Tracking Shot, Colin Campbell [moboreader TXT] 📗

“Call a production meeting.”

So Larry did, proving that he was fucking insane, too.

The Mickey Mouse float crawled along School Street and followed the gentle curve as it became Columbus Avenue. The speed was dictated by the marching bands and the preceding floats and the kids giving out sweets to the crowd. The runner kept the big round ears in sight as per his instructions. Now that he’d found the float, he didn’t want to lose it again before Jerry Solomon arrived to do his stunt-driver bit. The alternative was to warn the crowd there was a bomb on the float and start a panic. Panic was a bad thing. It might provoke the robbers into pushing the button. The runner had been told to watch and wait. The VFW were supposed to stop the bad guys from pushing the button.

McNulty found the armored truck on Carter Street behind Waltham Common. The road was cordoned off, forming a quiet area behind the scenes of the parade route and the presentation stand in front of City Hall. The WWII army jeep pulled into the Enterprise Rent-A-Car lot across the Fitchburg Line tracks. Waltham Station ticket office was a low, wide single-story building blocking the view from the armored truck. The sandwich board had been removed from the jeep’s hood, but Willie and Joe were still on board.

The first squad of old soldiers crouched as low as they could crouch and formed a defensive line along the tracks. Three stayed put while the other three crossed the Fitchburg Line and set up on the embankment, then the first three joined them. The second squad went around the back of the Greenway Diner where McNulty had had coffee after the movie set shootings and entered the southwest corner of Waltham Common. They lined up beneath the trees and rested their M1 carbines across the park benches. The VFW now had the armored truck in a deadly crossfire.

Larry had been worried about sending a bunch of WWII veterans into battle with nothing but their ancient weapons and no bullets. McNulty had smiled. “This is America. You know any old soldiers around here who’ve got guns but no ammo?” Now that they were getting close to going into action, McNulty wondered if that was the right decision. He checked his watch and wondered how Solomon was doing? Through the trees, in the southeast corner, two men in black combat fatigues entered the common from Elm Street.

Jerry Solomon caught up with the parade as it was curling left onto Main Street before heading through the business district back toward City Hall. The marching bands were far enough apart that the music from one didn’t interfere with the next. Laughter and high spirits infected the crowd. Food continued to be served from roadside vendors and volunteer groups.

Mickey Mouse was halfway back along the parade route behind a school band and the inflatable octopus. It was built on the back of a flatbed truck with the nose and face disguising the cab and the head and ears extending from there. It was the only float without revellers lining the sides, throwing streamers and gifts to the crowd. Solomon wondered if it smelled of marzipan.

The float was almost at the end of Columbus Avenue where it would have to perform a tricky maneuver around Domenic’s Italian Bakery & Deli before turning onto Main Street. Solomon broke into a jog, assessing angles and distances and how much time he had. With the trigger mechanism still unknown, time was the one factor he couldn’t predict. He came at the truck from the front so he could see the driver. The first consideration was, is the driver one of the gunmen? He quickly dismissed that thought because the driver was a middle-aged man with a puffy face, carrying too much weight. Also, unless it was a suicide bombing, the aim was to steal a million dollars. You can’t spend that if you’re in heaven with your forty virgins.

Solomon reached the cab and climbed onto the footplate. He yanked the door open and looked the puffy-faced man in the eye. There was no argument. The driver got out. Solomon went into stunt-driver mode. Time was of the essence. He floored the gas and turned right instead of left, heading toward the high school fireworks display instead of City Hall.

McNulty’s pincer movement kept the armored truck in the crosshairs. The back doors were closed but one of the security guards was breaking protocol and having a crafty smoke in the parking lot. The passenger door was open. The driver lounged with his head tilted to one side, catching a few minutes of shuteye before being called into action.

The second squad kept station at the corner of the common while the first squad climbed the embankment and closed the distance to the target. McNulty kept low and moved to the edge of the station parking lot, positioning himself halfway between the two units. That’s when he saw the men in black coming out of the trees.

He gave a quick hand signal to the squad on the embankment and pointed to the security guard standing beside the open door. The squad leader nodded. He was one of the veterans with a Thompson. He spoke briefly to the man at his side, then levelled the submachine gun at the armored truck. McNulty watched the gunmen cross Carter Street toward the ticket office. The security guard stubbed his cigarette out underfoot. The Thompson fired a short burst at the side of the truck then the second squad did the same from the other side.

FIFTY

The gunfire was loud and sharp and destroyed the peace and tranquillity of the park. Ricochets and sparks lit up both sides of the truck but made little impact on the armor plating. The smoking guard snapped back into protocol and did what