Five O’Clock drove the Chrysler with consummate caution, taking his foot off the gas and slowing the big car to a crawl whenever we had to turn on the soft, trackless snow. Up front, you could hear the defroster purring faintly to keep the windshield from fogging over.
I asked, and got, permission to reach for my handkerchief and blow my nose.
“It’s like the old days, ain’t it?” Five O’Clock called over his shoulder to Puggie.
“Just look where you’re driving,” Barrett said, puffing smoke.
“What I mean,” Five O’Clock went right on talking, “you steal a car and a license plate from some other car and rent a garage for a drop, leaving the car there till you need it. You wait and get to hoping it’ll be soon, the ride. Then, before you know, you’re ready. With a three-part package. Man.”
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