town of Monequois-" And damned if he didn't have yet another blow-up photograph to show them. That was about ten photos and maps and graphs so far; Grofield was beginning to feel like a man who'd stumbled by mistake into a lecture on auto safety.
But Myers wasn't interested in auto safety, or any other kind of safety either. His plan, once he started outlining it, was a dilly. The police and fire departments of the town of Monequois were together in the same building; Myers' first step would be to blow up that building. Simultaneously, there would be an incendiary explosion – that is, an explosion followed hopefully by a fire – at the Northway Brewery. Naturally, no gate guard would think of stopping a fire engine from coming through the brewery's main gate with a fire going on. Frith would drive the fire engine, and Grofield and Dan Leach would ride it in firemen's uniforms. They would stop outside the paymaster's office, and Grofield and Leach would spray the office with machine gun bullets, killing the guards inside. Then they would-
"No," said Grofield.
Myers stopped in mid-sentence, his hand dipping down for yet another photo or map or graph. He blinked. "What?"
"I said no. Don't tell me any more of it, I'm out."
Myers frowned; he couldn't understand it. "What's the matter, Grofield?"
"Killing," Grofield said.
"They've got half a dozen armed guards in there," Myers said. "There's absolutely no other way to get past them."
"I believe you. That's why I'm out."
Myers looked sardonic. "You really that kind, Grofield? Sight of blood bother you?"
"No, it's more the sight of cops. The law looks a lot harder for a killer than it does for a thief. Sorry, Myers, but you can count me out."
Grofield turned toward the door. Behind him, he heard Dan Leach say, "Thanks for the drink."
Myers' voice sounded shocked: "You, too?"
Grofield opened the door and stepped through into the other room. He felt Dan coming along behind him, and heard Dan close the door on Myers' calling voice and on the other voices also starting up.
The wrestler was lying face down on the floor, on his right cheek. He was unconscious, and his nose had stopped bleeding.
Grofield said, "You really hit them, don't you?"
"Only when they ask."
They went out to the hall and headed for the elevators. Grofield said, "Now, will you tell me who that madman is and how you rung me in on it?"
"He's a friend of my wife's brother," Dan said. "He's supposed to of done some stuff down around Texas."
"He's a simpleton," Grofield said.
3
The dice ricocheted from the backboard, bounced back on two separate trajectories across the green felt and came up three and four. The shooter groaned, money changed hands, and the dice passed to Dan Leach. "Operate the numbers for me," he said, and Grofield said, "Sure."
You couldn't get out of one of these Strip hotels without going through the casino. Grofield wasn't a gambling man, but Dan was, so on the way by he'd said, "Let's earn us our plane fare anyway."
"Not me."
"Well, I will. Hang in and watch, and take the free drinks."
Grofield had nothing to do until he took another plane out of here tomorrow, so he'd stayed. Dan obviously had played on a Las Vegas-style layout before, and he'd been picking up a few dollars on the other shooters' rolls. Now he had a chance on his own roll.
"For the boys," he said, to begin with, and dropped a one dollar chip on the six-five come. If he rolled an eleven, the four housemen it took to work this table would split the fifteen dollars that bet would win; if he rolled any other number, that dollar would be lost.
"Thank you for the chance, sir," said the stickman neutrally, and pushed Dan the dice; red translucent plastic with large white dots.
Dan rolled the dice between both palms, to warm them. He had the slightly loose smile on his face that has nothing to do with humor, but that means the player feels at home, his adrenalin is pumping. He held the dice in his right hand,
But Myers wasn't interested in auto safety, or any other kind of safety either. His plan, once he started outlining it, was a dilly. The police and fire departments of the town of Monequois were together in the same building; Myers' first step would be to blow up that building. Simultaneously, there would be an incendiary explosion – that is, an explosion followed hopefully by a fire – at the Northway Brewery. Naturally, no gate guard would think of stopping a fire engine from coming through the brewery's main gate with a fire going on. Frith would drive the fire engine, and Grofield and Dan Leach would ride it in firemen's uniforms. They would stop outside the paymaster's office, and Grofield and Leach would spray the office with machine gun bullets, killing the guards inside. Then they would-
"No," said Grofield.
Myers stopped in mid-sentence, his hand dipping down for yet another photo or map or graph. He blinked. "What?"
"I said no. Don't tell me any more of it, I'm out."
Myers frowned; he couldn't understand it. "What's the matter, Grofield?"
"Killing," Grofield said.
"They've got half a dozen armed guards in there," Myers said. "There's absolutely no other way to get past them."
"I believe you. That's why I'm out."
Myers looked sardonic. "You really that kind, Grofield? Sight of blood bother you?"
"No, it's more the sight of cops. The law looks a lot harder for a killer than it does for a thief. Sorry, Myers, but you can count me out."
Grofield turned toward the door. Behind him, he heard Dan Leach say, "Thanks for the drink."
Myers' voice sounded shocked: "You, too?"
Grofield opened the door and stepped through into the other room. He felt Dan coming along behind him, and heard Dan close the door on Myers' calling voice and on the other voices also starting up.
The wrestler was lying face down on the floor, on his right cheek. He was unconscious, and his nose had stopped bleeding.
Grofield said, "You really hit them, don't you?"
"Only when they ask."
They went out to the hall and headed for the elevators. Grofield said, "Now, will you tell me who that madman is and how you rung me in on it?"
"He's a friend of my wife's brother," Dan said. "He's supposed to of done some stuff down around Texas."
"He's a simpleton," Grofield said.
3
The dice ricocheted from the backboard, bounced back on two separate trajectories across the green felt and came up three and four. The shooter groaned, money changed hands, and the dice passed to Dan Leach. "Operate the numbers for me," he said, and Grofield said, "Sure."
You couldn't get out of one of these Strip hotels without going through the casino. Grofield wasn't a gambling man, but Dan was, so on the way by he'd said, "Let's earn us our plane fare anyway."
"Not me."
"Well, I will. Hang in and watch, and take the free drinks."
Grofield had nothing to do until he took another plane out of here tomorrow, so he'd stayed. Dan obviously had played on a Las Vegas-style layout before, and he'd been picking up a few dollars on the other shooters' rolls. Now he had a chance on his own roll.
"For the boys," he said, to begin with, and dropped a one dollar chip on the six-five come. If he rolled an eleven, the four housemen it took to work this table would split the fifteen dollars that bet would win; if he rolled any other number, that dollar would be lost.
"Thank you for the chance, sir," said the stickman neutrally, and pushed Dan the dice; red translucent plastic with large white dots.
Dan rolled the dice between both palms, to warm them. He had the slightly loose smile on his face that has nothing to do with humor, but that means the player feels at home, his adrenalin is pumping. He held the dice in his right hand,
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