pulled the ladder up after them, lay down in the lee of the low perimeter wall, held their breaths while the searchlight went by, and then got to their feet and carried the ladder over to the outer wall. Chefwick went up first this time, toting his black bag, went over the top, and went down the rope hand over hand, the handle of the black bag clamped in his teeth. Greenwood followed him and Dortmunder came last. Dortmunder straddled the top of the wall and began pulling the ladder up. The searchlight was coming back.
Chefwick dropped to the ground just as Murch arrived in the convertible. Chefwick took the bag from his teeth, which were aching from the strain, and climbed over the side into the convertible. The interior lights of this vehicle hadn’t been tampered with, so they couldn’t open the door.
Greenwood was coming down the rope. Dortmunder was still pulling up the ladder. The searchlight reached him, washed over him like magic water, passed on, stopped dead, quivered, and shot back. Dortmunder was gone, but the ladder was in the process of falling onto the laundry roof. It went chack when it hit.
Meantime, Greenwood had reached the ground and jumped into the front seat of the convertible, Chefwick being already in back. Dortmunder was coming very fast down the rope.
A siren said, Rrrrrr — and began its climb.
Dortmunder kicked out from the wall, let go the rope, dropped into the back seat of the convertible and called, “Go!”
Murch hit the accelerator.
Sirens were starting up all over the place. Kelp, standing by the truck with an unlit flashlight in his hands, began to chew his lower lip.
Murch had turned on the headlights, since he was going too fast now to depend on the occasional street lights. Behind them, the prison was coming to life like a yellow volcano. Any minute it would start erupting police cars.
Murch made a left on two wheels. He now had a three block straightaway. He put the accelerator on the floor.
There are still milkmen who get up very early in the morning and deliver milk. One of these, standing at his steering wheel, put–putted his stubby white traveling walk–in closet into the middle of an intersection, looked to his left, and saw headlights coming at him too fast to think about. He yipped and threw himself backward into his cases of milk, causing a lot of crashing.
Murch went around the stalled milk truck like a skier on a slalom, and kept the accelerator on the floor. He was going to have to brake soon, and the speedometer hadn’t broken a hundred yet.
No good. He’d have to brake now, or overshoot. He released the accelerator and tapped the brakes. Four–wheel disc brakes grabbed and held.
Kelp didn’t hear the engine over the screaming sirens, but he did hear the tires shriek. He looked down at the corner and the convertible slid sideways into view, then leaped forward like Jim Brown going around end.
Kelp switched on his flashlight and began madly to wave it. Didn’t Murch see him? The convertible kept getting larger.
Murch knew what he was doing. While his passengers clung to the upholstery and each other he shot down the block, tapped the brakes just enough at the right split second, nudged the wheel just enough, rolled up the boards and into the truck, tapped the brakes again, and came to a quivering standstill two inches from the far wall. He shut off the engine and switched off the lights.
Kelp, meanwhile, had put away his flashlight and was quickly shoving the boards back into the truck. He slammed one of the doors, hands reached down to help him up into the truck, and then the other door was shut.
For half a minute there was no sound in the blackness inside the truck except five people panting. Then Greenwood said, “We’ve gotta go back. I forgot my toothbrush.”
Everybody laughed at that, but it was just nervous laughter. Still, it helped to relax them all. Murch turned the car’s headlights on again, since they’d already
Chefwick dropped to the ground just as Murch arrived in the convertible. Chefwick took the bag from his teeth, which were aching from the strain, and climbed over the side into the convertible. The interior lights of this vehicle hadn’t been tampered with, so they couldn’t open the door.
Greenwood was coming down the rope. Dortmunder was still pulling up the ladder. The searchlight reached him, washed over him like magic water, passed on, stopped dead, quivered, and shot back. Dortmunder was gone, but the ladder was in the process of falling onto the laundry roof. It went chack when it hit.
Meantime, Greenwood had reached the ground and jumped into the front seat of the convertible, Chefwick being already in back. Dortmunder was coming very fast down the rope.
A siren said, Rrrrrr — and began its climb.
Dortmunder kicked out from the wall, let go the rope, dropped into the back seat of the convertible and called, “Go!”
Murch hit the accelerator.
Sirens were starting up all over the place. Kelp, standing by the truck with an unlit flashlight in his hands, began to chew his lower lip.
Murch had turned on the headlights, since he was going too fast now to depend on the occasional street lights. Behind them, the prison was coming to life like a yellow volcano. Any minute it would start erupting police cars.
Murch made a left on two wheels. He now had a three block straightaway. He put the accelerator on the floor.
There are still milkmen who get up very early in the morning and deliver milk. One of these, standing at his steering wheel, put–putted his stubby white traveling walk–in closet into the middle of an intersection, looked to his left, and saw headlights coming at him too fast to think about. He yipped and threw himself backward into his cases of milk, causing a lot of crashing.
Murch went around the stalled milk truck like a skier on a slalom, and kept the accelerator on the floor. He was going to have to brake soon, and the speedometer hadn’t broken a hundred yet.
No good. He’d have to brake now, or overshoot. He released the accelerator and tapped the brakes. Four–wheel disc brakes grabbed and held.
Kelp didn’t hear the engine over the screaming sirens, but he did hear the tires shriek. He looked down at the corner and the convertible slid sideways into view, then leaped forward like Jim Brown going around end.
Kelp switched on his flashlight and began madly to wave it. Didn’t Murch see him? The convertible kept getting larger.
Murch knew what he was doing. While his passengers clung to the upholstery and each other he shot down the block, tapped the brakes just enough at the right split second, nudged the wheel just enough, rolled up the boards and into the truck, tapped the brakes again, and came to a quivering standstill two inches from the far wall. He shut off the engine and switched off the lights.
Kelp, meanwhile, had put away his flashlight and was quickly shoving the boards back into the truck. He slammed one of the doors, hands reached down to help him up into the truck, and then the other door was shut.
For half a minute there was no sound in the blackness inside the truck except five people panting. Then Greenwood said, “We’ve gotta go back. I forgot my toothbrush.”
Everybody laughed at that, but it was just nervous laughter. Still, it helped to relax them all. Murch turned the car’s headlights on again, since they’d already
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