L.A. Dead Part 54

She giggled. "Sure the closing can't wait a few minutes?"

"Would you muss my wedding dress?" he asked. That was how he referred to the white linen suit he had had made for the occasion.

"No, you're too beautiful."

"Tell you what, if you'll call yourself Mrs. Oxenhandler for the rest of your life, I'll tell you where you're going on your honeymoon."

"Jackson, I keep telling you: n.o.body n.o.body would would choose choose to be called Mrs. Oxenhandler. You're stuck, you were born with it. Can you imagine my cops calling me 'Chief Oxenhandler'? They couldn't keep a straight face." to be called Mrs. Oxenhandler. You're stuck, you were born with it. Can you imagine my cops calling me 'Chief Oxenhandler'? They couldn't keep a straight face."

"I think that's a very dignified name for a chief of police," Jackson said, trying to look hurt.

"It's a very dignified name for someone who handles oxen," she said.

"Well," he sighed, "I guess you'll find out where you're going on your honeymoon when you get there."

She pulled the sheet over her head. "You won't even tell me then then!" she cried. She pulled down the sheet again, and he was standing in the bedroom doorway, looking splendid in his new suit.

"See you at the courthouse," he said.

"In Judge Chandler's courtroom, and you'd better be there early!" she called after him. She fell back on the bed. She would always remember that picture of him, standing in the doorway in his white linen suit and gold tie, with his hair still wet.

Holly got out of bed, brushed her teeth, and got into the shower, reaching for the shampoo. She had let her hair grow, and it was nearly down to her shoulders, though she wore it up most of the time, when she was in uniform. She was allowing herself two hours for the process-washing, rolling, and drying her hair, putting on a little makeup, which she rarely wore, and getting into the short, white sheath that would be her wedding dress.

Daisy lay on the bathroom mat, watching her through the clear gla.s.s shower door, waiting patiently for her breakfast and to be let out. Holly laughed. Daisy would be her maid of honor; Holly had trained her to carry the bouquet all the way to the front of the courtroom before handing it to her. Daisy could do anything.

Holly felt that she could do anything, too. She was bursting with happiness and expectation and with trying to figure out where Jackson was taking her on her honeymoon.

She got out of the shower and called her office's direct line.

"Chief Barker's office," her secretary and office manager, Helen Tubman, said.

"Hi, it's me; what's happening?"

"Nothing, and if something were happening, I wouldn't tell you," Helen said. "It's your wedding day, so I want you to hang up and do whatever you're supposed to do on your wedding day."

"How many are coming?" Holly asked. She had posted an invitation on the squadroom bulletin board.

"Let me put it this way," Helen said. "If there's a murder in the middle of Beach Boulevard this morning, the body will have to lie there until you're married and on the way to the airport."

"Oh, G.o.d," Holly said. "That many?"

"That many."

"Tell me their names, and I'll put them to work."

"I'll do no such thing," Helen said. "Now you go get beautiful, and don't bother me again." She hung up.

Holly hung up the phone, laughing, then went to feed Daisy and let her out into the dunes for her morning ablutions. She felt completely, insanely happy.

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The men a.s.sembled after breakfast, and the leader set up a drawing pad on an easel and ran them through their individual roles once more.

"Any questions?" he asked.

A hand went up. "Under what circ.u.mstances are we authorized to fire?"

"Danger to your own life or another of us," the leader replied. "The two guards will already be disarmed, so unless a civilian is packing, we're not going to have to deal with being shot at. Of course, there's always the chance that some cop will wander in to cash a check and come over all brave, but the sight of our shotguns is going to put the fear of G.o.d into anybody who understands what a shotgun can do."

"Are we authorized to kill if necessary?" the man asked.

"Only if absolutely necessary," the leader replied. "But if it becomes necessary, don't hesitate. But remember, the police will work a lot harder on a murder than a robbery."

The man nodded.

"Anybody else?"

n.o.body said anything.

"Just remember: n.o.body moves until the armored car leaves. The guards will be locked in and safe, and they've got a radio." He looked around. "All right, we drive separately to the shopping center, and each of you waits beside your car. Enter and leave the van one at a time through the front pa.s.senger door. Let's go."

The group broke up and went to the four cars parked outside. The leader gave them a ten-minute head start, then he pulled on his gloves, got into his coveralls, hung the dust mask and goggles around his neck, and put on his hard hat. He got into the van and drove out of the building, closing the door behind him with a remote control. He left the town and drove east, toward Orchid Beach. Half an hour later, he pulled into the parking lot. It was a big shopping center for a small town, anch.o.r.ed by a huge supermarket, with other stores strung out along both sides. The lot was three-quarters full. He drove up and down the lanes, stopping whenever he came to one of his men. Each was wearing a baseball cap, dark gla.s.ses, and latex gloves. Each entered by the front pa.s.senger door, then moved to the rear and took a seat on one of the facing benches. After twenty minutes, all the men were in the van, costumed in their jumpsuits, masks, goggles, and hard hats. They began loading their weapons with the ammunition on the bench beside them.

Each had four clips of nine-mm ammunition and a box of double-ought shotgun sh.e.l.ls. Each loaded four sh.e.l.ls into a shotgun, racked one into the chamber, then loaded one more sh.e.l.l. Each put the spare ammo into the side pockets of the jumpsuits.

The leader glanced at his watch. "Right on schedule," he said. Each weapon had had its serial number removed. None would ever be traced, except to the factory where it had been manufactured years before.

As he turned the van into the parking lot, the armored car entered the other end of the lot, exactly on time. He parked the van and switched off the engine. "It's going to get hot in here," he said, "but I don't want anyone to notice a van with the motor running."

He watched as the two guards in the armored car went through their drill; they looked bored. As they unloaded, a civilian, a man, drove up in a convertible, got out, and went inside. The guards regarded him closely, then entered. They were inside the building for less than two minutes, then returned to their vehicle and entered through the rear door, locking it behind them. The driver put the car into gear and drove out of the parking lot.

The leader waited while the armored car stopped for a traffic light, then turned left onto highway A1A. "Here we go," he said. He started the engine and drove to the spot outside the main entrance that the armored car had just vacated. "Hats, masks, and goggles on," he said. He waited ten seconds, then looked at his wrist.w.a.tch, a chronograph. He pressed a b.u.t.ton. "Two minutes," he said, "starting now now."

Everybody got out of the van and started for the front door.

1.

A Holly Barker Book A Stone Barrington Book A Will Lee Book

BOOKS BY STUART WOODS.

FICTION.

Santa Fe Dead Beverly Hills Dead Shoot Him If He Runs Short Straw Dark Harbor Iron Orchard1 Two Dollar Bill The Prince of Beverly Hills Reckless Abandon Capital Crimes Dirty Work Blood Orchid1 The Short Forever Orchid Blues1 Cold Paradise L.A. Dead The Run Worst Fears Realized Orchid Beach1 Swimming to Catalina Dead in the Water Dirt Choke Imperfect Strangers Heat Dead Eyes L.A. Times Santa Fe Rules New York Dead Palindrome Gra.s.s Roots White Cargo Deep Lie Under the Lake Run Before the Wind Chiefs