“It’s the fastest way,” Handy said.
They’d spent most of the afternoon trying various suburbs and motels, and this one had been the quickest by far. So now they had run it again at the same time of night they would be coming over it Friday. It was Wednesday, and they could expect a little more traffic on Friday, but they’d still done well. The traffic had been heavy, with the majority of the drivers like the majority of all eastern drivers spending the majority of their time in the passing lane. Parker had driven mostly in the right-hand lane, and had made better time than any other car on the road.
Still, he wasn’t satisfied. “What if we holed up right at Kapor’s house, until maybe two or three in the morning? Menlo, will Kapor be coming home alone?”
“Alas, no. Kapor is notoriously a party giver. A select group of friends, perhaps fifteen or twenty, will probably return with him from the dinner. This is always his habit, and I see no reason to expect that it will differ on Friday.”
Parker shrugged. It wasn’t good. Eighteen minutes on the road; with Friday’s traffic, probably twenty or more. Their direction would be obvious before they were six blocks from Kapor’s house. Twenty minutes was plenty of time to set up a block in front of them. He shook his head. “Let’s go inside and study the map.”
They clambered out of the car, Menlo with difficulty, and went up the stairs to their second-level rooms. Parker and Handy had a double, Menlo a single, three rooms down the hall.
In the room, Menlo settled in the most comfortable chair, while Handy stretched out on his bed. Parker got out the Washington area road map and studied it, frowning. “We could go over to a parallel street, but coming back’s no good. The lights along the road out there give maximum red to the side streets. We’d just sit there, half a minute or more.”
“Then we work a switch,” Handy said. “Use another car on the job, and stash the Pontiac along the way.”
“That’s better. Adds more time, but it’s better. Who knows about the Pontiac?”
Handy considered. “Nobody,” he said. “Clara knew that’s all. Menlo’s boys grabbed me in Clara’s place.” He looked over at Menlo. “Were they following us?”
“No, no. They waited at poor Clara’s apartment for you to arrive.”
“OK. So the Pontiac’s clean.”
Parker folded the road map and put it away. He turned to Menlo. “Next question. What tools do we want?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Tools, tools. The dough isn’t just sitting out on a coffee table, is it?”
Menlo’s smile was faintly surprised. “My dear friend, you most certainly don’t expect me to tell you where to find it. My usefulness would then be at its end, would it not? You have been so kind as to include me only because of this one piece of information I have and you do not.”
“I’m not asking you where it is. I’m asking you what we do need to get at it. Like if it’s buried under concrete we need a pick, and maybe a couple caps of dynamite. Or if it’s in a safe, we need a drill and a set of pullers for the combination or maybe some nitro, depending on what kind of safe it is.”
“Ah, I see. The professional mind at work once again. But there is no difficulty, I assure you. No special tools will be required other than our own efficient hands.”
Parker nodded. “All right. What size do we want? How big a bundle?”
“Well, I have not as yet seen this cash in actuality, only in my imagination. But from the manner of its secretion, let us say, I would suppose a container approximately the size of your suitcase would be more than sufficient.”
“I’ll get another one tomorrow, just like it.” Parker got to his feet and lit a cigarette, pacing back and forth across the room. “Once more, to be sure. Kapor’s leaving the house at five o’clock. The chauffeur’s driving him, and will wait for him until the dinner is over. His bodyguard’s going with him too. The cook will fix stuff for the party later on, but she’ll be out of there by six, and so will the gardener. Kapor won’t be back before ten, and maybe later. Between six and ten nobody’s home.”
“Most precisely.”
From the bed, Handy said, “We like to be precise.”
“What about this party after ten o’clock? No servants?” Parker asked.
“Oh no. It will not be that sort of party. Morgan, Kapor’s bodyguard, will serve as bartender. No other servants will be needed.”
“There’s no burglar alarms in the house?”
“Clara was quite certain on that point.”
“All right.” Parker sat down on his own bed, flicked ashes into the nearest ashtray. “So now we wait two days.”
6
HANDY was driving. They were working the side streets, back and forth, Handy sitting casual at the wheel and Parker beside him, studying the parked cars. Menlo was back at the motel.
It was seven-thirty Friday night, and already dark. The occasional major streets they crossed were full of slow-moving traffic, people heading downtown for a night out or uptown for a weekend out of town. The side streets were quiet, with few moving cars and only an occasional pedestrian.
They’d been looking for twenty minutes, and finally Parker said, “There it is.”
Handy saw it too. He stopped the car.
Parker got out and closed the door, and Handy drove the Pontiac away. Parker crossed the street and strolled
