The Man With the Getaway Face Read Online Free PDF

working the area of a job notice you, that was bad. The hood being up should have taken care of things; if the damn cop hadn't been bored, it would have. From now on, he'd have to watch two things at once, the job and that state trooper car. It wouldn't do for that trooper to see him driving.
    He touched his fingers to his face, over his upper lip. His beard had been coming in spotty since the plastic surgery – the doctor had said that would straighten out after a while – but the hair on the upper lip grew the same as always. It might not be a bad idea to grow a moustache. If the same cop stopped him again, he could be his own brother. Amazing family resemblance. Parker grinned sourly at the thought, still watching the rear-view mirror.
    He saw the red in the mirror at twenty after one, coming like a bat out of hell. He got out of the Ford and closed the hood and was getting back behind the wheel when the armoured car went by. He started the engine and took off after it. The armoured car was staying between fifty-five and sixty now; these guys were probably quitting work as soon as they reported in. Watching for the trooper's car, Parker stayed with the red tin box, without getting too close.
    They went by the Shore Points Diner and over the Raritan River and straight on up 9 – four lanes all the way now – to Elizabeth. When the armoured car turned off, in town, Parker kept going straight, on up to Newark. He'd seen all he wanted to see. The diner was where it would have to be done. There wasn't any place at all along the road where they could flag it for the toby, so that meant they'd have to use Alma.
    Parker didn't like it. First Alma, and then the bored cop. It was beginning to smell sour. There were too many things to watch, all at once. But he needed the stake, so he'd go to the Green Rose tonight, but if the job got any more sour anywhere along the line he'd drop it. He was figuring on splitting half, plus the bankroller's cut, and that made it a boodle worth going after.
    In Newark, he parked on a side street. He had time to kill, so he went to a movie. It was the fourth double feature he'd seen since Saturday.

Chapter 6
    THE GREEN ROSE was oblong, and very dim. A trough high around the wall contained indirect lighting, alternate red and green lengths of fluorescent tubes. Some of the mechanical beer and whisky display ads on the bar back were lighted, and there was a light over the cash register, but the rest of the place was like a tomb.
    Coming in the door, the dark mahogany bar was to the left, extending back to the wall projection for the rest rooms. Booths with dark red leather seats and black formica on the tables were on the right. Parker walked down the line between the bar and the booths to the back, where there was a bigger booth across from the rest rooms. They were there, all three of them.
    Skimm and Alma sat facing the front of the bar, with Alma on the outside, so she'd been to the head already. They both had beer in front of them, a glass and a thin bottle and a glass and a thin bottle, and Alma's glass and bottle were almost empty. Handy McKay was sitting on the other side, half-turned, with his back against the wall.
    He was long and thin and made of gristle, and his stiff dark hair was grey over the ears. He lipped his cigarettes so badly the brown tobacco showed through the paper for half an inch, and he used wooden matches, the little ones, not the big kitchen matches. Whenever he got cigarettes from a machine, he threw the pack of paper matches away. Between cigarettes, he poked at his teeth with the plain end of one of the wooden matches.
    "Hello, Handy. Move your knee."
    Handy turned his head slowly and raided an eyebrow at Skimm. Skimm grinned, though otherwise he was acting nervous. "That's Parker."
    "Son of a bitch," said Handy thoughtfully. He moved his knee and watched Parker sit down. "Did a good job on you," he said.
    "Yeah."
    Alma said suddenly, "You were in the diner