5

It was a pyramid-shaped hill, fairly tall, and the whole side facing the road was strewn with junked cars and parts of cars, all silently rusting in the late afternoon sun. Three smallish trees jutted improbably out of the metal at odd points on the hillside, pale green with the fresh leaves of spring, and a narrow dirt road meandered up through the junk as though a bulldozer had gone through just once, shoving everything out of its way. Up at the top stood an old clapboard farmhouse, two stories high, rambling this way and that over the crest of the hill as though it had melted somewhat from its original shape. The siding was the gray of weathered wood that hasn't been painted for at least a quarter century.

Grofield said, "It's beautiful."

Hughes grinned at the windshield and turned off onto the twin-rut dirt road; it ran level for about a hundred feet, before climbing the hill. "I guess Purgy don't mind it," Hughes said.

They'd come two hundred twenty-five miles in just over four hours; it was now late afternoon, and the sunlight reflecting from windows and windshields up and down the hill was tinged with orange, so that it looked as though rust was reflecting light.

The fence was rusty, too, when they came to it, at the base of the hill. Eight foot high, chain link, it stretched away on both sides, hemming the junked cars in, and topped by a triple strand of barbed wire. The gate was the same height, and also topped by barbed wire, and there was a sign on it that said NO TRESPASSING – Ring Phone For Entry.

Hughes left the motor running and got out of the car. He went over to the box mounted on the left gatepost, opened the door, and spent a minute talking on the phone. Grofield waited in the car; he rolled his window down and listened to silence. No birds, nothing but the almost-silent purr of the engine.

Hughes came back to the car and slid behind the wheel.

"Best roll your window up," he said.

Grofield looked at him, but didn't ask any questions. He rolled his window up, and at the same time the two halves of the gate opened inward – electric, remote control.

Hughes drove the Javelin through and started up the hill. Grofield twisted around to watch the gates shut again, and when he faced front there was a Doberman pinscher directly in their path, black, with brown markings.

Hughes was driving slowly up the steep incline, and he neither braked nor hit the horn, but just kept moving toward the dog, which at the last moment padded with heavy gracefulness to one side. It met Grofield's eyes through the closed window as the car went by, and it didn't look sweet-tempered at all.

"Nice playmate," Grofield said.

"Purgy don't get robbed," Hughes said.

"I bet he doesn't."

Grofield looked back, to see if the dog was following them, and now there were two, both Dobermans, both padding along right behind the car. And as he watched, a third came streaking through narrow alleys amid the junk to the right and joined the first two.

Grofield said, "How many's he got?"

"I don't know. More than enough."

"One is enough," Grofield said, and faced front after that.

There was a little open flat area at the top, in front of the house, and standing in it was a short, fat, very wide man with a bull neck and an irritable expression. He was filthy, clothing and skin and hair, wearing stained gray workpants, black work boots and a flannel shirt that had once been several colors but was now mostly a faded grayish pink. There were so many streaks of rust and grease and dirt over his arms and face and clothes that he almost looked like an Indian in war paint.

Grofield said, "That's got to be Purgy."

"You're right."

Purgy gave them an irritable arm wave, meaning to follow him, and tramped on around the corner of the house. Hughes drove slowly after him, and Grofield saw that they were now surrounded by at least five dogs, one of them trotting along in front. He said, "Is Dobermans all he's got?"

Hughes frowned at the windshield. "I don't follow you."

"The dogs. Are they all Dobermans?"

"Is that what they are? They all look alike, so I guess so."

Purgy had led them along the continuation of the dirt road around the side of the house, and now around to the back. Here the hill fell away more slowly, in broad steps. The first level below the house contained a dozen or more vehicles of a wide variety of kinds, all in apparently good operating order. The level below that had a rickety shedlike ten-car garage, with several cars and parts of cars on the beaten dirt in front of it, and with the chain-link fence running along just behind it. Beyond the fence were trees, a thick woods that stretched on down into the valley.

"I guess that's our truck," Hughes said.

Grofield nodded. "Looks all right."

"The sound is more important," Hughes commented.

The truck was one of the vehicles on the first level, a big tractor-trailer rig with a dark green International Harvester cab and an unpainted aluminum Freuhauf body. There were no markings on the body, but the cab door bore the legend UNIVERSAL FUR STORAGE, 210-16 Pine Street, Phone 378-9825.

