Pretty soon I will, Jimmy thought, and read about the administration’s hopes for a settlement in the Middle East.

Five minutes later, May and Kelp both simultaneously said, “Here they come.”

“I see them,” Dortmunder said, and put the Caprice in gear as the Cadillac rocketed by them. The Caprice moved out from the dirt road and accelerated in the Cadillac’s wake.

“That’s five dollars you owe me,” Kelp said.

Dortmunder didn’t answer.

Van Gelden, at the wheel of the Cadillac, suddenly slammed on the brakes and swerved all over the road when he saw the sign blocking the road ahead. Jimmy, flung off the seat, came sputtering up, crying, “Maurice! What in the name of God is going on?”

“Goddam denture!” Van Celden cried. He thought the word was spelled that way.

Jimmy got one quick flashing glimpse of the sign as the Cadillac slewed around, tires squealing, and roared off down the secondary road. “Detour?” He frowned out the back window; there’d been something about that sign, he wasn’t sure what. It had gone by so fast. As a soft drink commercial’s jingle started up in his brain, distracting him, he said to himself, “The detour wasn’t there before.”

This secondary road was narrower, bumpier, and curvier than the county road. Van Gelden, taking out his rage at the fact of the denture by flinging the car forward as rapidly as possible, was tossing Jimmy around the back seat like a sneaker in a dryer. Jimmy, holding on for dear life, found at last the maturity to shout out, “Damn it, Maurice, slow down!”

Van Celden didn’t touch the brake, but he did lift his foot from the accelerator. “I’m just trying to get you home,” he snarled, glaring in the rearview mirror at the boy, and as he did so he came around a curve in the road and saw vehicles stopped ahead. A school bus, facing this way, its red lights flashing, meaning it was unloading passengers and traffic wasn’t permitted to pass it in either direction. And a truck, a big tractor-trailer rig, facing the same direction as the Cadillac and obediently standing still. The two vehicles between them blocked the road completely.

“Goddammit,” Van Gelden said, and tromped on the brake again. He had to brake hard to stop in time, but it was less violent than if his foot had still been pressed on the accelerator when he’d rounded the bend. Jimmy, since he’d been clutching the armrest and a strap anyway, managed to stay on the seat as the Cadillac nosed down to a shuddering stop directly behind the tractor-trailer.

“One thing after another,” Van Golden said.

“Maurice,” Jimmy said, “you drive too fast.”

“It’s not my fault there’s all this stuff in the way.” Van Golden gestured angrily toward the truck and the bus.

“You drive too fast all the time,” Jimmy insisted. “Except when my father is in the car. From now on, I want you to drive me the way you drive my father.”

Van Golden, becoming sullen, jammed his uniform cap farther down on his forehead, folded his arms, and said nothing.

Jimmy said, “Did you hear me, Maurice?”

“I hear you.”

“I hear you!”

“Thank you, Maurice,” Jimmy said, and sat back to savor his triumph. After a moment he picked up the New Yorker again.

Back at the intersection, Dortmunder stopped the Caprice and Kelp jumped out to move the sign. He picked it up, moved it to another side, and started back, when Dortmunder leaned out the window and shouted, “Not there! Where we follow the Cadillac!”

“Huh?” Kelp looked around, pointing at various places, reorienting himself. Then, with a sudden sunny smile of recognition, he waved to Dortmunder and shouted, “Gotcha!” He ran back to the sign, picked it up, and put it back where it had been.

“Not there!” Dortmunder yelled. He was leaning his whole upper torso out of the car, pounding the door panel with his arm and the flat of his hand. Waving that hand violently around, he yelled, “Over there!”

“Right!” Kelp yelled. “Right! Right! I got it now!” And he picked up the sign and started trotting toward the last possible wrong choice.

Dortmunder came boiling out of the Caprice. “I’m going to wrap that sign around your head!”

“Now what?” Kelp stood there, bewildered, while Dortmunder came over and wrenched the sign and sticks away from him and put them where they belonged. Kelp watched, and when Dortmunder was finished the two men met again at the car, where Kelp said, “I would have got it, I really would have.”

“Get in the car,” Dortmunder said. He got behind the wheel and slammed the door.

Kelp got in the back seat again. May shook her head at him, not pleased, and he lifted his shoulders helplessly. Dortmunder punched the accelerator, and the Caprice bounced forward.

Van Gelden, his sullenness boiling over all at once into rage, pushed the button that rolled his window down, stuck his head out, and yelled toward the school bus, “Get with it, will ya! We don’t have all day!”

Jimmy looked up from his magazine. “What’s the matter, Maurice?”

“Bus just sitting there,” Van Golden said. “Tying up traffic.” Looking in the rearview mirror, he said, “And here comes somebody else.”

Jimmy looked back, and saw the blue car approaching around the curve. The road here was hemmed in by trees and shrubbery on both sides. Scrub pine gave some swaths of green, but the rest of the trees had lost about half their foliage, making black trunks and branches form jagged lines against the orange and gold of autumn leaves. Dead leaves swirled around the tires of the blue car as it came silently toward them, slowed, and stopped. The figures through the windshield were indistinct, but in some sort of motion back there.

Jimmy faced front again. The woods were close on both sides, the rear of the tractor-trailer was like a looming silver wall directly in front of the Cadillac, and leaves kept fluttering down off the trees, rustling down past the windows. The driver of the school bus was a vague mound through the big flat windshield; afternoon sunlight glinted from that windshield, reddish-yellow with a bright white center.

“There’s something wrong,” Jimmy said.

“What?” Van Golden looked at Jimmy in the rearview mirror, and caught a glimpse of somebody going by with a Mickey Mouse mask on his head. “What the hell?”

Jimmy said, “What?” and his right-hand door opened, and a woman wearing a Mickey Mouse mask slid in. “Hi, Jimmy,” she said. Her voice was so muffled by the mask he could barely make out what she was saying. It was, “Do you know whose face this is I’m wearing?”

Dortmunder, trotting forward, yanked at the driver’s door, but it was locked. Van Golden, seeing the big man with the jacket and the Mickey Mouse mask and the gun, pushed the button again to roll his window back up. but Dortmunder stuck the barrel through the diminishing space and said, “Stop that. Stop it now.”

Van Golden released the button. He blinked at the gun barrel pointing more or less at him.

Jimmy, not only knowing whose face the woman was wearing but also realizing at once why she was wearing it, reached out for the telephone. May, expecting a dialogue on the subject of Mickey Mouse, was too startled to react until the boy had already dialed Operator. Then she grabbed for the phone, saying, “Stop that! Don’t be like that!”

Kelp, reaching the passenger door on the front right, found it locked and looked across the top of the Cadillac at Dortmunder. “Make him unlock it,” he said.

Dortmunder said, “Unlock the doors. Make it snappy.”

A switch on the driver’s door would lock or unlock all the others. Van Golden, also realizing right away what these people had to be up to, and seeing no point in making trouble for himself in a situation where he. was essentially an innocent bystander, pushed the switch and unlocked the doors. He also slid his window open again.

In the back seat, May had finally wrestled the telephone out of Jimmy’s hands and disconnected the bewildered operator. “Now,” she said, panting from exertion, “we’re going to play make-believe. I’m going to make believe I’m Mickey Mouse, and you’re going to make believe you can behave.”