The Seventh

by Richard Stark

  All the vehicles but the Buick needed work of one kind or another. The stunted rear seat of the Renault was pulled out to leave plenty of room for the two suitcases. The van was given a company name on its doors—CITY SCRAP METAL CORP.—and a bunch of old metal barrels were put in the back, lined along one side. Two long two-by-twelve boards were laid in on the floor.

  The ambulance was the most work. It had been used as a grocer's delivery truck most recently, so it had to be completely repainted, two coats of white sprayed on and then the red crosses painted in place. Lights that had been removed when it had stopped being an ambulance were put back, and two boards like those in the van were put on the floor in back.

  By Friday night they were ready. At nine-thirty all of them but Shelly and Rudd were in the Buick, parked by the North Gate. Kifka and Negli got out carrying folding chairs and brown paper bags full of sandwiches and took up their post by the gate. When the coast was clear, Kifka boosted Negli over the fence, then sat down on his camp chair and unfolded a newspaper to read by the streetlight. A couple of minutes later he folded the paper up again and stretched, which meant Negli had opened the door in the darkness to the right of the gate. Parker and Feccio and Clinger got out of the Buick, Parker carrying the two suitcases, Feccio and Clinger carrying blanket-wrapped parcels that were the machine guns.

  The door was open, Negli inside waiting for them. They went through and shut the door and Negli took out a flashlight with electric tape over most of the glass in front, so when he flicked it on only a thin beam of light arrowed out to show them where they were.

  Outside, Parker knew, Kifka would wait a few more minutes, then gather up his gear and get into the Buick and drive home. He and Shelly and Rudd wouldn't have anything to do until tomorrow.

  Inside, Negli led the way with the flashlight. They'd been over this route before, but this time it was easier because they had keys for all the doors. They settled into the finance office storeroom and waited for morning.

  The day started early. Employees and guards dribbled in between seven and eight-thirty, and each was taken care of in turn. The guards were stripped of their uniforms, tied and gagged, and left in the storeroom with Negli holding one of the machine guns on them. With any operation of this kind, a machine gun's main use was psychological. Nobody wanted to have to fire one of them, because of the mess and the racket they made. But merely showing a machine gun to a mark was usually enough to make him a lot more peaceful and agreeable than any other weapon could have.

  After all the employees had arrived, the money started coming in. Feccio stood out of sight of the corridor door, holding the second machine gun on the employees seated at their tables. He and Parker, who answered the door every time more money arrived, were now dressed in guard uniforms. Clinger, now in shirt sleeves, played the part of an employee, accepting and signing for each delivery of money as it came in.

  They had the employees stack the cash in the suitcases without counting it. The sacks of change that also came in were ignored, being too bulky and awkward for their value, as well as being almost impossible to spend.

  Parker looked at his watch at eleven o'clock and knew the others were getting started on the outside. Rudd was getting the truck and driving it to a place seven blocks from the stadium, inside the city limits. Shelly by now had driven the Renault inside the ambulance, where it fit snugly but did fit, and he was ready to leave for the stadium when the time came. And Kifka was driving the Buick to meet Rudd, to leave the Buick parked against the curb direcdy behind the truck, so that space would be sure to be available when it was needed.

  The football game began at one-thirty, and the box offices closed at one-fifty. By five after two, as the second quarter was starting with Monequois ahead seven to three and Shelly was starting the ambulance engine and heading toward the stadium, the employees in the finance office were stacking the last of the gate receipts into the two suitcases. Parker checked with Negli, but the guards were still being good.

  Two-fifteen. Monequois was ahead now ten to three, and Shelly was arriving in the ambulance at the stadium's East Gate, where the patrolman waved him on through. Shelly, aseptic in white jacket and white shirt and white trousers, waved back and drove on into the stadium. A short cinder driveway led him around the corner of the end zone bleachers and out into the view of seventy-four thousand people.

