The Second Mouse - Archer Mayor [97]
Joe was staring at the floor, thinking. “We approach them from another angle,” he mused.
They waited for him to explain.
He looked up at them after a few moments. “If these two guys are in cahoots, they built a plan. They scouted the scene, maybe. They set up a cover story for Newell, and probably for Mel, too. They built all their defenses facing the direction they expected us to come from.”
Willy smiled and tilted his chair onto its back legs. “Right,” he said. “But we have a back door.”
Joe nodded. “Exactly. We do have enough to get a warrant for Ellis for stealing that trash bag.”
“And maybe enough to pick the girlfriend up as an accessory,” Willy added.
Joe crossed over to the door and opened it. “Let’s round ’em up and have a chat.”
Chapter 20
She loved riding on the back of a bike. The noise, the vibration of the engine, the sense she always got of almost flying at ground level were all memories of her past that she didn’t regret in the least and loved to revisit, especially now that she was once more with a man she believed she could trust.
At least for the moment. Not that Ellis wasn’t dependable. Of that she had little doubt. But she wasn’t kidding herself about the life they were facing—or, more precisely, the length of it. Even if they were successful in eliminating Mel, stealing the dope, and staying clear of the law, they were still looking at a future on the lam.
But today they were merely on a day trip. Mel was all consumed with his plans; they’d been all consumed with each other and, lately, their own big plans. Ellis had finally suggested a miniature breakout—a chance to enjoy the fresh air, the sun on their backs, just to taste what freedom might be like.
It was a great idea. Nancy’s emotional claustrophobia had been worsened by the mounting gloom on both their parts. It was nice simply to ride away from it all, even briefly, and soak up the scenery and warmth of a summery Vermont day.
Perhaps presciently, they’d chosen Pownal, and the site of the abandoned racetrack there, for their trip. A huge oval laid out near where the road overlooked it, the track started life in the sixties as a horse racing venue, switching gears in midcourse to feature greyhounds. But it had closed about ten years ago, and, despite the occasional plan to use it somehow, from gambling to housing development, it remained empty, ghostly, and weather-beaten—a testament to high hopes, big dreams, and ventures run aground.
It was a setting strangely in keeping with their mood, and they celebrated the choice by taking the Harley onto the vague grassy footprint of the track, through a break in the chain-link fence, and spinning around and around the oval, throwing up dust and scattering dirt into the banks.
Later, they sat on a hill gazing down at their handiwork, eating sandwiches and drinking beer, yielding to the temporary illusion that they had nothing to worry about.
Nancy was still enjoying that feeling on the way back north toward Bennington, wondering not just if but when the fantasy of such simplicity might become fact. This made her completely unaware of the car that swung in behind them as they passed the cemetery below town.
Ellis leaned slightly to the left, abandoning Route 7 as it began filling with traffic, and took them up Monument Avenue—narrower, tree lined, and dappled with sun filtering through the leaves. He, too, was inattentive of the following car.
Holding on to Ellis’s waist, Nancy resumed daydreaming. If things did work out and Mel could be eased into the woodwork, what would they do then? Where would they move to? It wasn’t the first time she’d engaged in such fantasies. If pressed, she’d have admitted to having done nothing else from the day she left home as a teenager.
The bike began to slow. Nancy looked up and saw a couple of cars in the far distance, next to each other and blocking the road.
“Cops,” Ellis said.
She leaned in so her mouth was near his left ear. “They don’t have lights.”
“I can smell it,” he said, slowing even more. He