An Incident on Route 12

An Incident on Route 12, by
James H. Schmitz

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Schmitz
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Title: An Incident on Route 12
Author: James H. Schmitz

Release Date: June 21, 2007 [eBook #21897]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN
INCIDENT ON ROUTE 12***
E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Susan Carr, and the Project
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AN INCIDENT ON ROUTE 12
by
JAMES H. SCHMITZ

He was already a thief, prepared to steal again. He didn't know that he
himself was only booty!
Phil Garfield was thirty miles south of the little town of Redmon on
Route Twelve when he was startled by a series of sharp, clanking
noises. They came from under the Packard's hood.
The car immediately began to lose speed. Garfield jammed down the
accelerator, had a sense of sick helplessness at the complete lack of
response from the motor. The Packard rolled on, getting rid of its
momentum, and came to a stop.
Phil Garfield swore shakily. He checked his watch, switched off the
headlights and climbed out into the dark road. A delay of even half an
hour here might be disastrous. It was past midnight, and he had another
hundred and ten miles to cover to reach the small private airfield where
Madge waited for him and the thirty thousand dollars in the suitcase on
the Packard's front seat.
If he didn't make it before daylight....
He thought of the bank guard. The man had made a clumsy play at
being a hero, and that had set off the fool woman who'd run screaming
into their line of fire. One dead. Perhaps two. Garfield hadn't stopped to
look at an evening paper.
But he knew they were hunting for him.
He glanced up and down the road. No other headlights in sight at the
moment, no light from a building showing on the forested hills. He
reached back into the car and brought out the suitcase, his gun, a big

flashlight and the box of shells which had been standing beside the
suitcase. He broke the box open, shoved a handful of shells and the .38
into his coat pocket, then took suitcase and flashlight over to the
shoulder of the road and set them down.
There was no point in groping about under the Packard's hood. When it
came to mechanics, Phil Garfield was a moron and well aware of it.
The car was useless to him now ... except as bait.
But as bait it might be very useful.
Should he leave it standing where it was? No, Garfield decided. To
anybody driving past it would merely suggest a necking party, or a
drunk sleeping off his load before continuing home. He might have to
wait an hour or more before someone decided to stop. He didn't have
the time. He reached in through the window, hauled the top of the
steering wheel towards him and put his weight against the rear window
frame.
The Packard began to move slowly backwards at a slant across the road.
In a minute or two he had it in position. Not blocking the road entirely,
which would arouse immediate suspicion, but angled across it, lights
out, empty, both front doors open and inviting a passerby's
investigation.
Garfield carried the suitcase and flashlight across the right-hand
shoulder of the road and moved up among the trees and undergrowth of
the slope above the shoulder. Placing the suitcase between the bushes,
he brought out the .38, clicked the safety off and stood waiting.
Some ten minutes later, a set of headlights appeared speeding up Route
Twelve from the direction of Redmon. Phil Garfield went down on one
knee before he came within range of the lights. Now he was completely
concealed by the vegetation.
The car slowed as it approached, braking nearly to a stop sixty feet
from the stalled Packard. There were several people inside it; Garfield
heard voices, then a woman's loud laugh. The driver tapped his horn

inquiringly twice, moved the car slowly forward. As the headlights
went past him, Garfield got to his feet among the bushes, took a step
down towards the road, raising the gun.
Then he caught the distant gleam of a second set of headlights
approaching from Redmon. He swore under his breath and dropped
back out of sight. The car below him reached the Packard, edged
cautiously around it, rolled on with a sudden roar of