A Dangerous Man (Elvis Cole and Joe Pike #18) - Robert Crais Page 0,2
little cafés, no way she’ll drive. She’ll probably exit the front, and give you a shot. You get the shot, take it.”
Bender’s eyebrows kissed in a frown.
“Wouldn’t it make sense to wait at her house, grab her when she gets home?”
Hicks glanced left and right, relaxed, just looking around.
“Time is an issue. You want out, say so, and I’ll get someone else.”
Karbo changed the subject. He didn’t want out. He wanted the money.
“I have a question. What if she goes out the back?”
“If she exits the rear, you’re out of the play. If she isn’t alone, say she comes out with a friend, you’re out of the play. Maybe she won’t even come out. Maybe she brought a sandwich. No way to know, right? You have one job, and only the one.”
Karbo said, “The front.”
People would be watching the rear, for sure, but this was how Hicks operated. Compartmentalization. Minimum information. If an element got popped, they had nothing to give. Karbo admired the tough, precise way Hicks did business.
Hicks rested his hand on the door.
“Picture.”
Hicks had given them a five-by-seven photograph of a twenty-two-year-old woman. Having changed the play, he didn’t want the picture in their possession. The picture was evidence.
Bender returned the picture, and Hicks offered a final look.
“Burn her face into your brains. We can’t have a mistake.”
A high school photo printed off the internet showed a young woman with short dark hair, glasses, and a smile with a crooked incisor.
Karbo said, “Burned.”
Bender cleared his throat. Karbo sensed the man thought they were moving too fast, but the money was huge, and their involvement would end in minutes.
Bender said, “What’s she wearing?”
“Pink shirt. Kinda dull, not bright. A pink shirt over a tan skirt. I couldn’t see her shoes.”
Hicks tucked the picture into his jacket.
“She’ll be easy to spot, but if anything looks weird, drive away. Anyone with her, drive away. Am I clear?”
Karbo and Bender nodded.
“Clear.”
“Go.”
Hicks walked away and Bender eased from the curb.
Their ride was a dark gray Buick SUV owned by a leasing company in La Verne, California. Late model, low miles, the full option package. They had picked up the Buick at 4:22 that morning, specifically for use in the crime. After they delivered the girl, they would hand off the Buick, pick up their cars and money, and go their separate ways.
Karbo thought Bender was having second thoughts, but Bender surprised him.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it? Lovely, lovely day.”
Karbo studied the man for a moment.
“Yeah.”
“Gorgeous. A perfect day.”
Bender hadn’t said ten words all morning, even when they were searching the woman’s house. Karbo figured he was nervous.
“I know we’re not supposed to ask, but you’ve worked gigs before?”
Bender tapped the blinker and changed lanes.
“Three or four.”
“This will be easy. Hicks’s gigs are always easy.”
“Snatching a person in front of a bank in broad daylight can’t make the top of the Easy list.”
“You didn’t have to say yes. You should’ve backed out.”
“Right.”
“I don’t want to work with someone I can’t trust.”
“I’m concerned, is all. He’s making this up on the fly.”
“A lot of these gigs, this is what happens.”
“You’re not concerned? You don’t see the risk here?”
Karbo saw the risk. He also saw the reward.
“Look at this face.”
Karbo grinned and fingered his dimples.
“I’ll have her in the car in ten seconds tops. No big scene, I promise. Five minutes later, she’s out of our lives. What could be easier?”
“You may be a moron.”
Karbo shrugged.
“True, but you get to stay in the car. I’m the guy who gets out.”
Bender finally nodded.
“You’re right. And if anything looks weird, we drive away.”
“Damned right we do. Fast.”
Bender seemed to relax, and found a spot at a meter with an eyes-forward view of the bank.
Karbo liked the location. A commercial street lined with single-story storefronts two blocks south of Olympic. A straight shot to the freeway if needed. The girl would turn toward or away from them when she left the bank, and either was fine. A lot of people were out and about, but this shouldn’t matter if Karbo did his job quickly and well.
Karbo said, “You were right.”
“About?”
“The day. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.”
“You’re a moron. A perfect day doesn’t make this any less risky.”
They watched the bank. They didn’t pay attention to the people who went into the bank, or the men who came out. They watched for a twenty-two-year-old woman wearing a pink shirt over a tan skirt.
They paid no attention to the man wearing a sleeveless gray sweatshirt. They did not see