"It's hot," Grofield said. "It's left over from a hijack."

"I already knew that. That's why we're getting a price."

"Original plates?"

"I brought my own."

"We'll have to do something about that door."

"If we take it."

And if they didn't? This was Thursday; they were supposed to move tomorrow night. Grofield said, "You got any others lined up?"

"Not yet. If this one's no good, it costs us a couple weeks."

Out there in front of them, Purgy was still walking, a steady fat man's waddle. A couple of dogs were flanking him now, and maybe half a dozen of them were around the car. Purgy led them halfway across the rear of the ramshackle house to where the dirt road made a sharp turn downward and to the left, down to the next level. They all went on down there, Purgy and the dogs and the Javelin, making a strange parade, and then headed straight for the fur-storage truck.

"He's going to want us to get out of the car," Grofield said.

"The dogs are okay. They do what Purgy tells them."

Purgy had reached the truck, and now he turned around and made a down-pushing motion with one hand to tell them to stop. Hughes left the engine running, and opened the door, and a second later so did Grofield.

It was very strange. They were waist deep in dogs, and it was like moving through a sluggish black sea full of eyes and teeth. The dogs kept circling, kept moving around without ever making a single noise, and always moved out of the way whenever Grofield or Hughes or Purgy walked anywhere. But Grofield kept being aware of them, down there around his wrists, moving, watching, waiting, and after a while the total absence of sound – no barking, no growling, nothing – became the most nerve-wracking part of it, as though tension were being built that would have to end with incredible noises and destruction.

Purgy and Hughes immediately started talking about the truck, and Grofield did his best to pay attention and not think about the dogs. In the usual manner of buyer and seller, Purgy kept pointing out how good the truck was and Hughes kept suggesting flaws it probably had. "Looks as though she was driven pretty hard," Hughes said, holding the driver's door open and leaning his head in beside the seat. "Look at that brake pedal, how she's worn on the one side. Some cowboy drove the hell out of her."

"Why, that truck's only two years old," Purgy said. He had a high-pitched voice, but very hoarse, as though he'd worn his throat out reaching for high notes. "Barely broke in," he said. "Where you going to find a truck this new at the price I'm asking?"

Grofield stood and watched. This wasn't his specialty; he was along to drive the extra vehicle if they bought the truck.

Hughes looked under the hood. "Got pliers on you?"

"You ain't gonna take it apart," Purgy said.

"Just want to take a look. We need a tape measure, too."

"You don't want much," Purgy grumbled, and turned to Grofield. "See that bread truck there? Take a look in the back, there's a toolkit, bring it on over."

"Okay."

"Dogs!" Purgy yelled. "Stay!"

They stayed. Grofield walked across the brown dirt to the bread truck and found the toolkit in the back, and none of the dogs followed him. But when he started back he saw half the dogs back there by Purgy standing absolutely still and watching him. Six or seven of them, that was, with an equal number still moving around Hughes. Grofield carried the toolkit over and put it on the ground by the truck, and the watching dogs started to mill with the others again.

Hughes took the pliers and tape, and handed the tape to Grofield. "Size of the opening in back," he said.

"Right."

The inevitable three or four dogs traveled with him as he went around to the back of the truck and opened the doors there. He climbed up into the trailer, and was half-surprised that none of the dogs leaped up after him.

The interior of the trailer was bare, except for two pipes running the length of it just above head level. To hang furs on, probably. Grofield measured the opening, spent a minute walking around the interior, stamping on the floor, pushing against the walls, and then he dropped down amid the dogs again and went back to where Hughes and Purgy were arguing over a sparkplug in Hughes' hand. Purgy was saying, "I give you this truck the way it come to me. I don't switch sparkplugs, I don't set back the mileage, I don't do nothing. It's yours, the way the guy drove it in here, for two grand."

Hughes said, "Now you know I'm not gonna pay two thousand dollars for this truck."

"Where you gonna get a truck like this?"

"As hot as this? Nowhere." He turned and looked questioningly at Grofield.

Grofield said, "Fifty-seven inches wide, eighty-four inches high."

"Narrow," Hughes said. "I'm not sure we can use it at all."

"You don't want to buy the truck," Purgy said, "nobody's got a gun to your head."

Grofield said to Hughes, "The floor seems okay."

Hughes nodded and leaned in at the engine.

Purgy said, "What are ya doin now?"

"Putting it back."

