The Last Whisper in the Dark: A Novel Read Free Page A

part or they might seriously be leery of him. It made me a little nervous.
    They talked quietly in clipped, terse voices. Three of them went inside with Chub while the fourth kept a lookout, patrolling the area.
    He never stopped moving, never ducked back inside for a few minutes to warm up. The frigid temperature didn’t seem to bother him. He wove an impressive pattern all around the junkers and restored classic cars Chub kept on the lot. He glanced through windshields and checked backseats. He doubled back along his own path. He kept his hands close to his sides, a compact .32 hidden against his right leg. I knew how to use the dark but still had trouble keeping ahead of him as we worked our way around. Twice he came withinarm’s length. If I wasn’t a burglar with a practiced step he would’ve nabbed me for certain.
    They were a sharp and professional crew, but I didn’t like all the iron. Even the driver packed. So far as I knew, drivers never carried weapons. Their sole function was to stay steely and wait for their string to finish the heist and then get everyone out of there. All a gun did was add five years to the bill if you got caught at the scene. A driver needed horsepower, not firepower.
    The fourth guy and I continued to play tag. The others were inside with Chub for half an hour. He would have a well-planned escape route already mapped out, along with contingencies. They’d run the route at least a half-dozen times before pulling the holdup to grind off any edges and make sure it went smooth as ice.
    Chub stepped outside and led the others to a dark green ’69 Mustang fastback pulled into the corner by the far fence. It was parked beside a second option, a 1970 Challenger. Both muscle cars were unseen from the street, hidden by a number of wrecks. The vehicles would be clean, one hundred percent legal with all the correct paperwork. It was one of the reasons why the strings came to Chub. He never dealt with hot items. The cops had no reason to keep an eye on him because everything in his garage was legit.
    The driver checked under the hood of the Mustang and seemed impressed with what he found. The breeze carried their voices to me. They talked engine torque, shift points, speed climbs, and maximum acceleration. They slid in and out of the two-door car with the tight rear bench. It seemed an odd choice for four guys pulling a job. I thought they would have gone for the roomier Dodge. But even that seemed strange to me. I figured you’d want a four-door so everyone could have his own entrance and exit point. But I wasn’t a heist man.
    The fourth guy kept his .32 in his hand. Chub didn’t appear worried. I knew he would be. He didn’t like guns any more than I">“Is it?”tp did. Hehad a wrench in his back pocket. He could cave in somebody’s head with it. He kept his body half turned so that the fourth guy was always in front of him. The driver chuckled about something and stuck out his hand to shake. Chub only grinned and nodded. He was being smart. He wasn’t going to compromise his hands.
    The crew climbed into the Mustang. The car they came in was probably stolen and Chub would have it driven off his lot by an associate for a small cash fee.
    The driver couldn’t help but goose the Mustang’s engine a couple of times before he threw it into drive. But when he got it into the street he drove the speed limit.
    When they hit their first turn I hopped in my car and followed.
    On the grift it was occasionally important to tail a mark. I gave the crew a significant lead and kept changing lanes. We headed west toward the city. There was still traffic on the Long Island Expressway. There was always traffic on the LIE. I’d forgotten that during the years I hid out in big sky country. When I got back to New York it took a little getting used to. Eating exhaust again, bumper to bumper no matter what time of day you hit the road.
    The driver took the Wantagh Parkway exit and then played around on some