Two for the Money (27 page)

Sherry said, “Brunch is at the door, honey.”

“Let it in,” he said, grabbing his trousers off a chair and pulling them on. He would have his breakfast now and phone Planner again later.

Greer hadn’t killed anybody for two years now. He sat on the edge of the bed, arms dangling at his sides, and looked at the snub-nosed .38 Colt in his lap. He studied the gun, regarded it curiously, as though he expected the object to speak. “I wonder,” he said aloud. He was wondering if he was losing his edge.

He was a small, dark, babyfaced man. He’d been told by more than one woman that he looked like the late Audie Murphy, famous war hero and actor, the main difference being Greer was balding and his chin was sort of weak. He had the build of a fullback, scaled down somewhat, and the arms hanging loose at his sides were heavy with veined muscle.

He was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and a dark green tie and white trousers. Under his arms were sweat stains and the loops of his shoulder holster, which X’ed across the back of the white shirt. On the bed beside him was a light green sportcoat, cut especially to accommodate a shoulder-bolstered gun. He had never gotten used to this year-round, constant wearing of suits and sportcoats, though he’d been doing so since starting with Felix two summers ago. He was glad the motel room was air-conditioned, and even the blue stucco walls were cool, cooling to the sight, as was the light blue shag carpet.

The door opened and Angello came in, carrying the room key in one hand and two ice-cold Pabsts by their necks in the other. He was six feet tall, a thin man with a round lumpy face; it was a fat man’s face, because up until recent months Angello had been fat, and while he was trim everywhere else, he still had his double chin, puffy cheeks, and a bumpy, thick nose that all the dieting in the world wouldn’t do anything about. Angello kicked the door shut. He was wearing a pink sportcoat and white shirt and red tie and white trousers.

“Just two beers, Ange?”

“Hey, baby, we’re on call, right? Just wet the whistles, that’s all. Never mind the good time.”

“Toss one here. Where’s the opener?”

“Don’t need one. Twist-off caps.”

“Ain’t science grand.”

Angello sat on the twin bed opposite Greer’s. Angello looked strange, fat head on skinny body, as if one person’s face was being superimposed somehow over the body of another.
Greer twisted off the cap and swigged. So did Angello.

Angello said, “Hey, Greer.”

“Hey, what?”

“What d’you think of these clothes we’re wearing?”

“What d’you think?”

“I think I feel like a fairy.”

“You look like one.”

“Shit, cut it out. What d’you suppose people think when they see a couple guys dressed like us going into a motel room together?”

“I don’t know what they think. They think to each his own, I suppose.”

“Well, I feel like a fairy. Why does Felix dress us up like this, I want to know.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Funny man. I’ll tell you why, it’s because he thinks we look less conspicuous dressed like this. Because we got to wear coats to cover up our guns and since it’s summer he doesn’t want us to look like pallbearers in black or something, so we walk around instead like a couple of fairies.”

“Golf pros dress like this,” Greer said. “Golf pros are athletes, aren’t they? You know any fairy athletes?”

“Golf pros aren’t athletes.
Football
players are athletes.
Hockey
players are athletes.”

“Drink your beer, fairy.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just next time you go into the bar after it, okay? Greer.”

“Huh?”

“Greer, what you doing with your gun in your lap?”

“Nothing.”

“Beating it off, or what?” Angello laughed and swallowed at the same time and it sounded like something going down a drain.

“You’re funny as a crutch, Ange.”

“Hey, you uptight today? Something on your mind today, Greer? Your forehead’s all wrinkled up. You been thinking again?”

“Look,” Greer said, “quit being cute long enough to tell me something. How long you been doing this bodyguard thing for Felix, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Maybe three years. Yeah, three years, a year longer than you.”

“What were you doing before that?”

Angello smiled. “People borrow money they sometimes forget to pay back and somebody’s got to remind them of their obligation. You know.” Angello laughed and swallowed again.

“Backing up the shylocks,” Greer said. “Pretty tough work. You have to kill guys sometimes doing work like that.”

Angello nodded. “Not often, though. It’s bad business. How you going to get money out of a dead guy?”

“I used to hit guys,” Greer said.

“Yeah, you told me before. You were a real scary guy.”

