Now Shayne remembered that the Avenue of the Americas was the official name for Sixth, and he turned north when the light changed.
“You’re sure of the route?” he said.
“Very sure.”
As they approached Twenty-seventh Street she said, “Now stop a bit.”
Shayne double-parked short of the corner. There was a solid line of parked cars in the metered spaces against the curb, and the second line was also nearly solid.
“Billy is to fix the light this afternoon,” Michele said. “Brownie and Irene will come from there. Ziggy from there.” She pointed, and explained what would happen when the truck halted at the corner. It wasn’t simple, but it was less complex than the average football play on the college level. Shayne’s only reservation was that the play would be executed by a pickup team of misfits and malcontents.
“Now if you want Ziggy to do anything different-” she said.
“No,” Shayne said slowly. “I won’t make my move before he commits himself. It looks good, kid. Somebody put a lot of brain work into this.”
“Thank you,” she said with a blinding smile.
“How long does the light stay red?”
“Forever, until a repairman finds the button. Billy’s plan is to attach it to the back of the one-way arrow. It will be hard to find. Are we finished here?”
Shayne looked over the terrain once again. As soon as the Sanitation truck began to move, the group on the sidewalk would fade into nearby buildings. In back, there was a low wall to climb. Two parked cars would be waiting on Twenty-sixth Street. They had worked out two alternate routes in case anything happened to this one.
“Now,” she said, “what you are to do, darling, you go through the red light and turn right.”
“You mean left.”
“No, right, against the arrow. What will happen, the moment the light changes here when Billy pushes the button, a truck will back out halfway to Broadway, to block both lanes. All the cars between there and here will drain off on the green light. There will be nothing in your way. Take me around and I show you.”
He went on to Twenty-eighth, where he made a legal right turn and turned right again on Broadway. On Twenty-seventh he went west, toward Sixth.
“Here,” she said. She pointed into a sloping delivery alley between two loft buildings. “Leave the car and walk in and see.”
He went into a paved yard behind the buildings. A wall of steel posts and panels barred the way at the property line.
He returned to the girl. “It’s blind. A hell of a place to unload.”
“We do not unload here, my love. You are concerned about the wall? Simply put the truck in low, point at the wall and keep going. The uprights have been cut. They are held in place now by aluminum brackets. A child’s perambulator could knock it over. No, not a perambulator, but a large and powerful garbage truck, certainly. There is another alley exactly beyond. Drive through to Twenty-eighth, turn right with the traffic. Thus we confuse everybody.”
Shayne was grinning broadly. “Baby, you’re in the wrong line of work. You should be a lady professor. What if another truck is already down in there?”
“The lofts in this building are all vacant,” she said. “It is soon to be taken down. And we have two wooden barriers. ‘Police Department, No Passing.’ We put one here, one on Twenty-eighth. They are of flimsy wood. You knock them over and drive on. More questions?”
“No more questions,” he said, still grinning. “Honey, I think we’re going to take these people!”
“Of course we are,” she said simply. “Now I show you where we truly unload.”
Shayne circled the block again and headed down Broadway, shifting to Fifth where Broadway crossed it at Madison Square. She pointed out an excavation for a new building on Twenty-first, between Fifth and Sixth. A wooden wall had been thrown up along the sidewalk. The site could be entered by a sloping dirt roadway.
“We borrow this place,” she said. “No one will be working. Change clothes while they unload. Then leave the truck on another block. Take a taxi to LaGuardia Airport. There I am waiting.” She looked at her watch. “Now I am late, dear. Go uptown to Forty-second Street.”
Shayne turned again on Sixth. In a moment more they passed the corner of Twenty-seventh, where, if everything went well, there would be a certain amount of activity the next day.
“One thing you haven’t covered,” Shayne said. “How about the two men in the cab, where do we dump them?”
“Billy will carry four sets of handcuffs. As soon as you are out of sight behind the building between Twenty- seven and Twenty-eight, put handcuffs on their wrists and ankles, and leave them.”
Shayne shook his head. “Kid, why aren’t you a millionaire?”
“I intend to be,” she said.
At Forty-second Street she told him to turn west. During all the weaving and circling, the black Ford had clung to their tail. It made the turn behind them.
“You need a picture for the passport,” she said. “I think I remember a sign-yes, there.”
She pointed to an arcade filled with low-cost entertainment devices, including a photo booth. She waited while Shayne ducked inside, coming back a moment later with a strip of four shots of a glowering, unprepossessing face which bore very little resemblance to his real one.
“Frightful,” she said. “But never mind. Now I must be apart from you briefly, darling. It is to collect some money, so be patient. I will leave you at a cinema, and come as soon as I can. I hope in an hour’s time.”
She scanned the marquees of the double-feature houses they were passing. “These are all dreadful! Well.” She pointed to a theatre showing two of the dubbed Italian spectacles which Shayne was always careful to avoid. “That one. I need some money. Give me some please.”
Shayne counted out five twenties and gave them to her. He kissed her cheek and got out. She moved over behind the wheel, sliding the seat forward.
“If there’s no smoking downstairs I’ll be in the mezzanine,” he said.
Crossing the street, he bought a ticket at the glassed-in booth. Michele’s Chevy still hadn’t moved. He waved at her and went in.
CHAPTER 8
Shayne strode purposefully past the candy counter, apparently anxious not to miss a minute of the movie, which dealt with the adventures of Jason among the Amazons, female warriors who were almost as bare-chested as Jason himself. The theatre was half-filled. The customers were almost all men, most of them sitting alone, many of them asleep. Shayne ignored the usher, went down an outside aisle toward a red Exit sign, and pushed through a heavy door leading into a narrow cul de sac separating this theatre from the next. By the time he reached the sidewalk the Chevy and the police Ford had both disappeared.
He shut himself in a phone booth in the amusement arcade. The number where he could reach Rourke during the day was scrawled across the back of one of the cards in his wallet. He dialed the Manhattan mobile operator and read her the number. Rourke answered promptly.
“Shayne. Where are you, Tim?”
“Going into the bus terminal,” Rourke told him. “She’s right ahead. There’s a garage on the roof. How come she dropped you?”
“She has a ten-o’clock date with the guy we’re after. She said she’d be back in an hour. How about the cop they gave you, does he seem OK?”
“So far, but how can you tell? When she parks, you want him to follow her?”
“Right. He has to be the one to do it. You’re supposed to be in the hospital with a fractured skull. Tell him not to lose her. This is our best chance, maybe our only one.”
“There she goes!” Rourke said. “Hold on.”
