McNally's caper

wearing a star, a deputy from the county sheriffs office.’

Even while I was listening, the worm of fear beginning to gnaw, I noted his accent: ‘deppity’ and ‘shurf.’

‘Ben says he told them nothing,’ Jack went on. ‘Maybe he didn’t, maybe he did. But someone in town sure as hell will; you can bet on that. They had photos of you two, descriptions of all of us.’

‘How could they trace us here, Jack?’ I asked him.

‘Got a line on me, 1 suppose,’ he said wearily. ‘Found out

I came from the Macon area. So they’re covering this part of the state, figuring I might head for home, like some animal going down its hole.’

‘That’s what you did,’ Fleming said. ‘What we did. You figure they know we’re here — at Mrs Pearl’s?’

i’d make a book on it,’ Donohue said. ‘By now, someone’s talked.’

‘Why should they talk?’ I asked. ‘Why betray one of their own?’

‘A reward maybe,’ Black Jack said, shrugging. ‘Maybe from envy — us driving a big car and throwing money around like we did. Maybe just to see the excitement. A shootout. Nothing much happens in Whittier. Who knows why they did it? But someone did, bet on it.’

‘A Federal agent and a county deputy?’ Fleming repeated. ‘The two of them won’t.try to take us. Not right away. They’ll call in more men, more cars.’

Donohue looked at him with affection.

‘You’re learning,’ he said. ‘You’re beginning to think like a pro. You’re right; we’ve got some time. Not a lot, but a little. All finished? Got everything? Okay, you bring the bags down. I’ll bring the Buick around in front.’

When we carried the luggage downstairs, Mrs Pearl Sniffins was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. Beyond her, I could see the big turkey on the kitchen table, ready for stuffing. There were bowls and pots and pans. Potatoes and yams, stringbeans and corn. A pile of chestnuts. A pumpkin pie.

Mrs Pearl wore an apron over her housedress. Her hands were floured. She just stood there in those unbuckled combat boots. She watched us. She didn’t say anything.

Donohue came in and helped us carry out the suitcases. We stowed everything in the trunk and back seat of the Buick. Then we all came back inside.

‘Ma’am,’ Jack said, trying to smile, ‘we’ve got to be moving on. We’re just as sorry as we can be, looking forward to that fine Christmas dinner like we were. But we got no choice.’

‘No,’ she said, still staring at us. ‘I don’t suppose you do.’

‘Uh, Mrs Sniffins,’ Dick said, ‘we got you a few little things. Christmas presents. Not much. But we do appreciate all you’ve done for us.’

‘Your kindness,’ I said. ‘Your friendship. We’ll never forget it.’

We held the gifts out to her.

‘Leave them in the hall,’ she said, her face stony.

So we piled our packages on the hall table. We went outside. We got into the Buick, Donohue behind the wheel. We started up, pulled out of the driveway. I looked back. Mrs Pearl Sniffins was standing on the porch. Her hands were clasped under her apron. She looked like a statue. Something carved.

Jack turned to the left.

‘Through Whittier?’ Dick said.

‘The shortest and fastest way out,’ Donohue said. ‘Maybe they haven’t got a roadblock set up yet.’

But they had. We sped toward the town, trailing a cloud of dust. Then Jack slammed on the brakes. The car slewed sideways on the dirt, half-turned, skidded, came to a stop, rocking.

About five hundred yards ahead we saw a car and a Jeep blocking the road. They were in a V-formation, nose to nose, pointing toward us. No space between them. Men behind them with rifles and shotguns. On both sides were deep ditches, and then barbed-wire fences along the bald fields.

Donohue backed, swung, backed, swung. We accelerated in the other direction, speeding by Mrs Pearl’s again. I craned sideways. She was still standing on the porch, hands under her apron. We flashed by, went about two miles. Then slowed, slowed, and stopped.