With Hughes showing him nothing but back, Purgy turned to Grofield. "You know trucks?"

"They're bigger than cars," Grofield said. "That's about my limit."

"Well, believe me, this truck is a steal at two grand."

"You mean it's stolen," Hughes said, his voice muffled because he was still involved with the engine. He surfaced, turning back to Purgy with his hands out in front of him. "You got a cloth to wipe my hands?"

"Up on the seat of the truck. Go on up, start the engine, listen to it."

"I believe I will," Hughes said, and climbed up into the cab. While Grofield and Purgy watched and waited, Hughes started the engine, switched it off, started it, switched it off, started it, raced it, switched it off, started it, lurched the truck forward about three feet, switched it off, started it, lurched it backward about three feet, switched it off, started it, and drove it away.

Grofield watched it leave. About half the dogs stayed with him and Purgy, and the rest went trotting off with the truck.

Hughes was a first-rate driver. There wasn't that much room to maneuver in among the cars and trucks and buses and odd vehicles stored on this flat area, but Hughes threaded the maze with no trouble at all. He backed in a figure eight, he drove forward in various directions at various speeds and in various gears, and finally he drove it back over to Purgy and Grofield again, jolted to a stop, and switched off the motor.

Purgy had his hands on his hips, ready to be belligerently defensive about the truck. He watched Hughes climb down from the cab and said, "Well?"

"Brakes grab to the right a bit," Hughes said. "Trailer doesn't track very well."

"It's empty, what do you want from it? You know a truck like that isn't meant to drive empty."

"It's worth five hundred, I suppose," Hughes said carelessly.

"Five hundred! Are you out of your mind? Don't you want me to even get my cost back?"

"I've sold you things," Hughes said. "I know what your cost is. You maybe paid a hundred and a half for this-"

"Hughes, you're a goddam fool. Who's gonna sell a truck like that for a hundred and fifty dollars?"

"The people that brought it to you," Hughes said. "They made their money out of what was in it. All they wanted is a safe place to unload it, and not leave it off a road someplace for the cops to pick up and maybe find somebody's fingerprints or coat button or something. I told you, I've sold you stuff. So you paid a hundred and a half. If you take it apart and sell the pieces you can sell and junk the rest, you'll maybe make three hundred out of it."

"There's another dumb idea," Purgy said, trying to be scornful but only being irritable. "There's better than three hundred just under the hood alone."

"But we're saving you the trouble," Hughes said. "You don't have to do any work on it at all, you don't have to store the parts, you don't do anything but spend five minutes out here having a nice talk with me, and you make better than two hundred percent profit. That isn't bad."

"I told you my price," Purgy said. Now he sounded as though he'd been insulted.

"Oh, you didn't mean a number like that," Hughes said. "That was just to argue from. But it's getting late in the day, we've got a long drive ahead of us, so I figured I'd go straight to the sensible price. Five hundred."

"Now look," Purgy said, "you're an old customer and I like you, and I know you like this here truck. So I'll give you a break. I paid twelve hundred for that truck, and I'll give it to you for fifteen. Now, that's fair, isn't it?"

"Oh, come on, Purgy. You didn't pay any twelve hundred and we both know it. Now, why say a thing like that?"

"Well, I wouldn't if it wasn't so."

"Then it's the first time I ever saw you get took, and I can't take the truck. Come on, Grofield."

Hughes started toward the Javelin, Grofield beside him.

Purgy shouted, "Hughes, goddam it, are you tryin' to make me mad?"

Grofield suddenly became doubly aware of all those dogs, milling around between there and the Javelin. Did they want to make Purgy mad? Did they want to dicker with a man who had all those dogs around? What if he told the dogs not to let you go until you met his price? Grofield put his hands in his pockets, not wanting his fingers to stray accidentally into any passing dog's mouth.

Purgy shouted, "Hughes, you just stop goddam it where you stand!"

Hughes stopped, and turned around, and looked at Purgy. "You've always been a tough bargainer, Purgy," he said, "but you've never told me an out-and-out lie before. Twelve hundred dollars. Why, man, my three-year-old daughter wouldn't believe that."

Grofield looked at him. Three-year-old daughter?

Purgy suddenly grinned. "Aw, Hughes, you're such a dumb bastard. I've lied to you plenty."

"Not such obvious lies, then," Hughes said. "Listen, so we don't get mad at each other, I'll go eight hundred."

