The Heckler

“In the meantime, the Mayor and the Police Commissioner are still in secret session debating whether or not to call out the National Guard in this emergency situation, and there are several big questions that remain unanswered:What is happening? Who is responsible for this? And why? Those are the questions in the mind of every thinking citizen as the city struggles for its very survival.”

The announcer paused again.

“Thank you, and good night,” he said.

Pop turned off the radio.

He had to admit he felt a slight measure of pride.

THEY CAME OUTof the vault and through the tunnel at 5:40P.M . They made three trips back and forth between the bank vault and the basement of the store, and then they carried the cartons stuffed with money to the truck. They opened the door to the refrigerator compartment and shoved the cartons inside. Then they closed the refrigerator door, and Rafe started the truck.

“Just a minute,” the deaf man said. “Look.”

Rafe followed his pointing hand. The sky was ablaze with color. The buildings to the south were blacked out, but the sky behind them was an angry swirl of red, orange and yellow. The flames consumed the entire sky, the very night itself. Police and fire sirens wailed in the distance to the south; now and then an explosion touched off by the roaring fire punctuated the keen of the sirens and the whisper of rain against the pavements.

The deaf man smiled, and Rafe put the truck in motion.

“What time is it?” Rafe asked.

“Five-fifty.”

“So we missed the five-forty-five boat.”

“That’s right. And we’ve got fifteen minutes to make the six-oh-five. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble.”

“I hope not,” Rafe said.

“Do you know how much money we have in the ice box?” the deaf man asked, grinning.

“How much?”

“More than two million dollars.” The deaf man paused. “That’s a lot of money, Rafe, wouldn’t you say so?”

“I would say so,” Rafe answered, preoccupied. He was watching the road and the traffic signals. They had come eight blocks and there had been no sign of a policeman. The streets looked eerie somehow. Cops were a familiar part of the landscape, but every damn cop in the precinct was probably over on the south side. Rafe had to hand it to the deaf man. Still, he didn’t want to pass any lights, and he didn’t want to exceed the speed limit. And, too, the streets were slippery. He’d hate like hell to crash into a lamppost with all that money in the ice box.

“What time is it?” he asked the deaf man.

“Five-fifty-six.”

Rafe kept his foot steady on the accelerator. He signaled every time they made a turn. He panicked once when he heard a siren behind them, but the squad car raced past on his left, intent on the more important matters at hand.

“They all seem to be going someplace,” the deaf man said, grinning securely.

“Yeah,” Rafe said. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. He would not have admitted it to anyone, but he was terrified. All that money. Suppose something went wrong? All that money.

“What time is it?” he asked, as he made the turn into the parking lot at the ferry slip.

“Six-oh-one,” the deaf man said.

“Where’s the boat?” Rafe asked, looking out over the river.

“It’ll be here,” the deaf man said. He was feeling rather good. His plan had taken into account the probability that some cops would be encountered on the drive from the bank to the ferry slip. Well, they had come within kissing distance of a squad car, and the car had gone merrily along its way, headed for the fire-stricken area. The incendiaries had worked beautifully. Perhaps he could talk the men into voting Pop a bonus. Perhaps…

“Where’s the damn boat?” Rafe said impatiently.

“Give it time. It’ll be here.”

“You sure thereis a six-oh-five?”

“I’m sure.”

“Let me see that schedule,” Rafe said. The deaf man reached into his pocket and handed him the folder. Rafe glanced at it quickly.

“Holy Jesus!” he said.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s not running,” Rafe said. “There’s a little notation beside it, a letterE, and that letter means it only runs on May thirtieth, July fourth and—”

“You’re reading it wrong,” the deaf man said calmly. “That letterE is alongside the seven-fifteen boat. There are no symbols beside the six-oh-five. I know that schedule by heart, Rafe.”

Rafe studied the schedule again. Abashed, he muttered a small, “Oh,” and then looked out over the river again. “Then where the hell is it?”

“It’ll be here,” the deaf man assured him.

“What time is it?”

“Six-oh-four.”

IN THE RENTED HOUSEin Majesta, Chuck lighted a cigarette and leaned closer to the radio.

“There’s nothing on so far,” he said. “They don’t know what the hell’s happening.” He paused. “I guess they got away.”

“Suppose they didn’t?” Pop said.

“What do you mean?”

“What do we do? If they got picked up?”

“We’ll hear about it on the radio. Everybody’s just dying for an explanation. They’ll flash it the minute they know. And we’ll beat it.”

“Suppose they tell the cops where we are?”