Ahead of us, parked sideways across the road was a heavy tractor. No way around that. Two men behind it, peering cautiously over the treads.

‘Boxed in,’ I said.

‘They’re waiting for more men,’ Dick said. ‘More cars. More guns. Then they’ll move in.’

Donohue didn’t say anything. He was leaning forward over the wheel, staring through the dusty windshield.

‘Take off across country?’ Fleming suggested. ‘Bust through the fence and cut across the fields? It’s a chance.’

‘Where to?’ Black Jack said dully. ‘It’s miles to the nearest backroad, over fields, culverts, crick beds.

Meanwhile we’ll be leaving a dust cloud so big a blind Boy Scout could tail us.’

He put the car in reverse. We began to back up slowly. No reason. Just for something to do. Just to be moving.

‘Let’s run the roadblock,’ I said. “The one near Whittier. Just plow right on through. What the hell.’

Jack Donohue took a deep breath.

‘Suits me,’ he said. Then he turned, flashed his electric grin. ‘I love you, Jan,’ he said. ‘You too, Dick. If you’re all game, let’s go for broke.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Fleming said. ‘Stop here a minute, Jack.’

The car halted. Donohue and I looked at Fleming. His eyes were half-closed. He was breathing deeply, blowing air through pursed lips. His face had gone white. Freckles stood out on nose and forehead.

‘All right,’ Dick said, opening his eyes wide, ‘here’s what we do. Not much of a chance, but some. We go back to Mrs Pearl’s. Get her Plymouth. Pay her for it or just take it. Whatever’s needed. Unload the Buick, put everything in the Plymouth. Jannie drives the Plymouth, and Jack, you’re hunched down in the back seat, out of sight. Wait — another idea: Jan, you borrow one of Mrs Pearl’s bonnets. Get it? You’re driving an old Plymouth in a bonnet. You look like Mrs Pearl alone. They’re not going to shoot. They’re waiting for two men and a woman driving in a big black Buick. Okay, so now Jan, in a bonnet, is driving toward Whittier in the loaded Plymouth. Raising a big cloud of dust. And I’m right in the middle of that cloud of dust, driving the Buick. They’ll be watching the lead car — right? So at the last minute, just before the roadblock, Jannie, you pull as far over to the side as you can get. Not down in the ditch, but give me room to pass. I go roaring by in the Buick and crash the roadblock. Bam, biff, and pow! I’m going to bulldoze a way through; you can bet on it. Then, Jannie, the moment you see the opening, step on the gas and whiz through. What do you think?’

We were silent. I looked at Black Jack Donohue. He was staring out the side window at the cropped fields of Georgia.

‘Only one thing wrong with that idea,’ he said.

‘What?’ Fleming demanded.

7 drive the Buick,’ Jack said. ‘You hunker down in the back seat of the Plymouth.’

‘No way,’ Dick said. ‘It was my idea; I get to have the fun.’

‘We’ll flip a coin,’ Donohue said. ‘Heads you do the hero bit, tails I do.’

He fished in his pants pocket, brought out a fistful of change. He selected a quarter.

‘Bullshit!’ Fleming said. ‘I’d never let you flip a coin, you lousy crook. Jannie, you flip it. Heads, I drive. Tails, Jack does.’

I flipped the coin, caught it, closed my fist over it. Opened my fingers slowly. Heads.

‘Beautiful,’ Dick said. ‘My lucky day. Let’s go.’

We drove back to Mrs Pearl’s. No one on the porch. But when we pulled up in front with a scattering of crushed stone, she came out. She must have been watching from behind the screen door.

‘Let me do the talking,’ Jack said in a low voice.

She watched the three of us come up the steps. Those water-clear eyes regarded us gravely.

‘Another man called you,’ she said to Jack. ‘Said he was from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Wanted to talk to you. I said you was gone.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Donohue said. ‘Ma’am, we need your car, we surely do. We don’t mean to harm you, no ma’am, we