McNally's caper

They were waiting for us in the hallway. The little one, Manuel Garcia, was wearing a clear plastic raincoat over a suit of horrendous green plaid. His pointy shoes were two-toned, yellow and brown. He wore a ruffled purple shirt with a wide tie in a wild carnation print. The knot was as big as my fist. His black hair was slicked back with pomade. He wore diamond rings on both pinkies, and when he grinned, gold sparkled in his front teeth.

Donohue had been right; I could smell his fruity perfume from six feet away.

The taller man, presumably the passport forger, was dressed like an undertaker: black shoes, black socks, a shiny black suit, a not-too-clean white shirt, a black tie hardly wider than a shoelace. He had a long, coffin-shaped face, badly pitted with acne or smallpox. He never looked directly at us. His pale eyes kept darting — left, right, up, down. I thought he was just shifty-eyed, but then I realized he was scared witless. He was carrying a brown paper bag and his hands were trembling so badly the paper kept crackling.

No introductions were offered, none asked.

‘Let’s go in there,’ Donohue said, gesturing toward the open door of the room he had selected.

‘Why not ri’ here?’ Garcia said. His voice was surprisingly deep, almost booming.

‘Too open,’ Jack said and cut short any further argument by leading the way into the dining room.

We trooped after him. I took up a position in the corner, away from the others. I stood at an angle where 1 could see the gate and the access road and also keep an eye on what was going on in the room.

I gripped the pistol in my raincoat pocket tightly, but kept my finger out of the trigger guard. Jack still had his hand in his raincoat pocket. Garcia, in that clear plastic coat, obviously had nothing in his pockets. And he carried his arms slighly out to the sides, palms turned outward, as if to prove his peaceful intentions.

‘You got the necklace?’ he asked, grinning.

‘Sure,’ Jack said. ‘Right here. You got the papers?’

‘Joe, you show him,’ Garcia said.

The three men were standing in a close group. There was no place to sit down, no chairs, no table, no sofa — nothing.

The undertaker fumbled open his paper bag. He pulled out a sheaf of documents. In his nervousness he dropped a card to the littered floor. He swooped quickly to retrieve it and tried to smile apologetically at Garcia. He held out the papers to Donohue.

I looked out at the gate and road. Only the two cars standing there. Nothing moving.

Donohue examined the papers carefully, taking his free hand from his gun pocket. If they were going to make a

move, this would be the time to do it. I watched carefully. But they made no move. Just waited patiently while Jack shuffled slowly through the documents, examining every page of the passports, the Social Security cards, the drivers licenses, the birth certificates.

He stopped suddenly. Raised his head. Glanced quickly toward me.

‘Road clear?’ he said.

I looked again.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Nothing.’

He frowned. ‘Thought I heard something.’

‘Maybe the wind,’ Garcia said, grinning. ‘Maybe the rain.’

‘Maybe,’ Jack said shortly. He went back to examining the papers.

‘You bring the pictures?’ Garcia said. ‘For the passports?’

‘Sure,’ Donohue said, nodding. ‘We got them.’

‘Good,’ Garcia said. ‘Jose, he’s got glue and the stamp. Firstclass work.’

Then I heard it. A dull, sodden thump.

‘Jack,’ I said.

He looked up.

‘I heard something,’ I said. ‘A low thud.’

‘A shutter banging,’ Garcia said, grinning. ‘That’s all.’

Donohue stared at him.

‘This place ain’t got shutters,’ he said.

Manuel Garcia shrugged. ‘A rat maybe. A big bird. A place like this, it’s got all kinds of noises. I think maybe you’re a little anxious — no?’

Donohue didn’t answer. He just stood there, his head cocked, listening. I looked again toward the road. Nothing moved there.

We all stood frozen, silent. Jack was still holding the papers.

Then we all heard it. Unmistakable now. A footfall on soft ground. I imagined I could hear the squish of the sodden earth.

‘You prick!’ Donohue screamed.

He threw the papers at Garcia’s face. But the other man was just as fast. He ducked. When he straightened up, miraculously there was a long knife in his hand. He held it flat, knuckles turned down. The blade glittered wickedly.

Jack started to reach into his pocket for his gun.

Garcia moved forward with little mincing steps. The knife point swung back and forth.

The passport forger gasped and dropped onto the filthy floor.

Garcia lunged.

Jack leaped backward.

‘Run!’ he yelled at me.

I fired through my raincoat pocket.

Garcia was suddenly slammed backward. He didn’t fall. He looked down at himself, not believing.

Jack had his gun out now.

He leaned toward Garcia, his arm out straight. He fired twice.

The man’s face swelled enormously. His mouth opened. His eyes popped. His tongue came lolling out. Then blood gushed from nose and ears. He melted down.

The paperman cowered on the floor. His arms were over his head.

Jack grabbed my arm. We ran.

I saw crouched figures coming across that dreary landscape. From the bay. From a boat on the bay. From the rotting dock.

Donohue yanked me back inside. We turned. Dashed to the other side. Climbed out a broken window. Jumped off the porch. Bolted toward our car.

Then I was alone. I stopped, turned. Jack was standing between me and the hotel. He had both his guns out. He was firing at men darting between pillars on the porch. Men racing to one side to cut us off. Men lying on the wet ground, aiming carefully, firing their weapons methodically.

I saw a familiar figure, short, heavyset, big shoulders, barrel chest. Wearing a black raincoat buttoned to the chin. A black fedora, the brim snapped low.

He came, around the corner of the hotel and walked slowly, purposefully toward us. His hands were in his pockets. He fired no guns. But that deliberate, implacable advance frightened me more than all the shouts, screams, the hard snaps and deep booms of the guns.

I had my pistol out now and emptied it toward that

advancing figure. Still he came. I heard the pistol click and flung it from me. I fumbled in my shoulder bag.

Then Jack turned and came dashing back. I saw the widened eyes, open mouth, the chest heaving.

‘Jan-’ he gasped.

Then something hit him. Punched him forward.

He went down on one knee. He reached slowly around behind him.

I was at his side. Grabbed his arm. Hauled him up. Staggering, stumbling, we made it to the fence. I pushed him through the cut. He fell flat on his face. I saw the bloodstain spreading over the back of his raincoat.

Sobbing, I wrenched him to his feet again. He couldn’t stand erect. He was doubled over. I heard gnats singing about us. A buzz. There were whispers in the air. Things spanged off the bodies of both cars.