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weight of their springs on the floor, and one of them had an old deep cigarette burn in one overstuffed arm. The rug was faded and worn, showing trails where people had done the most walking, to the front door and the dining-room archway. There was an old television set with an eleven-inch screen and a wooden cabinet with a folded matchbook under one leg.
    Alma pulled the wrinkled shades down over the three living-room windows. "Sit down."
    Parker and Handy took the armchairs. Skimm came in, carrying four cans of beer, and passed them around. Then he and Alma sat on the sofa.
    Alma started. "Skimm tells me you don't like the plan."
    "Did he tell you why?" Parker asked.
    "I don't mean the tear gas," she said. "The rest of it."
    "Which rest of it?" Parker asked.
    "We need five men," she said. "We can't do it with less. For God's sake, it's an armoured car."
    "You want to lay a siege and starve them out?" Parker asked.
    "Don't be a wise guy."
    Handy didn't have a cigarette going, he had a match poked into his mouth. He took it out and said, "Who's running this operation?"
    Nobody answered him. Parker looked at Skimm, and Skimm looked at the floor. Alma looked at Handy.
    Handy pointed the wet end of the match at Alma. "You're the finger." He pointed the match at Skimm. "You brung us in. You running it, Skimm?"
    Skimm looked up, reluctantly. "I never worked an armoured car before."
    "I ain't running it," said Handy. "I'm not the type. So that leaves Parker."
    Parker said, "I don't like this situation. More and more, I don't like it. The finger sitting in, doing a lot of talking. I just don't like it."
    "I've got a stake in this too, you know," Alma said. She was getting hot again, a slow flush creeping up her face.
    "Skimm, who's running this operation? Parker asked.
    Skimm was even more reluctant to answer this time. When he finally spoke, it was to Alma. "Parker knows this kind of job."
    Alma said, "Let's hear what he has to say."
    "It's simple. Three men. One in a uniform like the guards wear. We get the two trucks, and one car. One of the trucks we rig up so we can lock the guards in it, keep them cooled for a while. The driver and the guard from the back go in first. While they're in the diner, we get in position. When they come out, we grab them at the back of the armoured car, where the other guard in the cab can't see us. We wait till they open the back door. Then we grab them, and the one in the uniform takes the driver up to the cab. The guard inside opens the door when he recognizes the driver, and the other one – that's one of us – hangs back, so the guard'll just glimpse the uniform out of the corner of his eye. He opens up, and we've got him, too. We sap all three of them and lock them in the truck. Then we transfer the cash and take off in the car. We leave the trucks there because we don't need them any more."
    "That's what I don't like," said Alma. "That's the part I don't like."
    Parker drank some beer and looked at her.
    "They're going to see your car," Alma said. "It's going to be at the back of the U, blocking vision, so they're going to see it. That's why I wanted the trucks to be in it, too. We'd have vehicles going off in all directions and they wouldn't know which way to look for us."
    It didn't matter which way they went, or how many people saw them go. Parker knew that but he didn't say anything about it. This Alma was a busher, a new fish, she didn't know how this kind of operation was handled. Parker knew this, because it was his line of work, but he didn't say anything about it. All he said was, "Tractor-trailers don't outrun police cars. We leave them at the diner."
    "I still want cars going off in different directions."
    Parker nodded. He knew why she wanted it, but she didn't know he knew. He said, "So what's your idea?"
    "My car," she said, "my car, that's the Dodge out there. It'll be parked behind the diner, like always. When you get the money out of the armoured car, you put it in my car.