  As with most such stadiums, this one had been built for more sports than football. A cinder track made a huge oval around the football field, for track events. Shelly drove slowly along this the length of the field, on the south side, and headed for the stadium building at the far end. On his left, thousands of people cheered and hollered and jumped up and down. On his right, Plainfield was finally on the march. Shelly felt a little self-conscious, but nobody was actually looking at him. There's always an ambulance or two along the sidelines at a football game, but the fans don't like to look at it or be reminded it's there.

  One hundred yards, still and all, had never been so long. Shelly honked for a girl cheerleader toting a huge megaphone to get the hell out of the way. She got, glaring at him. He passed a legitimate ambulance parked on the grass between the cinder track and the western end zone; the driver, lounging against the front fender, turned his head and waved languidly. Shelly waved back.

  At the western end of the stadium, the cinder path ended and Shelly crossed a narrow patch of grass to a lane of blue-gray stones that led around to a blacktop parking area behind the building. Shelly drove around there and parked against the rear wall.

  The parking lot was full of the cars of employees of the stadium and a few chartered buses from Plainfield. There was no one in sight; bus drivers and all, they were around on the other side of the building watching the game.

  Upstairs, Parker went over to the window and looked out and saw Shelly down there. He motioned to him and turned back to help with the finishing up. The employees had to be tied and gagged like the guards and dragged into the storeroom. When that was done, Parker took the rope he'd brought in with him, tied one end to the radiator, and attached the other end to the two suitcases. Feccio helped him lower the two suitcases down to Shelly, who took them off the rope and stowed them away in the back of the Renault inside the ambulance. They lowered the machine guns next, and finally they came down the rope themselves, one at a time. Parker and Clinger crawled into the back of the ambulance and squeezed into the Renault. Feccio, still in his guard uniform, sat up front with Shelly in the cab of the ambulance, while Negli found enough room between the back of the Renault and the rear doors of the ambulance to be more or less comfortable.

  It was now two twenty-five. Plainfield was on the Monequois eight-yard line, first and goal to go, three minutes and seventeen seconds left in the first half. Monequois was still leading ten to three. Plainfield had one chance to tie the score before the half. The seventy-four thousand fans present had never seen a more exciting ball game.

  So it was just an added fillip when the ambulance came tearing around from behind the stadium building, red lights flashing and siren screaming, racing across the cinder track from one end of the field to the other while the Plainfield quarterback threw an incompleted pass into the end zone and cheerleaders scattered in all directions. The ambulance roared out through the East Gate, turned right, and shrieked away toward the city.

  It went one block, and the siren stopped and the red lights clicked off.

  Another block and the ambulance pulled to the curb. Feccio jumped out, ran around back, opened the rear doors, and helped Negli position the boards for Parker to back the Renault out. They were on a side street with no traffic and no pedestrians, but they didn't care if they were seen or not. Neither of these vehicles mattered.

  Feccio and Negli got back into the rear of the ambulance, shutting the doors after them. Shelly kicked the ambulance into motion again, turned left at the next corner, left again at the next, and drove for five minutes at high speed, rapidly leaving the city behind. He sto
pped at a roadside ice-cream stand, closed for the season, behind which Feccio and Negli had stashed their car. They abandoned the ambulance there, and Feccio and Negli drove Shelly to his hideout and then went on to theirs.

  Behind them, Parker and Clinger had gone off in the opposite direction in the Renault. Clinger looked at his watch and said, “Two-thirty on the button.”

  Parker said, “Good.”

  He turned a corner, and three blocks ahead on the right was the truck. As he approached it, the Buick pulled out from behind it and stopped in the middle of the street. Kifka got out and ran around to the back of the van, where Rudd was already placing the boards.

  Parker angled the Renault in behind the Buick and stopped long enough for Kifka and Rudd to be sure the boards were positioned right, and then he drove the Renault up inside the truck.

  No one saw it happen. A factory, closed on Saturday, was on their right, and the high board fence of a junkyard was on the left.

