She told us to change into the darkest clothes we could find; she had already done the same. In fact, she was shamelessly outfitted as though she were a burglar.

“You don’t want to come along,” she said to me, “fine. Stay here.”

I let myself be swept along, even as I heard that inner voice say, Watch where you’re going!

Rachel tried to make up for snapping at me by giving me a long-handled flashlight. I tried not to think about it being just like one I used to keep in the Karmann Ghia. I was putting D-cell batteries in it when Travis came into Rachel’s living room, shirt unbuttoned and frustration written all over his face. One-handed dressing. I’d been there once myself.

“You managed the pants,” I said, before he spoke. “Shirts with buttons are a nuisance. Let me help.”

“It didn’t give me this much trouble in the store,” he said.

“That was earlier in the day.”

He was quiet as I worked on the buttons. He thanked me, then paced while I finished putting the flashlight together. I supposed he was working himself up over the evening’s adventures, but I decided talking about it wouldn’t make him any calmer.

“Take a left here,” I said. Throughout the drive to Los Alamitos, that type of phrase had been the extent of our conversation. Now that we were off the main boulevards, the streets we drove on were deserted. Rachel was driving-Frank’s Volvo-and slowed to look at addresses. She pulled over to the curb.

“It’s not in this block,” I said.

“Before we get there, once again let’s go over what we’re going to do. Travis, you’ll watch from the car. Any sign of trouble-if you see Gerald or Deeny, or even their cars-start the car. We’ll be listening for it. Don’t unlock the doors until we’re close to the car. Use your cell phone in case there’s real trouble-you just stay inside the car and call the police.”

I thought he might protest that he wanted to take a more active role, but he simply said, “All right.”

“The other thing you need to do is to watch for a signal from Irene. If she flashes her flashlight twice, start the car and if she flashes it three times, call nine-one-one.”

“Since we’re breaking and entering,” I asked, “what is he supposed to tell them?”

Travis laughed.

“Actually,” Rachel said, “that will do fine. Travis, tell them there’s a burglary in progress.”

“I hope none of the neighbors make the same call before he does,” I said.

“You could have stayed home,” she said.

Too late now. “Where do you want me posted?”

“We’ll figure that out when we get there. You’ll be outside the building, watching for anyone approaching on foot.”

“What if they’re already at the house?” I asked.

“Not sure. Depends on the setup.”

“Do you two have weapons?” Travis asked.

“Yes, we’re armed,” Rachel said, not betraying herself by giving me any meaningful looks. While I knew she carried a gun, I wondered what besides my Swiss Army knife and a big flashlight counted as my weapons.

She pulled back onto the street again. There was an odd mix of buildings on the street; a church, small houses, a few duplexes, some light-manufacturing companies and other businesses. We crossed over railroad tracks that used to run through Papa DeMont’s sugar beet farm, passing a lumberyard.

The house Gerald Spanning had purchased was the only residence on its block. There was a new post office across the street, an abandoned foundry on one corner. There were several vacant lots between the house and the foundry.

The house was completely dark, its exterior illuminated by a street lamp. There were no cars parked in the narrow, unpaved driveway, which led to a pair of old-fashioned, carriage-style garage doors. The garage was separated from the house by a short, cracked and weed-choked walkway. A low, rusted and bowed chain-link fence gaped open near one corner of the front yard it enclosed. The lawn had been mowed, but the flower beds were dry and empty. The dark paint on the house and garage was peeling. One of the screens on a front window was torn. If he was fixing the place up, Gerald was working on the interior first.

I noticed there were no trees on the lot. “Very out in the open, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Not much cover, but no neighbors to speak of-no one with a view of this place. Looks like there’s an alley in back. Let’s check it out.”

She drove around the corner and stopped the car just at the alley’s entrance, illuminating it. There were no cars parked in the alley.

We drove slowly down it, past the graffiti-covered, empty corrugated tin buildings of the foundry, along the backyard of the house. There was less light here, but we could see two more double doors on this side of the garage, and a cluttered yard. An old bathtub, a sagging clothesline, a broken swing set and other objects were surrounded by weeds. The back screen door was off, propped up against one wall of the house. The chain-link fence on this side of the house was slightly taller than the one in front; there was another short drive leading from this end of the garage to the alley, but it didn’t look as if it were much used; the weeds were taller, and a large padlock and heavy chain held a double gate shut.

We continued past the house; the opposite side of the alley was a high cinder-block wall, the back of a shopping center. The other end of the alley let out onto a street bordered by warehouses and a truck yard.

Rachel pulled around to the front of the house, parking on the opposite side of the street again. She seemed to be trying to make up her mind about something. She moved the car a few feet, and said, “This will give you a better view of the back gate, I think. If you need to move the car a little, do it when we first get out, okay? Otherwise you’ll start it up and we’ll be wetting our pants over nothing.”

We all got out of the car. I walked around to the driver’s side just as Rachel handed him the keys.

I was feeling uneasy, but when I looked at Travis, he seemed more worried than I was. He got into the car and rolled down the window.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yes. Be careful.” He looked over at Rachel. “Both of you.”

“We’ll be fine,” I said.

“Piece of cake,” Rachel said. “This shouldn’t take long.”

She never should have said that. Later I told her I thought she put the jinx on the whole deal right then and there.

33

We crossed the street quietly. Following Rachel, I could see that she was much better prepared for this adventure: she wore gloves, a holstered gun and an equipment belt that wasn’t bulky but kept her hands free -it held her flashlight and a few tools. Her dark pants had lots of pockets.

My pants were dark, too, but while my pocketknife was tucked away in one of the four pockets, I had to carry the flashlight. I hadn’t thought of the knife as anything more than a last-ditch sort of weapon; I brought it because it might come in handy as a tool. Rachel would have-quite rightly-counted my carrying a gun in the liability rather than the asset column. I hadn’t thought of gloves.

I whispered this last concern to Rachel when we reached the foot of the driveway.

“You won’t be touching anything-a lookout, remember?” She glanced down at my shoes. “Good-running shoes-that’s all you need. You see Gerald, just warn me and then get the hell out of here.”

At the corner of the building, she asked me to stay close to her. “Don’t get involved in watching what I’m doing, just keep your eyes moving on the local scenery.”

She checked each side of the building, then moved to a door on the side facing the house. While the double doors at each end of the garage were locked with heavy padlocks, this door was locked with a much smaller lock.

“Watch the windows of the house, too,” she whispered. “Just in case anyone is home.”