Nolan now. “Are you going to shoot that thing or not? Or were you planning to talk us to death?”
And for a moment Nolan was ready to kill them both and screw the consequences. He felt his hand tighten around the shotgun stock and was a hair away from it, and it must have showed, because he saw Jon cringe.
He broke open the shotgun and spilled the shells onto the floor. “You’re right,” he told the girl. “I’m not going to kill anybody.” He tossed the empty shotgun on her lap, hard. “Tonight.”
He put the .38 away, sat in the hard-back chair facing the couch. “Okay, then, Rigley,” Nolan said. “What did you have in mind?”
5
IT WAS still snowing, but the roads were clear; the wind was keeping them that way. Jon sat and stared out at the snow swirling in the beams of the headlights and let himself be hypnotized, not wanting to think.
Then he realized Nolan was saying something.
“Uh, what, Nolan? I wasn’t listening.”
“I just said are you okay, kid?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“What did you think of what Rigley had to say?”
“His plan, you mean? It’s all right. Couple rough spots, maybe. How come you didn’t question any part of it? I know you weren’t satisfied with it completely.”
Nolan yawned, sat up in the driver’s seat, leaned over the wheel. “I guess I figured I put him through enough strain for one night. He isn’t the strongest guy I ever saw. So I figured ease off for now, let things ride. We’ll wait till we get together Saturday with them, when he brings that stuff I asked for: timetable of employee activity, photos of the interior and exterior of the bank, the floor plan, and so on. I don’t remember the place all that clear.”
I do , Jon thought. He remembered it all, every sweaty second. To Nolan, the Port City bank job had been just another heist, to Jon it had been the first and, he’d thought at the time, only one he’d ever be involved in.
“Little did I know,” Jon mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You know,” Nolan said after a while, “I think I had Rigley pretty well bluffed out. Rigley I think I could’ve handled without much trouble. But that bitch. Shit. I wouldn’t want to play poker with her.”
Jon managed a smile and said, “Not even strip poker?”
“And freeze my bare ass off in this snow? No thanks. But I admit she’s something to look at. Looking at her, I begin to understand how a straight the likes of Rigley could get mixed up in something like this. Better men than our bank president have sold their souls for a lot less woman, believe me.”
“Men like you, you mean, Nolan?”
“Well, I’m out of the question,” Nolan said, smiling a little. “I lost my soul at a carnival when I was twelve years old, to considerably less beautiful a Mata Hari than Rigley’s. How about you, kid? She get a rise out of you? Bet you copped a nice feel wrestling with her back at that cottage.”
“Yeah, well, the shotgun she had kind of took the fun out of it.”
“Would you rather been out front getting your ass bored off by Rigley?”
“I don’t know—he doesn’t seem like such a bad guy to me. Victim of circumstances, looks to me.”
“Victim of circumstances, my ass. We’re the damn victims, and he’s the blackmailing little son of a bitch who’s screwing us in the ear with his goddamn circumstances.”
“Come on, Nolan. You know who’s screwing us in the ear, and it isn’t Rigley.”
Nolan yawned again, then said, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s the bitch doing it. Christ, you’d think getting screwed by her would be more fun.”
They drove in silence for a while. Soon the trailer courts on the left-hand side of the highway signaled Iowa City’s closeness, and as they came into town, the clear highway gave way to snow-packed, icy city streets. Then they were turning down the quiet residential lane at the end of which was the antique shop. It was a street of
And for a moment Nolan was ready to kill them both and screw the consequences. He felt his hand tighten around the shotgun stock and was a hair away from it, and it must have showed, because he saw Jon cringe.
He broke open the shotgun and spilled the shells onto the floor. “You’re right,” he told the girl. “I’m not going to kill anybody.” He tossed the empty shotgun on her lap, hard. “Tonight.”
He put the .38 away, sat in the hard-back chair facing the couch. “Okay, then, Rigley,” Nolan said. “What did you have in mind?”
5
IT WAS still snowing, but the roads were clear; the wind was keeping them that way. Jon sat and stared out at the snow swirling in the beams of the headlights and let himself be hypnotized, not wanting to think.
Then he realized Nolan was saying something.
“Uh, what, Nolan? I wasn’t listening.”
“I just said are you okay, kid?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“What did you think of what Rigley had to say?”
“His plan, you mean? It’s all right. Couple rough spots, maybe. How come you didn’t question any part of it? I know you weren’t satisfied with it completely.”
Nolan yawned, sat up in the driver’s seat, leaned over the wheel. “I guess I figured I put him through enough strain for one night. He isn’t the strongest guy I ever saw. So I figured ease off for now, let things ride. We’ll wait till we get together Saturday with them, when he brings that stuff I asked for: timetable of employee activity, photos of the interior and exterior of the bank, the floor plan, and so on. I don’t remember the place all that clear.”
I do , Jon thought. He remembered it all, every sweaty second. To Nolan, the Port City bank job had been just another heist, to Jon it had been the first and, he’d thought at the time, only one he’d ever be involved in.
“Little did I know,” Jon mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You know,” Nolan said after a while, “I think I had Rigley pretty well bluffed out. Rigley I think I could’ve handled without much trouble. But that bitch. Shit. I wouldn’t want to play poker with her.”
Jon managed a smile and said, “Not even strip poker?”
“And freeze my bare ass off in this snow? No thanks. But I admit she’s something to look at. Looking at her, I begin to understand how a straight the likes of Rigley could get mixed up in something like this. Better men than our bank president have sold their souls for a lot less woman, believe me.”
“Men like you, you mean, Nolan?”
“Well, I’m out of the question,” Nolan said, smiling a little. “I lost my soul at a carnival when I was twelve years old, to considerably less beautiful a Mata Hari than Rigley’s. How about you, kid? She get a rise out of you? Bet you copped a nice feel wrestling with her back at that cottage.”
“Yeah, well, the shotgun she had kind of took the fun out of it.”
“Would you rather been out front getting your ass bored off by Rigley?”
“I don’t know—he doesn’t seem like such a bad guy to me. Victim of circumstances, looks to me.”
“Victim of circumstances, my ass. We’re the damn victims, and he’s the blackmailing little son of a bitch who’s screwing us in the ear with his goddamn circumstances.”
“Come on, Nolan. You know who’s screwing us in the ear, and it isn’t Rigley.”
Nolan yawned again, then said, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s the bitch doing it. Christ, you’d think getting screwed by her would be more fun.”
They drove in silence for a while. Soon the trailer courts on the left-hand side of the highway signaled Iowa City’s closeness, and as they came into town, the clear highway gave way to snow-packed, icy city streets. Then they were turning down the quiet residential lane at the end of which was the antique shop. It was a street of
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