Nobody Runs Forever

“Jake Beckham,” Parker said. “Elaine Langen.”

“That’s me.”

“Sit down.”

She looked at the booth, looked at the privacy they’d arranged for her, and said, “Thank you.” She slid in and said, “Jake had to talk me into this, you know.”

Dalesia said, “Into this, or into the whole thing?”

Her laugh was brief and harsh. “Into this,” she said. “I had to talk him into the whole thing. But I guess you two must agree with me.”

Parker said, “About what?”

“There was an old movie,” she said, “called, Nice Little Bank That Should Be Robbed.”

Dalesia laughed and said, “That’s what we’ve got here, huh? In the movie, did they get away with it?”

“I never saw the movie,” she said. “I just noticed the title, in a TV listing. It struck me.”

“Probably,” Dalesia said, “being a movie, they didn’t get away with it. Movies are very unrealistic that way.”

She seemed amused by him. “Oh? Do bank robbers usually get away with it?”

“They always get away with it,” Dalesia told her. “What orders do the bosses give the tellers in your bank? ‘If they show the note, give them the money. If you can slip them a dye pack, good, but if not, just give them the money.’ Less hassle for everybody, right?”

“That’s right,” she said. “But still, they do get caught sometimes.”

“The really stupid ones,” he agreed. “Also, if you do it a hundred twenty-two times, the hundred twenty-third they’re gonna grab you. Everybody’s gotta show a little restraint.”

She considered him. “What number are you up to?”

“One.”

Parker said, “You’ve got a map for us.”

A little surprised, she gave Parker an appraising look, then looked again at Dalesia. “Well, it isn’t exactly good cop, bad cop,” she said, “but it works the same. Yes,” she told Parker, and reached into the shoulder bag she’d put on the seat beside her.

Parker said, “You got a gun in there, too?”

Surprised again, she said, “As a matter of fact, yes. I don’t intend to show it.”

“Then don’t carry it.”

She had taken from her bag a sheet of typing paper folded in half, but now she paused to say, “I’ve taken courses. I know how to fire a weapon, and I know how to hit what I aim at. And I also know never to show it unless I intend to use it. I carry it because I live in an uncertain world.”

“That’s true,” Parker said.

She extended the paper toward him. He took it, unfolded it, and it was a Xerox copy of a page from a Massachusetts atlas, in black-and-white, showing one small section of the state in close detail. On it a route had been indicated by a few short lines in red ink. Deer Hill was at the southern end of the red line, Rutherford at the north. West Ruudskill, the town with Beckham’s factory in it, was a dot off the middle of the route, to the right.

Parker folded the map twice and put it in his shirt pocket. She watched him, then said, “Jake says you’re doing it without him, but you’ll still share and share alike.” She sounded as though she didn’t entirely believe it.

Parker said, “Did he tell you why he’s staying away?”

Dalesia corrected that: “Why it’s better for him that he stays away.”

Her mouth, thin to begin with, twisted a little. “You’ve got him convinced Jack knows about us.”

“Knew the first round,” Dalesia said, “knows this round.”

She held a hand up to stop him. “Don’t give me the arguments, please,” she said. “They’re just arguments. You’ve convinced Jake, that’s all that matters, and he’s going to do whatever it is you told him to do, but it so happens I know my husband. Jack could not fool me, not for a minute.”

Parker said, “Beckham didn’t tell you what we thought he should do?”

“No.” She shook her head, remembering. “To tell the truth, he seemed a little embarrassed about it.”

“He is,” Parker said. “We told him he should violate parole.”

She stared. “You what?”

“That means he’s inside,” Dalesia explained, “from before anybody knows the date of the move. After the job, he comes back out.”

“My God,” she said. “I know how Jake feels about prison. You really sold him a bill of goods.”

“We showed him what’s out there,” Parker said.

She shrugged. “Well, that’s up to him. You’re supposed to give me a phone number or something?”

This was Dalesia’s part. “It’s a fax number,” he said. “I think we can be pretty sure the move won’t happen