"You'll go eleven hundred and no more arguing," Purgy said. "And don't talk to me about a thousand, because eleven hundred is my bottom number."

Hughes said, "For eleven hundred, you can paint the goddam owner's name off the doors."

"Eleven hundred like she stands."

"I will walk away from here, Purgy," Hughes said. Grofield looked sideways at him, and Hughes' profile was grim and angry. There was no mistaking it; Hughes was mad, and ready to stomp away no matter how good the truck was.

Purgy didn't say anything for a minute, and Grofield, studying him, saw that Purgy too was on the edge of real anger. Grofield waited, knowing better than to enter into this thing, but hoping one or the other of them would eventually climb down off his ultimatum. It would be really stupid to have to wait around St. Louis an extra fifteen days because of no truck, with a perfectly good truck standing right there.

Finally, Purgy sighed. He shook his head, and shrugged his fat shoulders, and said, "I don't see any damn reason to get upset. What the hell, if I can't bend a little what am I in business for? I'll spray a little paint over those doors for you."

"Dark green," Hughes said.

"Well, it may not be a Grade A Perfect one hundred percent match," Purgy said, "but I'll give it the closest I got."

Hughes suddenly nodded; his face and body became more relaxed. "It's a deal," he said.

"That's fine," Purgy said, with a broad smile. "I'll go get the paint."

"We've got our own plates to put on," Hughes said.

"Well, go ahead."

Purgy waddled away toward the house, and Hughes said, "Come on." He and Grofield went over to get the plates out of the trunk of the Javelin. They were Missouri plates, for a commercial vehicle, and they weren't on anybody's wanted list. "These babies cost me a hundred and a quarter," Hughes said, taking them out. "And now I went a hundred over what I wanted to pay for the truck."

"I thought you were going to walk away," Grofield said. "I really did."

Hughes looked at him in surprise. "You did? What the hell would I do that for? The truck's worth fourteen."

"You looked mad."

"It took you in, huh? I don't think it took Purgy in."

"I do," Grofield said.

"Purgy's slier'n he looks," Hughes said. He gave Grofield one of the plates and a screwdriver. "You do the back, I'll do the front."

"Right."

They walked together toward the truck. Hughes said, "I hope Barnes makes a good price on the guns. We'll go over the two grand if we're not careful."

They separated at the rear of the truck, where Grofield hunkered down to remove the Pennsylvania plate the truck was carrying. A couple of dogs came over to watch, but by now Grofield was getting used to them – silent, restless, observant, more like an audience in a theater than anything else.

He was just finishing removing the Pennsylvania plate when Purgy came back down from the house, shaking a can of spray enamel in one fist. The metal stirring ball rattled around inside it. Grofield put the clean Missouri plate on, picked up the Pennsylvania plate, and walked over to see what the spray job looked like.

It was a slightly lighter shade of green, but Purgy was doing a pretty good job of bleeding it out at the edges. It would be plain that a firm name had been removed, but it would look like a neat job, not something done in a sloppy hurry.

Hughes came over with the other plate and the other screwdriver and studied the door. Purgy, finished, stepped back and said, "How's that? Nice, huh?"

"I won't argue with you, Purgy," Hughes said, as though he thought the paint job was lousy.

But Purgy was in a good mood now, and didn't care what Hughes said. "You just didn't want to pay me so much," he said, grinning. "I know you, Hughes."

"What about the other door?"

"Keep your pants on, I'm gonna do it right now. And then you got to pay me."

"You keep your pants on, too."

Purgy went around to the other side of the truck, and Hughes said to Grofield, reluctantly, "I suppose I'd better drive the truck. Get to know it and all."

"Don't worry," Grofield said. "I'll treat your car like a bride."

"I don't think I'd like that," Hughes said.

"You know what I mean."

"Let me go first," Hughes said. "You just stay at my pace."

"Sure."

Hughes gave him the license plate and screwdriver. "We'll stop somewhere and eat. I know a couple places."

"Fine."

Hughes looked across at his car, and then at Grofield. He wanted to give Grofield an hour or two of instructions about how to handle the car; Grofield waited and watched him fight the urge and win. "See you later," Hughes said.

"See you later," Grofield said. He turned and walked toward the Javelin, his hands full of license plates and screwdrivers. Dogs were loping all around him. He found he was grinning at the car.