He’d known for a long time, of course, what his father’s “business” was. No one had told him, exactly, but he’d gotten it a piece at a time, and the knowledge had been gradual, there’d been no great revelation. But the lodge seemed such an odd setting for preparing for today’s possible violence. High up on that hill, overlooking the two lakes, the lodge had been the one place where his father had allowed no contact from the “business” world. Their home, in a suburb of Chicago, had seen occasionally the hard-faced men who associated with his father “at work.” But the lodge was different.
He remembered the time his Uncle Harry had shown up at the lodge, with two men who wore trench coats and slouch hats and had faces like the Boogie Man. Walter had been eight at the time and had found the two men with Uncle Harry frightening, but no more so than Uncle Harry, who was himself no beauty contest winner, and Walter’s sister called him Uncle Scarey behind his back. Uncle Harry had told their father there was important business at Lake Geneva that he ought to tend to personally, and to come along. Dad had been furious with Uncle Harry for bringing the two men with him, and into the lodge. Walter could still hear his father’s voice: “I told you never to bring any of your goddamn goons around here! This place is for my family and myself and I don’t want you or anybody contaminating it! Now wait outside, Harry.” And Dad had shoved the two Boogie Men out the door as if they were a couple of sissies.
“Are you ready?” the older man said.
“Yes,” Walter said.
“One last thing,” he said. “Don’t be surprised at anything I do. I might have to do some things that make you sick. I might have to do some things that make you not so goddamn proud of your old man. Well, that’s too bad. You’re in it all the way now, and you got to go along with everything I do, and don’t you flinch in there, don’t you panic, don’t show a thing in your face, either. Or we’re liable to die. Now. Do you understand, Walter?”
He’d heard all this before, too. His father had gone over all of this, many times, during the past week at the lodge, though there he’d always seemed calm and now Walter wasn’t sure. And he’d told Walter how they would go about the robbery, though he’d been vague about certain aspects. But when Walter asked him what was the purpose of the robbery, was it just money? Would they be going to Mexico or Canada or South America or something to start a new life on this money? This isn’t about money, his father had said, this is a matter of blood. And that was all he would say.
“Do you understand, Walter?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Here we go then,” and the older man turned the key in the ignition of the car and pulled across the street, up to the side door of the antique shop.
A bell was ringing. Planner sat up suddenly straight in the soft old easy chair behind the counter; he’d been dozing. The bell kept ringing. Is that the phone? Planner got up. Is that you, Nolan? Is that your call? The bell rang on and Planner said, silently, no. Somebody at the side door.
He took time out to light himself a fresh Garcia y Vega before answering the door. He had to get rid of the sour taste in his mouth. He wondered how his mouth could taste so foul from sleeping, why, not more than fifteen minutes, a half hour. You’d think he’d slept for twelve hours, as bad as the taste was. He puffed the cigar until he felt he could live with his mouth and then slowly moved toward the side door, the bell still going.
“All right, all right,” Planner muttered, “hold your damn horses, Jesus almighty.”
He unlocked the side door and looked through the screen at the two men standing out on the cement stoop. One of them was old, maybe fifty-five, maybe more; the other was much younger, maybe twenty, twenty-five at the most. Both of them looked like tourists, probably staying at Lake McBride. They had on bright swirling-colored shirts that almost hurt to look at; be better off looking into the sun dead on. Father and his kid, most likely. Both of them had the same dark eyes, set close together, and the same general frame.
Planner tried to say, “Yes?” but his voice cracked and it came out a croak. He cleared his throat, kicked open the screen door and shot a clot of phlegm out on the gravel to the left of where the older man was standing. He grinned. He said, “Excuse me, boys, you caught me napping. Not quite awake yet. What can I do for you?”
The older guy said, “We have some things here we’d like to have appraised.”
Oh, shit. Should’ve known, Planner thought. Christ, what a nuisance. Sitting here waiting for Nolan to call, anxious as hell, and somebody comes around with piddling shit like this.
“I don’t do much appraising,” Planner said.
“We have some real nice china in the car,” the older man said. “We have some real nice pieces.”
“Well...”
“You can make us an offer, or you can just tell us what you think they’re worth. We’d be much obliged.”
