“Model 10?”
“I think so.”
Klee considered. “If it’s in good condition I can give you twenty for it.”
“All right,” said Parker. “If we pass through on the way back.”
“Of course. I’ll be seeing you.”
“So long.”
3
HANDY POINTED. “That one,” he said. “To the left of the building with the neon.”
Parker looked at the house where Bronson lived and nodded. He pulled the Olds over to the curb and stopped, then gazed across the mass of stone.
It was Saturday night. A thousand miles away, the Club Cockatoo was being robbed, but Parker didn’t know that yet. Neither did Bronson who would get a call about it later that night.
Parker shut off the engines. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“Right.”
They got out of the car. The park was beside them; they walked along it, not crossing till they were opposite the next cross street. They went down the cross street, and turned right, and walked along towards the rear of Bronson’s house. They walked slowly, casually, two big men in hunting jackets and caps, their hands in their pockets, not speaking to each other. They weren’t going in after Bronson tonight, this walk was just to have a look around.
Handy murmured. “There’s the garage.”
“Driveway, there.”
They strolled along, looking in all the parked cars they passed, studying the driveways as they went by. They continued to the next corner, then turned back towards the park again.
Handy said, “It’s wide open. Does that figure?”
“Maybe Bronson’s got a front around here, so it would look funny for him to have guards at the driveways.”
“I guess so.”
“He’ll have them in there with him, though.”
Parker thought about it as they walked along. This was Bronson’s front. Bronson’s cover. He probably had his life here completely separated from his life in the Outfit like Handy with his diner in Presque Isle, Maine, or Parker when he was being Charles Willis. Maybe Bronson figured this Buffalo cover was enough to protect him.
So this should tie the score. Bronson breaks into Charles Willis; Parker breaks into Buffalo.
They turned right, walked past the front of Bronson’s place, and on to the end of the block. Then they crossed over to the park again, walked back to the car, climbed in, and Parker drove away.
So that was Bronson’s hide-out. A big pile of stones, set back from the street, the grounds surrounded by high hedges. Neighbours far away on both sides. Looking at it from the park, on the right, there was a school for the blind; on the left, some fraternal organization’s meeting-house. Both sides empty at night, anyway. The deserted park across the street. And nothing but his own garage in back. Bronson was isolated in there, a sitting duck. You could set off dynamite, and no one would hear a thing.
“You want days or nights?” Handy asked.
“I’ll take nights. I slept this afternoon on the way in.”
“Okay.”
They headed north, through Kenmore and Tonawanda, and found a motel near the thruway. The woman in the office talked all the time, reminding Parker of Madge, except she was fat. She finally showed them their unit and gave them the key and went away. Parker and Handy carried their luggage inside.
Handy looked at his watch. “Ten o’clock. I’ll see you at ten in the morning.”
“Right.”
Parker went back to the car, drove south again into Buffalo, and over to Bronson’s house. He parked across the street and down the block a way so that he was facing the house. His watch told him it was ten-twenty.
He got pencil and notebook out of the glove compartment and made a rough sketch of the front of the house, numbering the windows from one to eleven. Five of the windows were lighted. He wrote: 10.20 1-2-3-6-7. He had passed the rear of the house coming in, and there had been no lights on back there at all.
The notes finished, he put the pencil and notebook down on the seat beside him, lit a cigarette, and settled down to wait.
At eleven-forty, a prowl car went by, headed east. Parker jotted it down.
At eleven-fifty-five, window 3 went out. At eleven-fifty-seven, window 9 lit up. He wrote it down. At twelve-ten, window 9 went out. He noted that.
At twelve-twenty windows 6 and 7 went off. Parker waited, but no other lights went on to replace them. He started the car and drove around the block, but there still weren’t any fights on in back. He returned to his parking space.
At one-fifteen the prowl car went by again, once more headed east. So it was a belt, and not a back-and-forth deal. The belt took about an hour and a half. Parker wrote it down.
