After the prowl car disappeared from his rearview mirror, he got out of the Olds and crossed the street. The street lights were widely spaced here and all of them were on the park side. He was only a shadow when he slipped through the opening in the hedge and moved at an angle across the lawn towards the lighted windows. He peered over a sill at the room inside.
An oval oak table, with a chandelier above, and five men sitting around the table. It took Parker a minute to figure out what they were doing. Playing some game.
Monopoly. For real money, one-cent to the dollar.
Parker studied them and picked out Bronson right away. He had a rich, irritated, overfed look. The other four had the stolid truculence of club fighters, strikebreakers, or bodyguards. In this case, bodyguards. As Parker watched, Bronson bought Marvin Gardens.
Parker moved away from the window, around the house, keeping close to the wall. There was an apartment over the garage, which he hadn’t noticed before. There was a light on up there, and record-player music came softly from the open window. As Parker watched, a Negro in an undershirt showed in the window. The chauffeur, undoubtedly. Parker continued around the house.
There were no other lights on. Someone had gone to bed in the room behind window 9. The chauffeur was in his apartment over the garage. Bronson and four bodyguards were playing Monopoly downstairs. The one who had gone to bed, Bronson’s wife? Probably. So there were six in the house, plus the chauffeur. Parker went back to the car and wrote it all down in the notebook.
Two-fifty, the prowl car again.
Three-ten, window 3 went on. A minute later it went off again, then an upstairs pair of windows, 6 and 7, went on. They stayed on.
Who would have left the game? Bronson. Window 3 would have shown the light he’d turned on to go upstairs. Windows 6 and 7 were probably his bedroom. Windows 1 and 2, where the game was, stayed on.
Three forty-five, windows 6 and 7 went off. Then window 8 came on, stayed on for five minutes, and went off. So, was 8 Bronson’s bedroom? Maybe he had a den or something upstairs, and he’d spent some time there before going to bed. Parker wrote it down, then added a question mark.
He drove around the block again. The chauffeur’s light was out, and there were still no lights on in the back of the house.
The bodyguard’s didn’t even cover the back of the house. They were still in front, playing Monopoly.
Parker didn’t believe it. He parked around in front again, left the car, and went over to the house to check. And there they were, all four of them, still playing Monopoly at the oval oak table.
Parker went back to the car. He wrote it down and put an exclamation point after it.
When window 3 went on at four-fifty, and windows 1 and 2 went off, he knew they were all going to bed. None of them would stay up all night, to be sure. They would all go to bed. When window 3 went black Parker started the Olds, and drove around to the back of the house. A row of lights came on on the third floor. He waited until they went off, one by one.
Now the entire house was in darkness. There was no one awake to give an alarm. Parker went back to his parked car and settled down to wait for morning. He noted the prowl car’s infrequent but regular passage, and also that the two cops in it never gave him a second glance. He’d been sitting here all night, but they hadn’t bothered him.
At seven-thirty, he put pencil and notebook in his pocket, left the Olds, and walked into the park. There was a blacktop path with some benches along it. He sat on one, bundled up in the hunting jacket, and chain-smoked while he watched the house and waited for ten o’clock.
At five past nine, a black Cadillac came out through the opening in the hedge, and turned right. Squinting, Parker could see the Negro chauffeur at the wheel and one man in back. That would be Bronson. Another black Cadillac came out from the cross street to the left, turned, and fell in behind the first one. There were four men in it. The two Cadillacs drove away. So now there would be no one in the house except Bronson’s wife.
At nine-thirty, a cab stopped in front of the house and a Negro woman got out, carrying a brown paper bag. She went into the house. Cook or maid or cleaning woman, her work clothes in the bag.
At five minutes to ten, another cab came along and stopped, this one pulled to the curb behind the Olds. Handy got out and paid the driver. Parker got to his feet and strolled along the path, looking over at Handy. Handy checked the Olds first, then looked around until he spied Parker. He came towards him across the grass. Parker sat down on the nearest bench.
Handy sat down next to him. “How’d it go?”
Parker got out the notebook and read off what had happened in the past twelve hours, with his own commentary and explanations. Handy listened, nodding, and said, “He’s making it easy for us.”
“It doesn’t figure.”
“Sure it does. He thinks he’s safe here. The bodyguards are for just-in-case, but he doesn’t really think he’ll need them.”
“We’ll go in Thursday. That’ll give us five days to double-check.”
“Okay.”
Parker got to his feet. “See you tonight.”
“Right.”
Parker looked over at the Olds. “Maybe we ought to move the car.”
“I won’t need it till after dark.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Parker went over and got into the car and drove it away. He took it halfway around the park, locked it, and walked back through the park to Handy. “It’s over there. You follow the path straight through.”
