at his right side. With his left hand he made a curiously defeated gesture that beckoned Huckins and Dorr.
The first thing they saw when they entered the living room was the far wall. All the framed pictures had been stripped from it and dropped to the floor where someone had apparently jumped up and down on them. Spray- painted on the wall was a greeting that read, “Snout says Hi!”
The mayor inspected the rest of the living room, saw nothing else that had been vandalized and said, “This it?”
Fork shook his head. “The big bedroom.”
Followed by Dorr, the mayor went down the short hall and into the larger of the two bedrooms that housed the Fork Collection of American Artifacts. The sixty-two pre-1941 Coca-Cola bottles were all smashed. The ninety-four varieties of “I Like Ike” campaign buttons had been dropped to the floor and pounded with something, possibly a hammer. The last editions ever printed of the extinct magazines had been ripped apart. Maple syrup had been poured over the mounted barbed-wire display. All of the glass insulators, Fork’s special pride, had been smashed.
“Jesus,” Dorr said and again asked, “Who’d want to do this?”
“Kids probably,” Huckins said. “During the parade when none of the neighbors were home.”
They went back to the living room to find Fork leaning against one wall and glaring at the opposite one with its spray-painted greeting of “Snout says Hi!” The revolver was no longer in sight. Fork’s arms were folded across his chest, giving him an almost defensive posture.
Huckins turned to Dorr and said, “Why not wait for us in the car, Merriman? We’ll be out in a minute.”
“Yeah,” Dorr said, nodding his understanding. “Sure.”
After he had gone, the mayor went over to the chief of police and put a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s go, Sid. There’s nothing you can do here.”
Fork ignored her and continued to glare at the opposite wall.
“Teddy did all this to make you come after him,” Huckins said. “So he can kill you.”
He looked at her. “Who told him, B. D.?”
“Told him what?”
“About my collection of-stuff.”
“That’s no secret.”
Fork shook his head stubbornly. “Somebody told him.”
“Maybe he’s got a partner,” she said. “Maybe it’s even somebody here in town.”
“After I fix Teddy,” Fork said, “then I’ll fix his partner.”
Kelly Vines parked the blue Mercedes behind Cousin Mary’s at 2:45 P.M. on Monday, July 4, exactly as Parvis Mansur had instructed. Vines got out first. Then came Jack Adair, who stood, leaning on his black cane and looking around the restaurant’s rear parking lot that was empty of cars save for the blue Acura Legend coupe that Mansur had said he would be driving.
Vines and Adair started toward the rear steel-sheathed door. It was opened before they could reach it by Parvis Mansur, who wore a nervous, excited air and his raw-silk bush jacket.
“You didn’t wear coats,” he said by way of greeting. “Good.”
“As instructed,” Vines said.
Eyeing Adair’s black cane, Mansur said, “That a sword cane?”
Adair handed the cane to him and said, “Turn the handle to the right, not the left.”
Following instructions, Mansur removed the handle, smiled at the sight of the silver-topped cork, drew it out, raised the cane and sniffed. “Bourbon, right?”
“Nerve tonic,” Adair said.
Mansur put the cane back together and returned it to Adair. “You probably want to inspect the poker room first.”
“Alone,” Vines said.
“Yes, of course. Alone.”
The poker room was almost as Sid Fork had described it. There was a seven-player table covered with green baize. There were also seven comfortable chairs drawn up to it. There were three leather couches (instead of two by Fork’s count) that were long enough to nap on; a bar, nicely stocked; a coffeemaker; a large GE refrigerator with an automatic ice-maker; a toaster oven; a cabinet full of plates, glasses, cups, bowls and flatware; a long narrow table where the buffets were presumably laid out; a six-line phone; and no windows.
“What about the john?” Adair said.
Vines nodded toward a closed door at the rear of the room. “Let’s check it out.”
The bathroom was large enough for a urinal, a toilet, a sink, and a metal shower stall with a green rubberized shower curtain that hung on plastic ivory-colored rings. Vines pushed the shower curtain to one side, looked down and saw that the floor was cement with a metal drain. He reached into the shower, grasped the cold water faucet and turned it to the right, jerking his arm back as if to avoid the spray. But there was no spray.
“Suspicious bastard, aren’t you?” Adair said.
“Cautious,” said Vines as he stepped into the shower and gave a hard push to the metal wall that held the faucets and showerhead. The wall swung away, revealing a three-by-three foot wooden landing. A large five-cell chrome flashlight was held in place on the landing by a bracket.
They used the flashlight to go down a steep flight of wooden stairs made of unfinished pine lumber. There was no banister. The stairs led down to a small room with concrete walls and floor. The room contained a wooden bench, a chemical toilet, a five-gallon sealed plastic bottle of Arrowhead drinking water, two metal cups and nothing else.
Vines played the flashlight around the room, exploring the ceiling and all four corners. “No escape hatch,” Adair said.
“No.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
When they reentered the poker room the telephone was chirping softly. Vines picked it up and said, “Yes.”
“Mansur here. I’m calling from the private dining room. The phone, either this one or the one in Dorr’s office, will be our communications channel. If necessary, we can even set up a conference call although I don’t foresee that necessity.”
“What about the safe?” Vines said.
“It’s open and completely empty.”
“Any sign of the money man?”
“None. But he still has five minutes. After he arrives and I’ve tallied the money, I’ll lock it in the safe, hand him the key to the poker room and take my leave.”
“Are you saying we’re already locked in here?” Vines asked.
“Yes. Of course.”
“We weren’t expecting that. At least, not yet.”
Mansur sighed deeply. “You must remember that I was to have lured you here, Mr. Vines, on the pretext of a poker game. I am supposedly acting as agent for B. D. and Sid, who’re selling you to whoever appears with the money. If our little playlet is to have any credibility, I can’t have you and Mr. Adair running up and down the hall, now can I?”
“Parvis,” Vines said.
“Yes?”
“What if he doesn’t have the money?”
“Then I’m prepared to defend myself. And you, too, of course.” There was a brief pause that ended when Mansur said, “Sorry to cut this short, but he’s here.”
After the line went dead, Vines hung up the poker room phone and turned to Adair. “He’s here.”
“And we’re locked in.”
“You want a drink?” Vines said.
“No. Do you?”
