Mickey brought him into the kitchen, Richard glancing at a card palmed in his hand. As he dialed a number Mickey asked him if he'd like coffee or iced tea.
Richard stopped. He said, 'No thanks,' then had to dial the number again. He waited, then straightened as he said, 'Yeah, this is ... uh-huh, I'm at--' He looked over at Mickey. 'What's that address here?' She told him. 'I'm at twenty-four twenty-two Covington. There's a broken window in the basement, but everything seems okay. There is no MO as at the alleged burglary. Doors all locked. The one in back by the patio would seem to be the way to get in, but I don't see it's been touched ... That's correct. Yeah, well, I'll keep on then ... Right.' He hung up.
'Was there much stolen?' Mickey said. 'Where?'
'The houses that were broken into.'
'Well, the usual. TV sets, jewelry.'
She let him out the front door and waited to watch the plain black car back out the drive and disappear up the street. She assumed he was with the Bloomfield Township Police. But why wasn't he driving a squad car, with the emblem on the side? She tried to remember what the local police cars looked like.
Louis had picked up a florist delivery van parked on the side of a gas station, the key in the ignition, waiting to be serviced or all through, Louis couldn't tell which. It ran all right and he drove it straight out Woodward ten miles to Birmingham and met Ordell and the tan van on the lower level of the town's south parking structure. They went up a flight of concrete steps to a vestibule and waited nearly twenty minutes for the phone to ring.
Ordell picked it up and said, 'Richard, my man.' He nodded most of the time, saying, 'Uhhuh--' But hung up shaking his head. 'Richard and his alleged.'
Louis said, 'She's home.'
'She's home,' Ordell said. 'We go in through the patio.'
Down on the lower level again, Ordell took a shopping bag out of the tan van and brought it over to the florist van. Louis waited behind the wheel. When Ordell was in he opened the shopping bag, brought out one of the black masks and handed it to Louis who put it in a side pocket of his blue nylon jacket. He was wearing his tan cap with it, and jeans.
Ordell brought the revolvers out then, both of them .38 Smith and Wessons, Detective Specials. He handed one to Louis.
'Just in case,' Ordell said.
'I know,' Louis said.
'I don't want to use it. I don't intend to,' Ordell said. 'But if somebody is standing between me and going to Jackson for forty years then it's too bad, cause I'll use it. You understand what I'm saying?' 'I know,' Louis said. 'It's not a choice.'
Marshall Taylor spent the morning at Detroit Diesel discussing cold-form extrusions--sucker rod couplings, swage nipples, bull plugs--and looking at his watch. He tried to get out before eleven-thirty so he wouldn't have to take the purchasing guy to lunch. When he didn't make it, Marshall thought it over and made a decision with a certain risk involved, considering that Detroit Diesel was Taylor Industries' best customer. At ten to twelve--the purchasing guy having already assumed he was going to be taken somewhere for the martinis and the New York strip sirloin-- Marshall said Jesus Christ, he just remembered a previous engagement, and exploded out of the purchasing guy's office. (Fuck him, he could eat in the cafeteria.)
All the way north on Telegraph to Bloomfield Hills, Marshall kept telling himself it was worth it. He decided he wouldn't stop and call Mickey, as he promised. (He'd call the purchasing guy later and invite him out to the club Saturday with his wife.) What he'd do, he'd get to Mickey's house about a half-hour early, hopefully while she was still getting dressed. He imagined her opening the back door with some kind of shorty housecoat on, just bra and panties on underneath. He'd say why didn't he make them a drink while she got dressed. Tell her to take her time. Then throw a couple of martinis together fast, run upstairs with them and catch her standing in the bedroom in the bra and panties, about to slip her dress on. They'd look at each other. He'd walk over. She'd let the dress fall to the floor--
Louis drove the florist delivery van past the house twice, 2422 Covington, the English-looking house. On the third pass he swung into the drive, brushed the high hedge and took the van all the way to the back. The garage opened on the backyard side. Louis made a tight turn, a quick adjustment, and pulled in next to the Grand Prix. The woman might have heard them. She might have caught a flash of the van if she'd been looking out the window.
Ordell stepped around the van to the door that led inside the house from the garage. He tried the knob carefully. It didn't budge.
'Show time,' Louis said. He took his cap off, snapped the black mask in place and put his cap back on. They looked at each other, maybe both of them thinking the same thing: something to tell later on: what they looked like standing in the garage with their Halloween masks on, fairly tense because it was about to happen, but both of them grinning a little. As though it had to be a little cuckoo or else it wouldn't be worth doing.
Maybe both of them thinking, Shit, what am I doing here? as they ran low along the back of the house, underneath the windows to the patio. Or-dell put a hand flat on the French door, turned the knob with the other and the door pushed in easily, then stopped against the curtains. That was no problem. They got into the family room and stood listening. Louis remembered the feeling now, what it was like to break into somebody's house. It had been a long time ago; even longer ago than the time he had played golf at the country club. Ordell was peeking into the hall, slipping the .38 Smith out of the hip pocket of his flared jeans. Louis put his hand in his jacket pocket, but didn't take the gun out. Ordell glanced back at him, motioning with his head.
They walked through the hall to the kitchen.
When Mickey turned the water off and came around from the sink with the dishtowel in her hand she jumped and made an odd sound, sucking in her breath.
Ordell said, 'Trick or treat, mama.'
Louis didn't waste time. He walked up to her, seeing her eyes widen, scared to death--the dark-brown eyes-- turned her around and held her by the shoulders, not feeling her try to resist, as Ordell got out the mask for her that had tape covering the eyeholes. Ordell slipped it over her head, adjusted it just right, and Louis turned her to face him again. She seemed calm, her mouth slightly open. She had nice hair that was parted and slanted down across her forehead, pulled and held tightly now by the elastic band of the mask. Ordell went over and opened the door to the garage.
Louis said, 'She doesn't have any shoes on.' She was wearing white slacks and a faded blue cotton shirt that looked to Louis like a cheap workshirt.
'She don't need shoes,' Ordell said. 'Come on.'
Mickey said, 'If you want money--my purse is on the breakfast table. I have some jewelry upstairs, not much--'
'Shhhh. Quiet,' Ordell said.
They stood still, hearing the car then in the drive--the sound close to the house--then the idling, low hum of the engine in the backyard. Or-dell stepped carefully to the alcove of windows by the breakfast table.
'Somebody--you expecting somebody?' He stared out, holding the beige curtain. 'A man--'
Mickey couldn't think for a moment, in darkness, feeling the hands on her shoulders. 'My husband said he was coming home--'
'Ain't your husband,' Ordell said. He came away from the windows, motioning to Louis.
Marshall was surprised to see the garage door closed; even more surprised to find it locked. The outside kitchen door was also locked. So Marshall moved to the bay of windows and looked in, wanting to see Mickey but not wanting her to see him quite yet. She wasn't in the kitchen. But a purse was lying open on the breakfast table, and a wallet and ring of keys. He had to think.
If he went around and rang the bell--the obvious thing to do--there was a chance he'd be seen by one of the neighbors. He didn't know any of them; they didn't know him. But why risk it: start talk, maybe get Mickey in trouble. He was thinking of her--you bet he was--as he moved across the grass to the patio. The door would be locked and he'd have to knock anyway, ruining his chance of surprising her and having a little fun. It was the kind of thing she would like him for later. ('You big kook.') Okay, she was home. Probably upstairs now, changing.
Then another surprise: the patio door was open. In fact it was ajar, pushed in against the curtains. Okay, she'd been out in the backyard getting some sun--wanting to look good--saw what time it was and rushed in to get dressed. A little anxious maybe?
