Ask the Parrot

the site of the bank robbery that Ed Smith’s money was supposed to be from.

Were Tom and Smith on their way to get the money? What else could they be doing? Cory had more and more questions in his mind about what was going on here, but he didn’t want to voice them, afraid Cal would insist on doing something rash, like ramming that vehicle up ahead just to see what would happen. So Cory kept his doubts to himself and just drove, hoping this journey would soon come to an end.

Cory’d had no trouble borrowing the Jetta from his sister. In fact, she’d been so happy at the idea that Cory might get himself a real job—by which she meant white collar, not the factory-floor stuff he and Cal usually did— that he felt guilty lying to her. But he assured himself it was all going to work out fine, and she wouldn’t ever have to know the truth, so he wasn’t going to worry about it.

What was a little worrying, at least at first, was that, when Cory went back to the diner, Cal had obviously not limited himself to coffee, the way he’d promised. The beer on his breath wasn’t as plain as if they’d been in the cab of the pickup together, but you could still smell it. Cory could have said something, but what was the point? Cal would just deny it, that’s all, just lie about it and wait for the question to go away.

That was how Cal always handled problems. It wasn’t that he was a good liar—in fact, he was a piss-poor liar, unlike Cory, who had a smooth plausibility about himself—but that once Cal took root in a lie, he would never move from it, so why waste your breath?

At first, when they set up in a driveway next to another of Pooley’s empty houses, having to keep well away from Tom’s place because it was still daylight, Cal had been tensed up and edgy, because of the beer, wanting something to happen right away. His left eye, covered by the black patch, was neutral, but his working eye was staring and agitated, straining to see through walls, around windows. “When are they gonna make their move?”

“We’ll just wait and see.”

“Maybe I oughta go peek in the window.”

“No, we’ll just wait here. We’ll know when they’re going somewhere.”

Cal had to get out and pee then, and that kept him calmed down for a while, but not for long. Three more times he wanted to go over and peek in Tom’s window to see what was going on over there, and three times Cory had to remind him there was nothing those people could do except, sooner or later, leave the house and come out to the road in this direction. Did Cal want to be halfway down their driveway, on foot, when they came out? Of course not. Did he want them to catch him peeking in the window? Definitely not.

As for what they thought was going on, they’d been over all of that more than once, but restless and bored in the car, waiting for something to happen, Cal had to rehash it just once more. “There’s money in it, we know that much for sure,” he said. “Only thing that makes sense. Tom wouldn’t be hanging out with that guy, giving him cover, pretending he used to work with him, if there wasn’t some sort of payoff in there someplace.”

Cory nodded. “That’s what we’re figuring on, anyway.”

“That’s what we’re counting on,” Cal said. “There’s got to be some of that bank robbery money still hid somewhere, or Tom just wouldn’t be fronting for that guy. I mean, that’s a hell of a risk, Cory.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“So that’s the only reason he’s gonna do it. For the money.” Cal laughed in a sudden burst. “I don’t know about you, Cory, but I could use that money. Better than a job over at that college, anyway.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind that, either,” Cory admitted.

Cal grinned at him and gave his arm a reassuring pat. “You’ll come through,” he said. “You’re the smart one.”

“And you’re the funny one.”

“Damn hysterical. Why don’t I find a phone somewhere and give them a call, just to see what they do?”

“Because,” Cory said, “I don’t want them thinking about us, or thinking there’s anybody at all interested in them, that would keep them from what they mean to do.”

“Well, maybe.”

“Remember, I’m the smart one.”

So Cal laughed at that and relaxed a little more, and they waited in companionable silence. Gradually evening came on, and then, just at that tricky twilight moment when it’s very hard to see because it’s neither day nor night, here came the Ford out of Tom Lindahl’s driveway and turned south, away from them.

“There it is!”

“I see it, Cal. Take it easy.”

Cory watched the Ford recede almost out of sight before he started the Jetta and followed, keeping well back. Beside him, Cal, breathing loudly through his mouth, pulled up his shirttail in front and reached down inside to come out with a smallish automatic, the High Standard GI model in .45 caliber.

Cory stared. “What are you doing with that?”

Cal laughed. “Don’t leave home without it.” He hadn’t seemed drunk before this, but now, hours since he’d had that beer, there was a sudden slurry electricity to him as he sat there holding the automatic with both hands.

“Oh, come on, Cal,” Cory said. “You never said you were gonna bring that.” Up ahead, Tom Lindahl’s Ford moved at a slow and steady pace, easy to follow.

“Well, I just knew you’d give me a hard time if I said anything about it,” Cal said. “So I figured, I’ll just bring it, and then there won’t be any argument.”

“If we get stopped by a cop—”

“What for? We’re doing”—Cal leaned the left side of his head against Cory’s upper arm so his right eye could see the dashboard—“forty-five miles per hour. Who’s gonna stop us for that?”