@page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } 10 Dick Dahl called me from the airport on Sunday night two hours earlier than I'd expected. He balked at first when I told him I'd meet him behind the first lane of cars in the parking lot. "Don't be so damn lazy," I said. "There's absolutely no point at all in our being seen together in the terminal." He gave in reluctantly. He was waiting when I parked and walked to the rendezvous point. "Got away sooner'n I thought," he said, his good humor restored. "What about Preacher?" "He won't be in until after midnight." "No sense hangin' around," Dahl said. "We might as well go to your motel." Since this agreed with my own thinking, I led the way to my car. Dahl had the ever-present movie camera slung around his neck. The man really traveled light. The first time I'd seen him he carried a briefcase. This time he had a suitcase, lightweight airplane luggage. From the way he leaned away from it, though, it was heavy.
