Nobody Runs Forever

“But there’s still no choice,” Dalesia said. “We’ve still got to move on away from here.”

Parker said, “The problem is the cash. We can’t carry it, and we can’t stay here, so the only thing to do, we leave it. We can scoop out a handful each, but that’s it.”

McWhitney looked deeply pained. “Leave it? After what we went through to get it?”

Parker said, “You put even one of those boxes of cash in your pickup, on the seat beside you, or I put it in the trunk of my car, the first roadblock we come to we’re done.”

“I know that, Parker,” McWhitney said. “I was just out there. But there’s got to be some way we can move that cash around the cops or through them or something.”

“Nothing,” Parker said. “There’s nothing.”

McWhitney hated this. “So whadda we do, then? We just leave it all here? I can’t walk away from that truck out there, Parker, I rented that in my own name. So what are we supposed to do, just dump it all out on the ground?”

“No,” Parker said. “We stash it.”

Dalesia said, “That’s a lotta boxes out there, Parker. Where we gonna find to stash that much stuff?”

“The choir loft,” Parker said.

5

There was a windowless door on the right side of the church, down near where the altar had once stood. Outside the door was a small gray concrete slab, and two concrete steps going down to ground level. Wrought-iron railings on both sides had been broken off and taken away, leaving twisted iron stubs.

The door was locked, and would open inward. McWhitney went around to the outside, stood on the slab, and kicked it open. Then they started moving the boxes out of the truck, at first only as far as the side wall of the lean- to.

When the first part was done, McWhitney drove his pickup around to that side and left it next to the wall, just forward of the doorway, its front end toward the road. That would both explain the open door and hide their movements as they carried the boxes around and into the church.

After the last box had been lugged in and stacked on the front pews, McWhitney kicked the door shut again, because otherwise it kept sagging open. And now they started the third and final part of the move, which was the longest and the hardest.

First they shifted some of the chairs and hymnal boxes that were upstairs, crowding them all as far as possible over to the left. Then they started bringing up the money boxes, stacking them in the right corner, four high, with hymnal boxes stacked on top. When everything was upstairs, they rearranged the rest of the boxes and chairs again, so that at the end it had the same cluttered look as before, but more crowded.

The whole move had taken more than two hours. Downstairs again, sitting in the pews, drinking the last of the bottled water as they caught their breath, they were all quiet for a few minutes, until McWhitney said, “I figure a month.”

“At least,” Dalesia said.

“We can’t leave that stuff up there forever,” McWhitney said. “You never know, they could sell the building for an antique shop, clear out the choir loft and hello, what’s this?”

Parker said, “We’ll give it a month, then see how things look around here.”

McWhitney finished his water. “Time to go,” he said. “Nick, follow me while I turn the truck in, then I’ll drive you to your car.”

“I’ll shut down here,” Parker said.

Dalesia said, “Don’t anybody try to get in touch with me, I’m gonna be on the move. I’ll call you two one of these days.”

“I’ll be in my bar,” McWhitney said, “unless that Sandra decides to shoot me, so we can keep in touch through me.”

Dalesia said, “What’s she gonna shoot you for? You’re gonna make her rich with all that Harbin money.”

McWhitney grinned. “Maybe she’d like to co-own a bar.”

McWhitney and Dalesia left, McWhitney leading in the rental truck. After they were gone, Parker went through to remove things that might identify them later on, like coffee cups and water bottles. Everything went into the bag McWhitney had brought breakfast in.

He also went downstairs to be sure nothing had been left behind. He shut off the power, and used his flashlight to get back up to the main floor.

Finished with the church, Parker went to the front door, looked out, saw that the road was empty, and crossed over to the Dodge, which he’d left parked next to the empty house. He drove off, and the first town he came to, four miles away, he threw away the bag in a municipal trash barrel. Except for four thousand dollars in cash in his pockets, he was carrying nothing with him that he hadn’t brought here.

It was seven miles farther on that he saw his first roadblock, up ahead. It was positioned where a driver coming this way wouldn’t be able to see it until he was close enough to be seen, with no turnoffs.

This being a small road with little traffic, the cops weren’t dealing with anybody else at that moment, so all four of them, two each for the east and westbound lanes, waved him down. One looked at John B. Allen’s identification while another checked the trunk.

Parker said, when he got his ID back, “Where can I find a diner? I’m looking for lunch.”

“Sorry, pal,” the cop said. “We’re not from around here. Just keep on, you’ll find something.”

Parker kept on.

6

Staying north of the MassPike, but still meeting roadblocks now and