Which way was the other one? If he committed to look to the left, and Harry was to the right, he'd be rewarded with a bullet in the head. He listened, the drill-whine only a faint burr behind him now, hoping to hear Harry breathe, or move, or yawn.
Nothing. How far away was he?
Fifty-fifty odds were not acceptable. Holding the Colt in his right hand, he reached into his left pants pocket. The only coin he ever carried while working was one quarter, in case he found himself in a place where he needed a phone. Now he took the quarter out and flipped it high and arcing across the hallway to flash glittering in the chandelier light, clink against the far wall, bounce silently on the carpeted floor.
A quick rustle; to the right; Parker launched himself out of the stairwell, diving as though into a swimming pool, right arm extended to the right, firing the Colt before he could see, landing flat on his chest, head to the right, sighting along his extended arm now at the bulky figure shooting, the gnats whizzing just above his head, firing the Colt, squeezing it off, squeezing it off, the figure bouncing back, half-turning, suddenly running away down the hall, Parker sending the rest of the Colt's clip after him, but the stance too awkward down here, no good at the increasing distance, Harry to the end of the hallway and through the door there and out of sight.
Feet under him, Colt tossed away, Parker called down, 'Come up!' and ran down the hall as he pulled his own .38 revolver out of his coat pocket.
He could hear Wiss and Elkins behind him, but couldn't see Harry ahead. He had to slow at the doorway, hesitate, come in fast and low, see no one in the long dining room, the table like a bowling alley lane, the high- backed wooden chairs, the wall of mirrors under the chandeliers reflecting him back as he pursued down the long room and out the far end.
Every doorway was a delay, but every room he went into was empty, and at the end the rear door was open, the door he and the others had first come in. Parker raced through that doorway, out to the cold bright sunless northern day, and the bulky figure was getting into the Cherokee, their car that they'd left up above, that Elkins and the other two had driven down.
They
Parker fired again, but there was too little to shoot at. He didn't want to put out tires, hit the gas tank. The only target he was interested in was the man, but the man was too encased in the thick frame of the
Cherokee, and now it was moving away, cutting across the frozen lawn to turn back north.
Wiss and Elkins came panting out of the house, both with their guns in their hands. Wiss said, 'What do we—' and they all heard the siren.
Sirens. They all faded back into the house, and two state police cars, red lights whirling on their roofs, ran upward from the side of the house, sirens screaming as they chased the Cherokee.
The three in the entry room looked at one another. Elkins said, 'I'd say, we lost our ride.'
10
'Downhill,' Parker said. 'And time to switch.'
The orange coats were reversible, muddy brown waterproofs on the other side. As they trotted through the house, headed now for the front entrance, they shook off the coats, pulled the sleeves through, shrugged into the coats again, switched their guns from the inner pockets to the out.
Bert Hayes, crawling on his stomach, had made it halfway through the doorway, heading back into the office, probably hoping to knock the phone off the desk. Moxon, lying where they'd left him, looked up, startled, as they jumped over Hayes's legs and stopped for one second at the front door. Parker pulled the door open just far enough to see out, to be sure there were no vehicles and no people out there, only the two-lane concrete road angling away downhill.
'Good,' he said, and they went out, and straight down the hill.
Panting as he ran, trying to talk, Wiss said, 'There'll be more coming up. They'll call for backup.'
'We go as far as we can,' Parker said, 'then get off the road, work downhill.'
'Lights!' Elkins called, and all three veered away from the road, running full tilt in among the evergreens, as the flashing red lights came thrusting up the hill. They dropped to the ground, saw and heard the three state police cars go by, and waited until the sirens were only echoes from up the mountain. Then they got to their feet, and Parker said, 'We can do the road again for a while. They're all up there, they've got Harry to think about, they won't start back down—'
'Until Moxon and Hayes start talking,' Elkins said.
'We've got a few minutes, anyway,' Parker told him, 'and the road's faster.'
They loped downhill for less than a minute when Elkins yelled, 'Another one!' and again they hurried away from the road. But this time Parker went only as far as the cover of the first tree, because there was something wrong with it, whatever that was coming up the road.
A big vehicle, boxy, almost completely white. But no whirling red lights, not even headlights, and no siren. Just—
Wiss, peering from nearby, said, 'An ambulance? So soon?'
'Hold on,' Parker said, and got to his feet, and trotted toward the road as the ambulance went by, moving slow, without extra light or sound. 'Lloyd!' he yelled, and the driver turned his white face, saw Parker waving his arms, and the brake lights flashed on.
'My God,' Wiss yelled, 'it's Larry!'
They ran toward the ambulance, as Lloyd rolled down his window to shout, 'One in front, two in back!' He was dressed in a white coat but no hat, like a medic.
