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mind on us, and no stakeout is there. So OK, the deep stuff is in, we got it covered complete! But the one thing I have to know, which is how many of them pigeons there are, he can’t be bothered about. He’s so goddam busy with this other, the chick shacking up in the motel, that he forgets to count. Listen, I got to know and I don’t! He said eight, but, Christ, he wasn’t sure!” It cleared up a point that baffled the cops, as I’ll explain in due course, when I get to it later on, but right now one thing at a time.
    Pal left a tip and paid the cashier, and then we were driving again, headed for the bank. At 9:29 sharp, I pulled up in front and set the brake. Pal said, “OK, this is it.”
    “I don’t want to.”
    Rick kind of whined it, but Pal reached back and shook his knee. Very cold, he said, “Chuck, you got to.”
    “I don’t want to. I want out.”
    “Chuck, you’re in.”
    “...OK.”
    He just whispered it. Bud got out and went in the bank. Pal got out. Rick got out, then reached in and picked up the basket. Pal told me, “Beautiful, set the doors so they open quick but aren’t hanging wide for some cop to get sore about.”
    “I’ll set them right, don’t worry.”
    He and Rick went in, Rick carrying the basket, and I had a look at the street to see what was moving on it, but nothing was. No cars were coming toward me, and none were backed up behind, waiting for the light. At the end of the block a girl was walking along in the direction of the bank but not paying attention to me. I slid over, pushing my bag on the seat, to set the doors, pulling both of them in, so they looked to be closed but weren’t. The door catches weren’t caught, and they’d open at any pull. I slid back of the wheel again, pulling the bag beside me, and checked my motor to make sure that I still had it. It was humming along nice. The girl was still the only thing moving, that I could see, in the block, and by now she had reached the bank. She went in and my heart skipped a beat. But then I remembered: the way they were going to work it, she was under control. She would be made to lie down and wouldn’t cause any louse-up. From behind, after crossing with the light, a man came along and went in. But except for him, there was still no traffic at all, going or coming on Wilkens, or, that I could see, on the side street.
    Then from inside the bank came a shot.
    It sounded faint, and what with the motor running and me being inside the car, I wasn’t quite sure what it was. But then came another, and then two or three more, so there couldn’t be any mistake. For the first time my stomach felt queer. I was afraid, and my toe wanted the gas, to slam that car out of there. However, I made myself hold. Behind me, out of the corner of my eye, I could see the light turn red, but still no cars were there. There may have been more shots, I can’t be sure, but then all of a sudden out of the bank came Rick, staggering under the weight of the basket, which seemed to be full. But he was carrying it funny, by one hand, reaching back over his shoulder so it was on his back in a hunched-up, clumsy way. I opened the door, the front door, and he fell in, the basket on top of him and his legs hanging out the door. Then he pulled them in and as he did, said to me, “Mandy! Out of here! Quick! Step on it!”
    “But where are Pal and Bud?”
    “They’re dead, they’re shot. Who the hell cares where they are? Mandy, will you get going? Will you get us the hell out of here?”
    I started, then saw that the door was still open. I said, “Rick! Will you close the door? Will you pull it shut? Will you slam it?”
    He tried to but was wedged in on the floor, the basket on top of him, his legs sticking up in the air, so he couldn’t move. And money, packs of ones and fives and tens and twenties, done up in rubber bands, in paper tape, and loops of string, were all over the floor, fouling my gas and clutch and brake. But somehow, at last,