“I used to do hits for Tony Action.”

“Sure, Tony Action. Mr. Machismo. They say he tied his wife to a chair in the kitchen and poured gas on her and gave her a light. That’s one way to duck divorce. Now me, my wife ties
me
up in the kitchen and feeds me her food and I get gas.” Angello thought that was pretty funny. This time he devoted all his attention to laughing, no swallowing at all.

“Tony Action was really something,” Greer said. “You can laugh, but man, I mean to tell you. Really something.”

“Well, Tony is dead now, and I for one am never sorry to see one of those flashy tough asses get their ass shot off, they attract attention and give the rest of us a bad name, and you ought to be glad you had a reputation for being good help. Most of Tony’s guys got stepped down. You’re the only one who got fucking promoted.”

“I was lucky,” Greer said. “Don’t get me wrong. Working for Felix is good. It’s a good job. It’s just . . .”

“It’s just what?”

“I feel I’m getting soft in this job,” Greer said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s like you say . . . we wear pink coats and
follow a lawyer around, that’s what I mean.”

“You rather lay your balls on the chopping block every day? You’re a fucking nut.”

“No, no . . . it’s just that even though we’re following a lawyer around, we’re carrying guns, and that means we’re here because there’s some chance something might happen. And when it happens, I don’t want to be out of shape, you know?”

“Hey, Greer, tell you what . . . let’s go sit in the bar and wait till some fruits pick us up and bring them back here and you can beat the fuck out of ’em. How does that sound?” Angello laughed-swallowed. He couldn’t have been having a better time at a party.

“You got a warped sense of humor, Ange. You really do.”

“What is it? You think maybe something’s going to happen on that overnight hike you’re going on tonight? Don’t worry, that guy Nolan will be along to protect you. Or is that it? Is that who you’re nervous about?”

“Bullshit.”

“Say, Felix isn’t going to try and cross this guy Nolan, is he? Is that why you’re nervous, baby?”

“Why don’t you just finish your beer, Angello.”

“They tell stories about Nolan. He never burned up any women in the kitchen, but they tell stories about him.”

“Look,” Greer said, “all Felix said was I’d be going along. My understanding is that the guy has some money stashed somewhere, and that I’m supposed to escort him and the cash to one of our Chicago banks. If I’m worried about anything, it’s that money. All that money’s a big responsibility.”

“How much is it, anyway?”

“Felix wasn’t specific. I’d guess a couple hundred thousand, at least.”

“That’s probably right,” Angello nodded. “You know I heard Felix say Nolan was behind that bank heist in Iowa a year or two back. The one that came close to eight hundred thousand. There were three or four men in on the job, I think. So he ought to have a couple hundred thousand at least is right.”

“Should,” Greer said. He sipped the beer. “Uh, what kind of stories you heard about him?”

“You ever hear how the thing between him and Charlie got going?”

“That’s before my time.”

“Mine, too. But my older brother Vinnie . . . you know Vinnie?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s in his era. Told me all about it. Charlie had a brother name of Gordon, an asshole from way back, and Charlie set this asshole Gordon up with part of the Chicago action. A bigger part than Gordon could handle, according to Vinnie. Anyway, Nolan is managing nightclubs and making quite a rep. He takes over a loser on Rush Street and turns it into a moneymaker in two months. And he does his own bouncing, I might add. So this Gordon, not content to leave ride a good thing, tries to move Nolan out of the club racket into strongarm, of all things. Nolan doesn’t want no part of enforcer stuff, and tells Gordon so. Now Gordon was a lot like Charlie, see, only less brains. All the pride, but lots less brains. And so Gordon tells Nolan, look, he doesn’t care, if he says crap, Nolan is supposed to ask how high, and that line of garbage. He tells Nolan to kill a guy, some guy who’s a friend of Nolan’s who works in his club. Nolan says no way. A few days go by and this guy, this friend of Nolan’s, turns up in Lake Michigan and he isn’t swimming. Nolan gets mad. He goes to Gordon and shoots the asshole and splits with twenty grand of the Family’s money.”

Greer smiled. He put his gun in his shoulder holster. “So that’s why Charlie hated Nolan so much. Nolan killed his brother.”

