proved no light from in here could be seen outside the truck, and then everybody shook hands with everybody, congratulating everybody on a job well done.
They got quiet and listened as a police car yowled by, and then Kelp said, “Hot on our trail,” and everybody grinned again.
They’d done it. From here on it was simple. They’d wait here in the truck till around six, and then Kelp would slip out, get into the cab, and drive them all away from here. It was unlikely he’d be stopped, but if he was he was perfectly safe. He had legitimate papers for the rental truck, legitimate–looking driver’s license and other identification, and a legitimate–sounding reason for being abroad. In a quiet spot in Brooklyn the convertible would be removed from the truck and left with its keys in it invitingly close to a vocational high school. The truck would be driven to Manhattan and left at the garage where Major Iko’s man would pick it up and return it to the rental agency.
Everybody was feeling pleased and happy and relieved. They sat around in the convertible and told jokes and after a while Kelp brought out a deck of cards and they started to play poker for high paper stakes.
Along about four o’clock Kelp said, “Well, tomorrow we go get the emerald and collect our dough.”
Greenwood said, “We can start working on it tomorrow, I guess. Three cards,” he said to Chefwick, who was dealing jacks or better.
Everybody got very quiet. Dortmunder said to Greenwood, “What do you mean, we can start working on it?”
Greenwood gave a nervous shrug. “Well, it isn’t going to be all that easy,” he said.
Dortmunder said, “Why not?”
Greenwood cleared his throat. He looked around with an embarrassed smile. “Because,” he said, “I hid it in the police station.”
PHASE THREE
Chapter 1
----
Major Iko said, “In the police station?” He stared at everybody in blank disbelief.
They were all there, all five of them. Dortmunder and Kelp, sitting in their usual places in front of his desk. Greenwood, the one they’d gotten out of prison last night, sitting between them in a chair he’d pulled over from the wall. And two new ones, introduced as Roger Chefwick and Stan Murch. A part of Major Iko’s mind was fondling those two new names, could hardly wait for this meeting to be over so he could give the orders for two new dossiers to be made up.
But the rest of his mind, the major portion of the Major’s mind, was given over to incredulity. He stared at everyone, and most especially at Greenwood. “In the police station?” he said, and his voice cracked.
“It’s where I was,” Greenwood said reasonably.
“But surely — at the Coliseum you could have — somewhere —”
“He swallowed it,” Dortmunder said.
The Major looked at Dortmunder, trying to understand what the man had just said. “I beg your pardon?”
It was Greenwood who answered. “When I saw they were going to get me,” he said, “I was in a hall. No place to hide anything. Couldn’t even throw it away. I didn’t want them to find it on me, so I swallowed it.”
“I see,” the Major said, a bit shakily, and then smiled a thin smile and said, “It’s a good thing for you I’m an atheist, Mr. Greenwood.”
In polite bafflement, Greenwood said, “It is?”
“The original significance of the Balabomo Emerald in my tribe was religious,” the Major said. “Go on with your story. When did you next see the emerald?”
“Not till the next day,” Greenwood said. “I’ll sort of skip over that part, if you don’t mind.”
“I wish you would.”
“Right. When I had the emerald again, I was in a cell. I guess they were afraid the rest of the guys might try to spring me right away, ‘cause they hid me out in a precinct on the Upper West Side for the first two days. I was in one of the detention cells on the top floor.”
“And that’s where you hid it?” the Major said faintly.
“There
They got quiet and listened as a police car yowled by, and then Kelp said, “Hot on our trail,” and everybody grinned again.
They’d done it. From here on it was simple. They’d wait here in the truck till around six, and then Kelp would slip out, get into the cab, and drive them all away from here. It was unlikely he’d be stopped, but if he was he was perfectly safe. He had legitimate papers for the rental truck, legitimate–looking driver’s license and other identification, and a legitimate–sounding reason for being abroad. In a quiet spot in Brooklyn the convertible would be removed from the truck and left with its keys in it invitingly close to a vocational high school. The truck would be driven to Manhattan and left at the garage where Major Iko’s man would pick it up and return it to the rental agency.
Everybody was feeling pleased and happy and relieved. They sat around in the convertible and told jokes and after a while Kelp brought out a deck of cards and they started to play poker for high paper stakes.
Along about four o’clock Kelp said, “Well, tomorrow we go get the emerald and collect our dough.”
Greenwood said, “We can start working on it tomorrow, I guess. Three cards,” he said to Chefwick, who was dealing jacks or better.
Everybody got very quiet. Dortmunder said to Greenwood, “What do you mean, we can start working on it?”
Greenwood gave a nervous shrug. “Well, it isn’t going to be all that easy,” he said.
Dortmunder said, “Why not?”
Greenwood cleared his throat. He looked around with an embarrassed smile. “Because,” he said, “I hid it in the police station.”
PHASE THREE
Chapter 1
----
Major Iko said, “In the police station?” He stared at everybody in blank disbelief.
They were all there, all five of them. Dortmunder and Kelp, sitting in their usual places in front of his desk. Greenwood, the one they’d gotten out of prison last night, sitting between them in a chair he’d pulled over from the wall. And two new ones, introduced as Roger Chefwick and Stan Murch. A part of Major Iko’s mind was fondling those two new names, could hardly wait for this meeting to be over so he could give the orders for two new dossiers to be made up.
But the rest of his mind, the major portion of the Major’s mind, was given over to incredulity. He stared at everyone, and most especially at Greenwood. “In the police station?” he said, and his voice cracked.
“It’s where I was,” Greenwood said reasonably.
“But surely — at the Coliseum you could have — somewhere —”
“He swallowed it,” Dortmunder said.
The Major looked at Dortmunder, trying to understand what the man had just said. “I beg your pardon?”
It was Greenwood who answered. “When I saw they were going to get me,” he said, “I was in a hall. No place to hide anything. Couldn’t even throw it away. I didn’t want them to find it on me, so I swallowed it.”
“I see,” the Major said, a bit shakily, and then smiled a thin smile and said, “It’s a good thing for you I’m an atheist, Mr. Greenwood.”
In polite bafflement, Greenwood said, “It is?”
“The original significance of the Balabomo Emerald in my tribe was religious,” the Major said. “Go on with your story. When did you next see the emerald?”
“Not till the next day,” Greenwood said. “I’ll sort of skip over that part, if you don’t mind.”
“I wish you would.”
“Right. When I had the emerald again, I was in a cell. I guess they were afraid the rest of the guys might try to spring me right away, ‘cause they hid me out in a precinct on the Upper West Side for the first two days. I was in one of the detention cells on the top floor.”
“And that’s where you hid it?” the Major said faintly.
“There
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