“Afternoon, Mr. Grant. How’s business?”
“Oh, up and down, Sheriff, up and down.” Mr. Grant paused, flicked a bit of lint from the front of his wrinkled brown shirt. “I thought I should let you know, Sheriff…not that I poke my nose into what’s not my business… With me, it’s live and let live…”
That ended the statement, which Devin knew was habitual. Mr. Grant’s mind wandered freely from pillar to post. “Let me know what, Mr. Grant?”
“Oh, well, I was just taking a little air and happened to walk by the bank. Just past closing time, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Seemed to me somebody was holding up the bank.”
“Excuse me?”
“Seemed to me,” Mr. Grant repeated, in his ponderous way, “somebody was holding up the bank. Had a gun, sure enough. Looked to me to be a .45. Could be I’m wrong about that. Might be a .38.”
Before either boy could comment, Devin slapped a hand on each of their shoulders. “Go on up to Ed’s. Stay there.”
“But, Devin—”
“Do it, Bryan. Go on now, both of you. Stay there, and don’t say anything.” He stared hard at Connor. “Don’t say anything,” he repeated. “We don’t want people getting upset and getting in the way.”
“What are you going to do?” Connor said in an awed voice.
“I’m going to take care of it. Get up to Ed’s. Move. Now.”
When they ran off, Devin kept one eye on them, to be sure they obeyed. “Mr. Grant, I wonder if you’d come along with me. Let’s just take a look at this.”
“Fine by me.”
The bank was across the street and another half a block up. An old brick building with elaborate ironwork, it sat catty-corner from Ed’s Café. A quick look showed Devin that the boys had indeed gone in. They had their faces pressed up to the window.
Devin scanned the street. It was Saturday, and there was considerable traffic. Enough, in any case, to cause a problem if there was trouble. He didn’t intend to have any of his people hurt.
“Did you get a look at the man, Mr. Grant?”
“Some. Young, ’bout your age, I expect. Can’t say as I recognized him. Looked a little like the Harris boy, but wasn’t.”
Devin nodded. He spotted a dirty white compact with Delaware tags at the curb in front of the bank. “Recognize that car there?”
Mr. Grant thought it over. “Can’t say as I do. Never seen it around here.”
“Stay here a minute.” Unsnapping the flap covering his weapon, Devin sidestepped up to the bank. The door was festooned with curvy ironwork. Through it, he could make out one teller behind the wide counter. And the man across from her, nervously waving a gun.
It was a .45, he noted. Grant had been dead-on.
He slipped away from the door. “Mr. Grant, I’d like you to get on down to the office, tell Donnie I need some backup here at the bank. We’ve got an armed robbery in progress. I want you to tell him that, straight out. And that I don’t want him coming up here blaring sirens or coming into the bank. I don’t want him coming into the bank. Have you got that?”
“Why, sure I do, Sheriff. Be happy to oblige.”
“And stay down there yourself, Mr. Grant. Don’t come back up here.”
He’d just started to move again when he saw Rafe approaching. Before his brother could lift a hand in greeting, Devin snagged him. “You’re deputized.”
“Hell, Devin, Regan just send me out for more diapers. I haven’t time to play deputy.”
“See that car? White compact, Delaware plates?”
“Sure. I got eyes.”