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Lots of carpentry and building razing: a sort of a breaking-and-entering manual for do-it-yourselfers. A minor but very readable effort from master craftsman Stark (Firebreak, 2001, etc.).
Then what was this alarm, five minutes after they'd broken in? "That idiot Bruhl," Armiston said, throwing the clipboard away in exasperation. "He went into the office."
Parker was already loping toward the central aisle. Behind him, Armiston cried, "God damn it! Fingerprints!" and ran back to pick up the clipboard.
Parker turned into the main aisle, running, and saw far away the big door still open, the empty truck backed against it. George Walheim, the lockman who'd got them in here, stood by the open doorway, making jerky movements, not quite running away.
These were all generic pharmaceuticals in here, and Armiston had the customer, at an airfield half an hour north. The plan was, by tomorrow these medicines would be offshore, more valuable than in the States, and the four who'd done the job would earn a nice percentage.
But that wasn't going to happen. Bruhl, brought in by Armiston, was supposed to have gotten a forklift truck, so he could run it down the main aisle to pick up the cartons Parker and Armiston had marked. Instead of which, he'd gone to see what he could lift from the office. But Walheim hadn't cleared the alarm system in the office.
As Parker ran down the long aisle, Armiston a dozen paces behind, Bruhl appeared, coming fast out of the first side aisle down there. Walheim tried to clutch at him, but Bruhl hit him with a backhand that knocked the thinner man down.
Parker yelled, "Bruhl! Stop!" but Bruhl kept going. He jumped to the ground outside the loading dock, next to the truck, then ran toward the front of it. He was going to take it, leave the rest of them here on foot.
There was no way to stop him, no way to get there in time. Walheim was still on hands and knees, looking for his glasses, when the truck jolted away from the loading dock. Outside was the darkness of four A.M., spotted with thin lights high on the corners of other buildings in this industrial park.
The truck, big rear doors flapping, heeled hard on the right turn at the end of the blacktop lot, Bruhl still accelerating. The empty truck was topheavy, it wasn't going to make it.
Walheim was on his feet, patting his glasses into place, when Parker ran by. "What do we-?" But Parker was gone, jumping off the loading dock to run away leftward as behind him the truck crashed over onto its side and scraped along the pavement until it ran into a utility pole, knocking it over. The few lights around here went dark.
There was nothing in this area but the industrial park, empty at night. No houses, no bars, no churches, no schools. There were no pedestrians out here at four in the morning, no cars driving by.
Parker had run less than a block when he heard the sirens, far behind him but coming fast. There was nowhere to go to cover, no point trying to break into another of these buildings. Fleets of trucks here and there stood in lines behind high fences.
Parker kept running. Armiston and Walheim were wherever they wanted to be, and Parker tried to keep the sound of sirens behind him. But the sirens spread, left and right and then everywhere, slicing and dicing the night.
Parker ran down the middle of an empty street and ahead of him headlights came around a corner, a bright searchlight beam fastened on him. He stopped. He put his hands on top of his head.
Excerpted from Breakout by Richard Stark Copyright © 2002 by Richard Stark . Excerpted by permission.
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Posted December 9, 2008
Thanks to incompetent partners failing to do the assigned jobs during a pharmaceutical heist, master thief Parker using the name Kasper lands in the Stoneveldt Detention Center, a maximum-security holding jail in a Midwest state. Not noted for wanting to be a guest of any state, Parker selects two colleagues Tom Marcantoni and Brandon Williams to bust out of jail. The trio successfully escapes their incarceration. However, before Parker can return to the haven of New Jersey, he reluctantly agrees to rob a wholesale jewelry company that keeps its inventory in an armory. Parker and his partners easily gain entrance to the supposedly impenetrable artifice, but leaving proves disastrous as their entrance-exit tunnel collapses. Through a pizza delivery, Parker escapes, but now prison officials and the police seek to capture the elusive thief while other demands on his time do not allow him to do what he most wants: relax in the Garden State. In the usual amusing yet stark story line, Richard Stark provides a tremendous antihero crime thriller. Parker is as always a delightful criminal and his partners bring out the best or perhaps the worst in him. All this action leads to the star going home with such a small bounty that his girlfriend wonders whether it was worth the score. Another win for readers as this one evening sitting is a triumphant tale that shows how a talented author can use the English language sparingly to paint a masterpiece summed in one word Parker. Harriet KlausnerWas this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.