McNally's caper

sovereign died or disappeared, panic set in.

But he came back, before the deadline of 5:00 P.M. He came into the room quickly, carrying a package. He was trying to smile. His pale forehead was sheened with sweat.

‘AH set?’ he said. ‘Good. Let’s get going. Right now. Let’s hit the road.’

We all looked at him.

‘Jack,’ Dick Fleming said, ‘what is it? Something’s happened. I can tell. What happened?’

He slumped suddenly into an armchair. He thrust out his long legs.

‘I saw him,’ he groaned. ‘I saw the bastard. Jannie, you were right.’

‘Rossi?’

‘Yeah. Coming out of a hotel. Thank God I saw him before they spotted me.’

‘They?’ I asked.

‘Him and two other guys. Heavies.’

‘You think they was like, you know, bodyguards, Jack?’ Hymie Gore asked.

‘Sort of, Hyme,’ Donohue said, smiling wanly. He was beginning to lose his pallor. ‘I figure the Corporation is keeping him on a tight leash. They’re giving him a chance to make good, but they’d hate to see him run. So they assigned two guided missiles to keep him company.’

‘What’s he doing in Raleigh?’ I said sharply. ‘How did he follow us here if no one tailed us?’

‘Just an accident,’ Jack said. ‘They’re covering every city of any size up and down the coast. Him being here when we are is just a coincidence. I’ll bet on it.’

No one said a thing.

We got back on Route 95 at Smithfield and turned south. Donohue was driving, Dick beside him. Hymie and I stretched out in the back seat. No joking, no talking. It wasn’t the happiest of times. I kept turning to look back, expecting any minute to see a long black car coming up behind us, and at the wheel, a chunky figure wearing a bowler, velvet-collared Chesterfield, pinstriped suit, polka-dot bowtie. Eyes cold, thin lips tight. One desire: to murder the woman who had made a fool of him.

That evening we drove through Fayetteville to Lumberton. Southbound holiday traffic was heavy; it took us more than three hours. We got off the highway at Fairmont, had a quick dinner, and started off again, Dick Fleming driving. Donohue was next to him, bending over a map, trying to read it in the dashlight.

We had hardly exchanged a dozen words since leaving Raleigh. I couldn’t stand it.

‘How did you make out in Raleigh, Jack?’ I asked casually. ‘The rocks?’

He folded the map, put it away in the glove compartment. He half-turned to face me. He seemed pleased that we had decided to talk to him again.

‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Another couple of grand.’

‘What did you buy? In the package?’

‘When we get to Miami, we might need some heavy green. For grease — you know? Buy some new IDs for us. Charter a plane. All that. So we’re running low on the small ice, the stuff that’s easy to peddle and hock. I figure that after buying the Buick and then picking up a couple of G’s in Raleigh, we’ve all got about fourteen-fifteen thou between us. Not enough. So I bought some tools. To cut up the heavy ice if we have to. Now what I got in there is wire clippers, awls, long-nosed pliers, a loupe, a dissolvent they use to loosen the cement when the stone is glued to the setting, a small ball-peen hammer, a few other things. All this stuff is used to break up jewelry. If things get tight, we’ll pry out the stones and I’ll pick up a little electric kiln so we can melt down the settings. The price of gold’s way up these days. Then we’ll peddle the individual rocks. No way, no way, anyone can identify those. And a hunk of gold is just a hunk of gold.’

I looked at him with admiration.

‘Jack,’ I said, ‘is there anything illegal you haven’t done?’

‘Not much,’he said.

Perhaps it was about then that, for me, our flight began to take on a dreamlike quality. I was aware that we were then in South Carolina. It meant nothing. The highway kept spinning away beneath our wheels. It seemed stretched forever. If someone had said that this ribbon of concrete wound the world, I would accept that. Next stop: Hong Kong. That made as much sense as what we were doing, devouring miles, watching idly as the night fled by: neon signs glimmering in the distance, the faint glow of far-off towns, brilliant headlights of cars passing on the other side, and the occasional roar as a tractor-trailer went grinding by. Some nut in a sports car darting in and out of traffic. Vans. Pickups. Wheezing heaps striving to make the promised land.