  Parker and Clinger got out of the Renault while Kifka and Rudd were shoving the boards back up into the truck. The four of them all worked inside the truck for a minute, moving the empty barrels into position across the opening at the rear of the truck, lashing them into place with ropes. Their unused pistols were tossed into the back of the Renault with the machine guns and the suitcases.

  “We didn't need all this extra,” Clinger said as they were putting the barrels in place. “They still don't know what happened back there.”

  “You couldn't count on it ahead of time,” Kifka told him. “If the alarm went out right away, they'd know nothing but an ambulance had left the stadium recently, and they'd be all over the place looking for that ambulance. We had to be able to make a fast switch to another car, and then we had to be able to hide that car and the loot. That's where baby came in.” He motioned at the Renault. “It's like a traveling briefcase. Out of the ambulance, into the truck.”

  “All the same,” Clinger said, “I'm just as happy we didn't need all this.”

  They got down out of the truck, and Parker put the last barrel in position. Then he crawled through the glassless window at the front of the box into the cab. Kifka and Rudd and Clinger got into the Buick and took off.

  Now, for the next five days, the money was Parker's responsibility. He knew where Kifka was staying because Kifka was staying at home. He didn't know where any of the others were staying because there was no need for him to know; it wouldn't be bright to contact them anyway, and at the time it didn't seem there'd be any reason to contact them. In five days they would all get together again, this time at Ellie's place, and diwy up the money. By splitting up this way and by not trying to clear out of the city and the area, they would make it more difficult for the law to get any kind of lead to them.

  Parker just sat in the truck and smoked and waited. A little after three, police cars started rushing by, hurrying this way and that, and Parker heard sirens sounding in the distance, but nobody stopped to question him or search the truck. One prowl car did slow down, but a truck full of metal barrels could hardly be involved in the robbery.

  At four o'clock, Parker started the engine and drove slowly away from there. He drove all the way through the city to the freight yards and parked the truck on Railroad Street, down from the main freight office. Parked and laden trucks lined both sides of the street along here, most of them here for the weekend. Parker climbed out, left the truck doors unlocked, and walked away. He walked three blocks, caught a cab, and went on back to the apartment. Ellie wasn't home; he found out later she'd gone to the game. She was a Monequois fan.

  At nine that night he went back downtown and picked up the truck and drove it over to the block containing Ellie's apartment building. Going through the window between body and cab each time, he transferred everything from the Renault to the closet of Ellie's apartment. The suitcases he carried up in one trip, and then the machine guns wrapped in blankets. The pistols he carried up in his pockets. When everything was stashed, he drove the truck downtown again, abandoned it for the last time, took another cab back, and went in to see Ellie. The job was done; he could feel himself unwinding.

  Seeing how lackadaisical Ellie was about everything else in life, Parker hadn't expected her to be more in bed than a receptacle, but she surprised him. He had found the one thing that made her pay attention. For three days and nights they hardly left the bed at all, and the whole time she was nothing but stifled mumblings and hard-muscled legs and hot breath and demanding arms and a sweat-slick pulsing belly. All the passion that had been dammed up inside Parker while his one-track mind had been concentrating on the robbery now burst forth in one long sustained silent explosion, and Ellie absorbed it all the way a soundproof room absorbs a shout.

  By the third night the pace had begun to slacken, and waking up from one of his intermittent naps Parker felt the need for fresh air and a quiet walk. They were out of cigarettes and they would need beer soon after breakfast or whatever meal this was Ellie promised to make him, so he got dressed and went out, and he was gone ten minutes.

  It was a fast ten minutes, and the time since then had been fast too. Ellie was dead, the suitcases were gone. Parker had had a brawl with a couple of cops and he'd been trailed by a thirty-seven-dollar moocher and he'd been shot at by person or persons unknown who hadn't killed him but who had killed the moocher as a consolation prize.

  It was time to start pushing back.

