Ben wanted to be nice. He said: “A coffee joint about six miles north of town.” He glanced at Stokes. “This — tried to swing it back to Four-mile when he thought you’d be there sniping for me.”
“The boys are there now?”
He nodded. “The trucks have been stopping there to eat lately.”
I asked the operator for long-distance, and asked for the Bristol Hotel in Talley, the first town north. The connection went right through. I asked for Mister Cobb.
When he answered, I told him about the coffee place, and that I wasn’t sure about it; and told him he’d find the stuff that had been heisted in the sheds of the yard on Dell Street. I wasn’t sure of that either, but I watched Ben and Stokes when I said it and it looked all right. Cobb told me that he’d gotten into Talley with the convoy about midnight and had been waiting for my call since then. I hung up. “There’ll be some swell fireworks out there,” I said. “There’s a sub-machine-gun on every truck — double crews. And it don’t matter much,” I went on to Ben, “how good your steer is. They’ll be watching out all the way.”
Stokes stood up.
I picked up the gun. “Don’t move so far, Skinny,” I said. “It makes me nervous.”
He stood there staring at the gun. The water was running off his raincoat and it had formed into a little dark pool at his feet.
He said: “What the hell do you want?”
“I wanted you to know that one of the kids you shot up last week at Four-mile was my boss’ brother. He went along for the ride.”