Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [35]
The bus pulled to the side of the road and the driver announced the stop. Archer removed the folded paper from his pocket and strained to read in the dark. This was Oak Avenue. Two more stops and they’d be at Ridge, which was where he was supposed to get off. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants and stood up. If someone was watching him, someone here in the bus, he’d better get off at the right stop. Once off the bus, he’d figure out where to go from there.
Two stops later, Archer walked the length of the bus, his eyes darting from side to side to see if anyone seemed interested in his leaving. No one appeared to be, but then again, anyone working with Burt would be too smart to let themselves be caught watching, wouldn’t they?
He hopped down the steps, his heart in his mouth. There, right there, not two doors down, stood the movie theater. Archer took a deep breath and walked toward the ticket booth, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible under the circumstances. He bought his ticket for the nine-forty-five show and went in through the heavy glass doors.
The Telford Theater was one of those old-fashioned movie theaters you didn’t see many of these days. A single-screen theater. There were few patrons for the last screening of the sappy comedy that was playing. Archer sat in the back row, huddling in the dark in the far-left corner and taking stock of the others in the audience. A random couple or two, but mostly single people here and there throughout the theater. He wondered if any of them had been sent by Burt to make sure Archer stayed behind after the movie ended, like he’d been instructed to do.
“Before the movie ends, you crouch down there on the floor. When everyone else has gone, you creep down to the front on your hands and knees. When you hear the old man start to sweep, you get as close as you can, plug him, and leave.”
“What if someone else is there, what if everyone doesn’t leave?”
“Then I guess you follow the old man home and plug him on the way. Best to do it in the theater, though. He’s usually the last one there.”
“But what if someone hears the gun?”
“It’s a small caliber, won’t make all that much noise if you get real close up. And besides, like I told you, the old man closes up after the last show. Won’t be no one around to hear nothing. Just take care of your business, walk down to the bus stop, and wait for the next bus.”
“But . . .”
“Archie. No buts.” Burt had started to sound a little testy at this point, so Archer had shut up.
“Okay.” Archer had sighed.
“Don’t let Vince down, Archie.” Burt had hung up while Archer was still trying to figure out what bus he was supposed to get on after he shot the old man.
The movie theme song began to play louder, and the credits began to roll. Reluctantly, Archer slid off his seat and onto the floor, landing in a pool of something sticky. He moved quietly toward the end of the row, wiping his hands on the carpet in disgust. Discarded bits of popcorn exploded under his knees and clung to the legs of his pants. He cursed under his breath as he slunk forward toward the front of the theater. At one point he paused and ventured a peek across the room. The theater was empty. There was no one left to see him, but still he crawled along the floor. He did not want to see the face of the man he was supposed to kill. If he stayed down here, he could wait for the man to come into the theater, creep up on him from behind, and shoot him in the back of the head. That way, he wouldn’t have to look the man in the eyes. He wasn’t sure he could pull the trigger if he knew what the man looked like. Right now, Al Unger was sort of a blank man. Like pictures you see in the newspaper or in magazines, where they show the shape of a head but no facial features. That’s how he wanted to think of Al Unger.