  PART TWO

  1

  Parker looked at the pistols scattered all over the kitchen table. He'd taken them out of all his pockets to decide which ones he wanted to carry.

  There were four of them: a Colt Cobra .38 Special revolver with the two-inch barrel and a hammer shroud to keep it from snagging in a pocket, a Smith & Wesson Terrier .32, also with a two-inch barrel, a Colt Super Auto .38 automatic, and an Astra Firecat .25 automatic. It was the Terrier he'd fired last night; all the others still carried full loads.

  Four guns was twice as many as he needed. He chose the two Colts, checked them to be sure they were full, and carried them over to where his topcoat was draped over a chair. He put the guns in the pockets, then carried the other two into the bedroom.

  Dan was no different this morning, no better and no worse. From the night he'd obviously had with Janey, just holding his own was already a medical miracle. He looked up from the tea Janey made him drink between bouts, and said, “You ready to talk now?” He had practically no voice at all this morning.

  Parker said, “You heeled?”

  “Not so's you'd notice.”

  “You better be. You want these two? This one's been fired once.”

  Kifka shrugged. “Why not? Stick 'em under the pillow.”

  Janey said, “Keep them out of the bed. Put them on the night table if you have to.”

  Parker looked from her to Kifka. Kifka shrugged again, and Parker put the guns on the night table. Then he said, “How much does she know?”

  “Enough.”

  “About the operation?”

  Kifka nodded. “My part in it, and what it was. And about Ellie being killed.”

  Parker dragged a chair over closer to the bed and sat down. He told Kifka about the ambush last night, and about the dead clown. Two police cars and an ambulance had been around the block with screaming sirens last night, about half an hour after Parker had gone back upstairs, so the clown was long gone. Parker said, “You can figure cops knocking on the door today, routine questions, did you hear anything, see anything.”

  Kifka said, “Janey can take care of it.”

  “I better get dressed,” she said. She was still in the sweatshirt, or in it again.

  Kifka told her, “Stick around.” To Parker he said, “I think I know the clown. Morey, his name was. A real loser.”

  “Any connection with Ellie?”

  “Naw, not Morey. He was mucho married.”

  “Did he know her?”

  Kifka shook his head. “Different circles, man. Morey I knew f
rom work, Ellie I knew from play.” He grinned and winked at Janey, who said, “Big man.”

  Parker told him, “If Negli or Feccio or any of the others had done it, he would of handled the whole thing different. He wouldn't of killed Ellie unless he absolutely had to, and then he wouldn't of used that stupid sword. He might of tried to tie me up with the law, but just to give himself extra time to clear out. He wouldn't of hung around to take potshots. If one of the boys had the cash now, he'd either be playing it cool and quiet right where he's supposed to be hiding out anyway, ready to get all surprised when he hears how the dough's gone, or he'd be in Arizona or someplace by now.”

  Kifka nodded. “I know. It rings like an amateur.”

  “There's two possibilities,” Parker told him. “First, one of us in the job talked too much, and somebody he talked to decided to go after the dough. Second, it was somebody who went there to kill Ellie for the main bit and he just stumbled across the money and figured why not.”

  Kifka said, “I think it's got to be number two. We've all been around long enough to keep our mouths shut.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Like Janey,” Kifka said. “You don't have to wonder about her. She didn't know your girl, and she didn't know where the dough was stashed. All she knew about was my part, and you probably told Ellie just as much.”

  Parker hadn't, but he let it ride. He shrugged.

  Kifka put his teacup down and said, “What we want to do now, we want to get everybody together, we want to get some manpower on this thing. We got to get our dough back.”

  “Can we use this place?”

  Janey said, “Dan, you're sick.”

  Parker told her, “Here's his chance to get healthy,” and she looked insulted.

  Kifka said, “Sure we use this place. What other place do we have?”

  “All right.” Parker got to his feet. “I'll go get Negli and Feccio. They'll know where some of the others are. You got a car I can use?”

  “The Buick's still clean. The keys ought to be over on the dresser there.”