Orchid Blues (Holly Barker 2)

"Any questions?" he asked.

A hand went up. "Under what circumstances 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 God 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?"

Nobody said anything.

"Just remember: nobody 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 passenger 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 garage 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, anchored 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 glasses and latex gloves. Each entered by the front passenger 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 from the ammunition on the bench beside them.

Each had four clips of 9mm ammunition and a box of double-aught shotgun shells. Each loaded four shells into a shotgun, racked one into the chamber, then loaded one more shell. Each put the spare ammo into the side pockets of his jumpsuit.

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 on 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 it 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 wristwatch, a chronograph. He pressed a button. "Two minutes," he said, "starting now."

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

4

Jackson Oxenhandler arrived at his office for the closing, with ten minutes to spare. His secretary had already set out all the documents on the conference room table, and he checked them once more. He liked for his closings to go smoothly.

His partner, Fred Ames, stuck his head in. "You're working right down to the wire, huh? I like that."

"Gotta bring in some bucks for you to squander while I'm gone," Jackson said. "I'll bet you're off to Vegas tomorrow."

"Tonight," Ames said, grinning. "I've got all your personal stuff ready to sign. It's on your desk."

"After the closing, you and the girls come in; I'll need you all for witnesses."

"Got it."

The receptionist came to the door. "Everybody's here, Jackson."

"Send them in," Jackson said, then stood and shook everyone's hand-both real estate agents, the sellers and their lawyer, and the buyers, who were his own clients.

For the next forty-five minutes, everybody methodically signed documents, stacks of documents. Money, in the form of cashier's checks, changed hands. There was some quibbling about a couple of contingencies in the sales document, and Jackson made small changes, making everybody happy.

Finally, when everything was signed, everybody left, the sellers with a large check and the buyers with the deed to a very fine beach house.

Jackson went into his office, and Fred Ames and two secretaries followed him.

"You know the drill," Fred said, setting the documents on his desk. "Does this document accurately reflect your wishes?"

"It does," Jackson said, and started to sign.