I saw it all, and I didn’t see anything. I mean, I was aware of what was happening, but I was divorced from it. I said, prior to the actual robbery of Brandenberg amp; Sons, that I was both observer and participant. Now it seemed to me that my role had dwindled to observer only. I had that removed coldness.

Dick driving, we flew south. I remember noting a sign that read ‘The Great Pee Dee River,’ and I thought that was mildly amusing. We went around Florence, Manning, Summerton, across Lake Marion.

‘How much in the tank?’ Donohue asked.

‘About a quarter,’ Dick Fleming said.

‘Let’s get off,’ Jack said, sighing. ‘I thought we’d try to make Savannah, but the hell with it. Any turnoff that looks good to you, Dick. You pick it. We’ll get some sleep. I’m beat. Are you beat, Jannie?’

‘Beat,’ I said, nodding. ‘Jack, can we find a nice place? Something decent — without bug spray in the room? And if we do, can we stay for a day or two? Just rest up? I can’t see where if would do any harm. And it might do some good. If they’re figuring our travel time, it could throw them off if we take a couple of extra days.’

‘Right,’ he said promptly. ‘We’ll do it. Weil relax. Put our act together. Okay with you, Hyme?’

But Hymie Gore was asleep, breathing heavily. His big head was on my shoulder. I endured it. As a matter of fact, I welcomed it, and tried to make the Incredible Hulk comfortable. He was really a very sweet man. Another lesson for me: You can be stupid and sweet.

We turned off toward a town called Coosawhatchie.

‘Why here?’ Donohue asked.

‘I like the name,’ Fleming said. Jack laughed and let him g°-

It didn’t turn out all that funny. We drove around for a half-hour, found no motels displaying a Vacancy sign. We got back on the highway, went south to Ridgeland. The same story: No room at the inn. Back on the highway again, and south to Hardeeville, just before the Georgia border.

I have a vague recollection of stopping before a motor lodge that could only be called ‘imposing’ compared to the fleabags we had been frequenting. At least this place had a generous lobby, an elevator, and ‘All Modern Advantages,’ just as advertised on the sign outside. These included small refrigerators in every room, central air conditioning and, if desired, water beds. We didn’t desire.

We checked in and lugged all our luggage up to our fourth-floor rooms. I was sharing with Jack Donohue that night. After we were settled in, he disappeared for about twenty minutes. By the time he returned, I had finished a hot shower, was dried, dusted, sprayed with foo-foo. I was lying in my bed, spreadeagled beneath a single sheet. I felt like a lump. That’s the only way I can describe it: I was a lump.

I heard him, dimly, lock and chain the door. Heard him undress, curse softly as he stubbed his toe. Heard him shower. Saw through half-closed eyes the light from the bathroom as he shaved. I wasn’t sleeping, exactly, and I wasn’t awake, exactly. Suspended animation-that was me. I wasn’t even sure I was breathing. And my brain was mush. I couldn’t think, let alone concentrate. A thought would pop up and then just go drifting away before I could grab it.

That’s the way I was that night — drifting.

Jack Donohue came into bed with me and I didn’t object. He did things to me. I responded, but it was all on a physical level, reactions I couldn’t resist. Didn’t have the will to resist, or the strength. And all the time my body was leaping, heaving, twisting and thumping, my lumpish mind was going TJhhhhh.’ Nothing.

By the time I awoke, Jack was back in his own bed and I was back in my own head. He was still sleeping when I showered, wigged, dressed, and went next door to knock on the door of the room shared by Dick and Hyme. No answer. But I found them in the coffee shop downstairs and slid into their booth.

I ordered what they were eating: scrambled eggs, pork sausages, and grits. Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.

Jack joined us as we were working on our third coffees, and by the time we all wandered outside, things