around the store a few minutes more, then left the carriage up by the meat counter, at the other end of the store from the check-out counters. He went by the dairy case, picked up a couple of vanilla yogurts, paid for them at the express check-out, and went outside to sunshine and the nearly empty parking lot.
In sunlight, Barnes' Pontiac was a medium blue, and dusty. Grofield slid in beside Barnes and looked through the windshield at the store. Specials were advertised in the windows with fat red or blue lettering on large sheets of white paper. Between two of them, Grofield could see the door of the safe in the right front corner, a dark metallic green, about five feet back from the window farthest to the right.
Barnes said, 'Like Hughes said?'
'Seems that way. Of course, I don't know about Friday night, if they've still got the same pattern.'
'They do,' Barnes said, sure of himself. 'Every supermarket in the country has that pattern. Friday's the big day, it empties the shelves.'
Grofield nodded. 'It looks good.'
'Seen enough?'
'Sure.'
Barnes started the Pontiac and made a looping U-turn to take them out to the highway. One of the entrances to Scott Air Force Base was across the highway and about a hundred yards to the right. Automobiles made a more or less steady stream in and out of the place.
Traffic westward on the highway was moderate. Grofield shook one of the vanilla yogurts, to liquefy it, and then drank it from the carton. He offered Barnes the other one, but he didn't want it, so Grofield drank that one down, too, and then said, 'If you see a pay phone, stop for me, okay?'
'Sure.'
They were all the way in to East St. Louis before Barnes spotted a phone booth and pulled to the curb. Grofield got out, dropped the paper bag with the empty yogurt cartons into a litter basket beside the phone booth, stepped into the booth, and dialed the operator.
'I'd like to make a collect call to the Mead Grove Theater, Mead Grove, Indiana. My name is Grofield.'
'One moment, please.'
Grofield waited, heard a lot of clicks and buzzes, heard Mary's voice, heard the operator go through the accept-the-charges-ritual and Mary say sure, and then he said, 'Honey?'
'Hi! How are you?'
'Fine. I should be back by the middle of next week.'
'It that good or bad?'
'I think it's good. Guess who I ran into? Charley Martin. He's staying at the Hotel Hoyle.'
'Haven't seen him for a long time,' she said. She loved this sort of thing, it made her think of foreign intrigue.
Grofield said, 'How's your cousin?'
'Getting better. He's taking a nap now.'
'Tell him I asked for him.'
'He's really impatient. He's getting mad at himself, he's in such a hurry to be well.'
Grofield grinned. 'Work him,' he said. 'Let him rewire the lightboard, that'll take his mind off his troubles.'
'Sure it will.'
'See you, honey.'
'See you. Good luck.'
'You bet,' Grofield said.
Grofield left the phone booth and got back into the car, and Barnes drove off, saying, 'You're very neat.'
'It's a habit. Comes in handy sometimes.'
'I can always tell when a man's on the phone with his wife,' Barnes said. 'The way his face relaxes.'
Grofield looked at him in surprise; it wasn't the kind of observation he'd come to expect from a heavy like Barnes. He said, 'You married?'
'Not at the moment,' Barnes said. He said it flat, and he kept looking out the windshield at the traffic, and Grofield didn't pursue the subject.
4
Route 3 drops south through Illinois, ricocheting from time to time off the Mississippi River, cutting through little towns called Red Bud and Chester and Wolf Lake and Ware. Grofield, sitting beside Hughes in the pale gray Javelin, noticed that the red speedometer needle always pointed exactly at the posted speed limit. Along with setting this job up, Hughes would be their driver, and from all indications he would be a good one.
The car, for one thing. American Motors had done its part for the nation's fantasy life by putting out a car that looked like a Ronson lighter and had more cute tricks than a Boy Scout knife, for children everywhere who liked to play James Bond on the way to work; but they hadn't put much under the hood. They'd called this car Javelin, maybe because you could throw it about as fast as you could drive it. Fred Hughes had taken this car, which
