Bubba recognized the Stanley tool belt immediately. Some construction guy was wearing it. The big black belt with its deep pouches was exactly like the one missing from Bubba’s garage. Bubba focused the binoculars a little more, zooming in on the guy’s face.
He looked about fifteen or sixteen, kind of puny and pale. The pouches were bulging and looked heavy. He had the padded yellow belt pulled as tight as it would go, the entire rig huge on him because it was an extra-large and the kid couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds. Bubba didn’t see a single tool, no tape measure, no nails, nothing in the hammer holder, not so much as a handle protruding.
‘That’s my belt,’ Bubba said as his heart picked up speed. ‘I know it is!’
Pigeon looked where Bubba was looking, squinting as he smoked another Merit Ultima that Bubba had been pleased to give him.
‘How do you know?’ Pigeon inquired.
‘I see a little white mark on the quick-release belt buckle. It might be my initials. I paint my initials in white on all my tools, on everything, to make sure when Smudge borrows something he can’t turn around and say it’s his!’
‘Who’s Smudge?’ Pigeon asked, tapping an ash.
The last of some band in black and white was marching by, playing ‘Take the “A” Train.’ The drum major of the Godwin band was right behind it. Bubba stared through the binoculars, blood rushing to his head, his heart beating faster than a snare drum as he focused on the dark blue convertible carrying Hammer, West and Brazil. They were one band behind Godwin.
The guy wearing Bubba’s tool belt seemed, tense. His right hand was twitching. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone. He was searching the ranks of the Godwin band, then looking straight at Chief Hammer. Bubba was sure of it.
Godwin started in on the theme from Titanic. The construction guy looked left and right and slipped his right hand into a pouch and kept it there. Bubba’s stolen guns flashed in his head. He ran out into the street as the woodwinds were going by. He wanted to pull out his new Browning but thought better of it.
‘Stop him!’ he yelled at the top of his lungs.
The fat man Smoke had met at Muskrat’s Auto Rescue and soon after burglarized was pointing right at Smoke and yelling. Smoke was cool. He looked around and shrugged.
‘What a wacko,’ he said to the man and woman picnicking next to him.
Cops were running out. One galloped up on a horse. They were trying to calm the fat man and get him out of the street. Smoke smiled. This was going to be better than he thought. He zoomed in on Weed. The little retard was crashing and flashing his cymbals, the dude to the left trying to outdo him on the snare drum. Smoke took his time. He didn’t want to slip his hand into the pouch again until the fat man quit pointing at him.
‘Somebody do something!’ the fat man was screaming as two cops grabbed his arms. ‘Get him, not me! The kid up there in the Stanley tool belt!’
Pigeon was concerned. He walked out on the street as Bubba struggled with the cops and continued to yell. ‘Look, he’s with me,’ Pigeon told the cop on the horse.
‘Stand back!’ the cop yelled at Pigeon.
‘It’s his tool belt. You can see the white initials on the buckle. I mean with binoculars you can.’ Pigeon wasn’t to be deterred. ‘The kid stole it.’
Bubba’s binoculars flew off. A pistol fell out of somewhere and clattered to the street. This seemed to upset the cops quite a lot. All of them snatched handcuffs and red pepper spray off their belts. The Godwin band quit playing and froze as some little kid suddenly broke out of formation and rolled his cymbal down the street. Pigeon realized it was Weed.
Chief Hammer had no idea what was going on. The parade halted as what sounded like a huge bronze hubcap rolled toward her car.
‘What’s happening?’ Hammer asked, standing up in the back seat, trying to see.