Angello smirked, batted a hand at the air, “Oh, hell, Gordon was no loss to anybody. Not even Charlie. It was pride. Keep in mind Charlie’s pride, Greer. That was one puffed-up son of a bitch. Nolan’s play made a fool out of Charlie. He killed Charlie’s brother, right?
And
he stole Charlie’s money.
And
he got away clean. Worst of all, he got
away clean. For years Charlie had an open contract out on Nolan. Nobody collected. Made Charlie look bad. Real bad. When all this happened, nearly twenty years ago, Charlie was underboss in Chicago. The day Charlie died he was still the same damn thing.”

Greer nodded. “And he probably died blaming that on Nolan.”

“Probably,” Angello agreed. He sighed. “I could use another beer.”

“Me, too.”

“But we’re on call, better not. And besides, I’m not about to go walking into that bar again. A guy practically whistled at me last time.” Angello grinned, tried to drain one last drop out of the Pabst.

The phone on the nightstand rang. Angello reached over and answered it. He said, “Yes, sir . . . yes, sir . . . right away, sir.” He hung up.

Greer said, “Felix?”

“Felix,” Angello said. “I think we’re about to get a nice close look at this guy Nolan. Come on.”

Greer put on his coat.

After brunch, Nolan called the bar and had them send over some beer in a cooler to Felix’s room. A few bottles each of Schlitz, Heineken, and one can of Point Special. Nolan didn’t know if Felix drank beer but it seemed early in the day for anything else, and if Felix did drink beer, it’d have to be something imported, like Heineken. The Point Special, a Wisconsin brew, was for Nolan.

He pushed the tray of dishes aside, got up from the edge of the bed where he’d been sitting and eating, and went to the bureau where he took out a dark yellow short-sleeve
Banlon and pulled it on. He got a brown sports jacket out of the closet and put it on.

“Doesn’t go with your slacks,” Sherry said.

His slacks were black.

Nolan nodded, took off the coat, and hung it back in the closet. He found a charcoal gray sports jacket and climbed into it. He turned to Sherry, who was still eating her eggs, for approval.

“That’s better,” she said.

“One thing,” he said, “I can’t figure out.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“What are you, my mother, sister, or daughter?”

She grinned, cheeks puffed with food. “Whichever’s dirtiest,” she said, not too distinctly.

He grinned at her, feeling affection for her against his best judgment. “See you later,” he said.

“How long you going to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll be at the pool.”

“I kind of figured that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Your bikini.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, I’m not going to swim, just going to sun.”

“You get much more sun you’re going to have to ride in the back of the bus.”

“I will? Why?”

“That was a joke.”

“Really? Must’ve been before my time or something.”

He sighed. “Everything’s before your time.”

“Don’t belittle me, Logan. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”

“Yes you were. Yesterday. Just yesterday.”

“Give us a kiss.”

He went over and pecked her forehead.

“A
kiss,
dammit.”

“You got egg on your mouth.”

“I’ll wipe it off.”

She did, and he kissed her, but it still tasted like eggs. Maybe it was just his imagination. He kissed her again. No, he thought, eggs, all right.

“Sorry I didn’t get your joke,” she said.

“It wasn’t much of a joke,” he said.

“Well, you can’t expect me to be looking for jokes from you. You don’t make jokes that often. Next time tell me first.”

“Are you saying I don’t have a sense of humor?”

“Let’s just say it wasn’t what attracted me to you.”

“I must have a sense of humor.”

“Why?”

“I put up with you, don’t I?”

She made a mock-angry face and said, “Happy birthday, you S.O.B.”

“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

“You told me last night, or I mean this morning. You were pretty drunk. You sang yourself the ‘Happy Birthday’ song.”

“Told you I had a sense of humor. Did I really do that? After a certain point things get a little hazy. Did I do it in front of anybody, for Christ’s sake?”

“Just me. We were back in the room by then, with the champagne.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

She pointed toward the corner by her side of the bed and sure enough, there was an empty bottle of champagne, lying on its side like a casualty of war. Two water glasses had in them each a quarter of an inch or so of by now very flat champagne. It was, unfortunately, all coming back to him.

“Do me a favor,” he said.

“Sure.”

“Don’t ever tell me what else I did. I got a certain self-image to maintain.”