Jewelry shop, approached the bookstore, moved past its recessed entrance and planted himself before the main display window. 'I won't be more than ten minutes.' He opened the door on his side, lifted himself out of the car stiffly, closed straightening the door, and stood a moment he on the sidewalk past the his jacket. 'You'll stay right here?' 'I'm not moving an inch till you need me.' 'Okay,' said Kellog. 'All systems in go position.' Kellog returned his attention to the driver. 'You set back there, Tony?' Eubank patted the open lid of the suitcase on the rear seat. You look okay, Otto - like an insurance salesman or accountant who's taken the morning off to shop for his wife.' 'I hope so.' 'Don't worry.' 'What time is it?' 'It's eleven - eleven-fourteen.' 'I'd better get going.' He twisted around in his seat. 'You look like a regular anyonefor-tennis type. 'Does it show?' 'Nothing shows,' said Iverson. He asked Iverson as he secured the middle button of his jacket and fixed the collar of his open sport shirt. At last, satisfied, he looked up, his long face serious and tight. His right hand fidgeted inside his plaid sport jacket, working beneath his left armpit. He had a one-track mind, and the track was already occupied. 'What do you say, Otto?' At the moment, Kellog had no interest in his friend's preoccupation with women. I like them big and bouncing.' He sought agreement from bis front-seat partner. 'Not bad all over, I'd say, but me, I'm strictly a tit man. 'Hey now, lookit those tits.' He watched the blonde as she hurried to the other side. As he reached to turn off the ignition, he spotted a young blonde, in tight sweater and shorts, stepping out in front of the car, preparing to cross the street. He spun the wheels of the car toward the curb, and expertly brought it to a halt before the jewelry shop. 'I was worried there might not be any parking close by.' 'There's always enough room once you get off Center Boulevard,' said Iverson. How do you like that for a name? Emporium.' 'Looks like there's plenty of parking,' said Eubank. 'You can see the sign just after the Acme Jewelers. 'There it is, middle of the block,' he said. The vehicle and foot traffic was thinner here on the side street. The traffic was moving again, loosening, and the green coupe moved with it along Center Boulevard, and then swung sharply onto Third Street. You turn right the next corner.' 'I know,' said Iverson. 'What do you say, Otto ? Ready for action ?' 'Yeah,' said Kellog, 'providing we ever get there.' He squinted through his sunglasses.
'We're going to shake them up a little today.' He glanced at Kellog, and grinned. it just looks more prosperous and settled down,' said 'It's still Los Angeles County.' 'Well, Eubank. I don't know how many times I've been out this way, but I guess I never paid much attention before.' 'Nothing so different,' said Iverson, easing his foot off the brake. He had brought himself forward from the back seat to peer over Iverson's shoulder through the windshield. 'Wish they'd get moving.' In the rear the third occupant of the coupe, Eubank, older, more tolerant, less often exposed to the outside world than his companions, seemed to be enjoying the interval. There was a jarring screech as Iverson, who was driving the car, slammed on the brake, muttering, 'Goddam women drivers.' 'Yeah,' said Keliog. He wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He resented delays at a time like this, when he was anxious about what he must soon do. Slumped in the seat beside the driver, Otto Kellog grunted his displeasure, then sat up impatiently to get his bearings. In the suddenly thickening traffic, the green two-door Ford coupe with a nasty dent in its front fender was at last forced to slow down. Irving Wallace By eleven o'clock in the morning the sun had come out, and now the women of Oakwood, most of them housewives in summer attire and most of them at the wheels of their own cars, were converging on the business district to do their shopping.
First published in Great Britain by New English Library Ltd, in 1969 Copyright © 1969 by Irving Wallace