in a coil of tension, waiting for the phone to ring and wondering what he would do if it did. At the other end of town, Salsa sat with stolid patience in a brand new Oldsmobile, watching the empty street. There was a car a little ways ahead, parked at the curb, and a streetlight shone on its license plate, a dull tan with the number in dark brown. Below the number was the legend PEACE GARDEN STATE; Salsa wondered idly what that meant.
Two a.m.
Eddie Wheeler was asleep, his face against cold asphalt. In the morning he would have the beginnings of a bad headcold, but he’d be alive. Officer Mason, three firemen, and Mrs Sawyer at the phone company were all also asleep, leaving ten of the prisoners still awake.
Kerwin had finished the plant safe, finally, and loaded the payroll into the station wagon. He had driven down Raymond Avenue to the truck, transferred the payrollin white canvas bank bagsto the truck, and carried his bag of tools to Credit Jewelers, where he was now once again opening a safe. Paulus was walking through Komray’s Department Store with a flashlight, looking for the office. Wiss had just left the five-and-dime and was entering the shoe store next door. Wycza and Elkins were loading the truck.
Pop Phillips was asleep. Littlefield was chain-smoking. Salsa was standing beside the Oldsmobile, stretching his legs. Chambers was cheating at solitaire. Parker was driving around in the prowl car. Edgars was moodily studying the submachine gun, waiting for the time to be right. Grofield knew Mary Deegan wanted him to kiss her, but he couldn’t figure out how to do it without removing the hood.
Three a.m.
Five prisoners remained awake; Officer Nieman, George Deegan and his niece, one other fireman, and the guard from the west gate. All other citizens were asleep, except one insomniac who had two chapters to go in the mystery he was reading.
Wiss and Paulus and Kerwin were opening safes; Wycza and Elkins were emptying them. Salsa was back in the Oldsmobile, thinking of women. Edgars was growing impatient. Grofield’s hood was off; so were Mary Deegan’s panties.
Three forty-five a.m.
Wycza opened the cab door of the truck, stepped up, sat down to rest a minute, and switched on his walkie-talkie. “This is W,” he said, “You there, P?” He felt stupid, using initials; you might know Paulus would dream up something like that.
Parker answered: ‘What’s up?”
“Everything’s open. We’ll be done quicker than we thought. All five of us are loading now.”
“How much longer?”
“Half an hour, maybe less.”
“S, you hear that?”
Salsa picked up the walkie-talkie. “I hear it. That’s very good.” He put the walkie-talkie down on the seat again and lit a new cigarette.
Parker said, “G, you there?”
Grofield had been trying to explain to Mary Deegan why he couldn’t take her along, and she’d begun to get mad, had just pointed out that she could identify him now. He was grateful for the interruption. He went over and picked up the walkie-talkie and said, “Right here.”
“Spread the word. We’ll be ready to clear out in half an hour.”
“Right.”
Grofield went over to the desk and picked up the phone. Mary followed him, saying, “I don’t see why you can’t take me.
“In a minute, all right? Just one minute.” He dialed police headquarters, went through Officer Nieman, got Edgars, told him, “We’ll be moving out in half an hour.”
“So soon? Thanks.” Edgars hung up, picked up the machine gun, and sprayed bullets into Officers Nieman and Mason and Felder. He went down the well-remembered hall to the armory, shot the lock off, went in and opened the metal box in the corner. World War II souvenirs, impounded by the police, including three live hand grenades. He took them, left the building, and went across the street to the firehouse.