Two men got out, wearing uniforms. They started walking over toward where we were hiding in the hearse.
When they got close, I could see one man was holding a pistol, aimed at the other one’s back.
They stopped not twenty feet from where we were. The one without the gun turned around, so they were facing each other.
I started the engine, so I could pull out and let the armored car driver see us.
“You’re crazy if you think you can get away with this,” the man without the gun said. “They’ll know—”
The shots came so sudden I felt a jolt in my chest. The noise bounced off the rocks like thunder inside a cave. One of the men fell to the ground.
“Fuck!” J.C. said.
Him and Gus ran over to where the man in uniform was standing, still holding his gun. I stayed in the driver’s seat.
I heard them saying things to each other. I couldn’t make it all out, but I could tell J.C. was mad. He put his palm up like a traffic cop, telling me to keep the hearse where it was.
J.C. held out his hand, and the man in uniform gave over his pistol. J.C. took it, but he didn’t point it at anyone, just held it down at his side.
Then J.C. said something, pointing his finger at the man’s chest. The man and Gus each took one of the dead man’s legs and dragged him over to the hearse. I heard them open the big wide door from the outside, and the thump he made when they heaved him in.
I never turned around. My job was to watch the road. Anyway, I wouldn’t have been able to see much with all those bodies piled up in the back.
I saw the man and Gus walk over to where J.C. was waiting. J.C. pointed again. The man in the uniform climbed into the armored car. He drove across to the other side of the road, to where the truck was hidden behind the curtain.
J.C. and Gus walked over on foot. They guided the driver backing up until he was in the right place.
The driver of the armored car got out. Rain beaded on the windshield, but I could see the shapes of three men moving, loading the money into the truck.
It didn’t take long. The man in the uniform got back into the armored car, and drove off, heading out the way they had been going at first.
J.C. and Gus ran across the road to the hearse. They jumped in the back and slammed the door behind them.
“Go!” J.C. said to me.
I creeped forward until I was sure it was clear. Then I nailed the gas and we swung out onto the road, heading for the quarry.
It was exactly 1.3 miles away; I had checked it a dozen times. But I’d also sprayed my “X” on a big rock just ahead of it, just to be sure.
When I saw the “X,” I hit the brakes to let the rear tires take a set, and spun the wheel to the right. The hearse slid right into the spot where we were supposed to get out and start pushing it.
“Let’s move!” J.C. said.
I closed my eyes for a split second. I could see the black car from my dream, coming for me out of the night.
I stomped the gas. The hearse shot forward.
“What the fuck are you—!?” Gus yelled. I could hear him, clawing his way over the bodies to get to me.
I knew it was less than a hundred yards to the edge. I yanked on the cable I had connected to the gas pedal, locking it in place.
The hearse charged into the dark, eating up ground. I was counting to four in my head.
“Eddie!” J.C. screamed.
I felt Gus’s hands grabbing for me. I leaned way forward, shoved open the suicide door and dived out. Just like in Vonda’s movie.
The back of the hearse flashed past my eyes. The ground came up and smashed me. I thought I was paralyzed for a minute—I couldn’t get any breath, but my eyes were wide open.
The hearse went over the edge, engine roaring. I saw the taillights blink red, once.
Breath came into me. I got up, slow. My teeth had gone into my lip, and I was bleeding a little. My left ankle wouldn’t take too much weight. But I was okay. Nothing broken.
I looked up and saw I was really close to the edge. I crawled the rest of the way, moving careful because it was so dark.
Just as I looked down, I heard the explosion.
Gus had been right. The blackness below lit up in a giant fireball.
I limped back to the road, feeling a little more strength in the ankle. Then I started back to where we left the truck, cutting through the woods. It was much shorter that way. I knew, because I had practiced.
The truck started right up. I drove the load of money back to the cabin over the back roads. It took a long time, but I kept myself from doing anything stupid.
I did three wide loops around where the cabin was, but nobody was following me. Finally, I drove up and put the truck in the barn. I sat there a minute, listening.
Nothing.
I opened the Thunderbird’s trunk. I could see that all the sacks of money from the truck wouldn’t fit; we would have to leave some of it. But that was okay; we’d still have enough to last forever.
I limped over to the cabin, sadness and pride swirling together in my chest.
There was only one little light on, in the front window.
I went up the steps and opened the door. Vonda was sitting at the kitchen table. “Eddie,” she said.
There was someone over in the corner, standing in a shadow. When he moved, I could see he had a pistol in his hand.
Vonda turned and looked over at him. That’s when I knew who he was.
Monty.
Her getaway man.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANDREW VACHSS has been a federal investigator in sexually transmitted diseases, a social services caseworker, and a labor organizer, and has directed a maximum-security prison for violent youth. Now a lawyer in private practice, he represents children and youths exclusively. He is the author of numerous novels, including the Burke series, two collections of short stories, and a wide variety of other material, including song lyrics, poetry, graphic novels, and a “children’s book for adults.” His books have been translated into twenty languages, and his work has appeared in Parade, Antaeus, Playboy, Esquire, The New York Times, and numerous other forums. He lives and works in New York City, his native home, and the Pacific Northwest.
The dedicated Web site for Vachss and his work is
www.vachss.com
ALSO BY ANDREW VACHSS
Flood
Strega
Blue Belle
Hard Candy
Blossom
Sacrifice
Shella
Down in the Zero
Born Bad
Footsteps of the Hawk
False Allegations
Safe House
Choice of Evil
Everybody Pays
Dead and Gone
Pain Management
Only Child
A Vintage Crime/Black Lizard Original, February 2003
Copyright © 2003 by Andrew Vachss
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division
of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by
Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Vintage is a registered trademark and Vintage Crime/Black Lizard
and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Vachss, Andrew H.
The getaway man / Andrew Vachss.
p. cm.—(Vintage crime/Black Lizard)
ISBN 1-4000-7511-4
1. Criminals—Fiction. I. Title. II. Series.
PS3572.A33 G48 2002
&n
bsp; 813'.54—dc21 2002028885
www.vintagebooks.com
v1.0
eBook Info
Title:The Getaway Man
Creator:Andrew Vachss
Publisher:Trade
Format:OEB
Date:2003-2-24
Language:English
The Getaway Man Page 15