Nolan sighed. He took two long swallows from the Point Special, set the half-empty can on the floor beside his chair and got up. Felix was starting to get on his nerves. Felix was starting to be a pompous ass. Nolan paced for a moment, till the urge to tell Felix those things went away. Then he said, “I don’t like muscle, Felix.”
“Nolan...”
“What do I need muscle for? I can take care of myself.”
“It’s a big responsibility for one man.”
“I’ll pick up somebody else when I get there.”
“Who?”
“Never mind who. The other guy who has a say in where this money is going, that’s who.”
“A partner of yours? Is he capable?”
“All my partners are capable,” he said, but that wasn’t quite true. It was Jon he was talking about, and Jon was just a kid, hardly a seasoned veteran. But Jon was who he wanted, not some mindless strongarm. And he didn’t want any Family accompaniment at all.
Nolan sat back down and finished his beer in one long swig. He was getting surly and he knew it. He supposed he ought to stay nice and businesslike around Felix, but the pompous little prick was getting to him. Nolan put the empty can on the floor. He said, “Greer? Is that your name?”
Greer nodded, sitting forward in his chair. Greer sensed Nolan’s hostility and unbuttoned his green sportscoat.
“Are you good for anything, Greer?” Nolan asked.
Nolan watched the hood bristle, then he said, “Greer, get me a Schlitz.”
Greer got up slowly, a pained look on the baby-face, and went over to the cooler of ice and beer and got one.
Nolan said, “Well, Felix, I suppose if you insist he go along...”
Greer handed Nolan the beer and Nolan reached inside Greer’s coat and took the.38 from out of the underarm holster and pushed the snub-nose up under Greer’s Andy Gump chin.
“You son of a bitch,” Greer hissed.
“Shut up,” Nolan said, pushing him backward, toward the straightback chair. Greer crouched and got a fierce expression on his face, as if he was thinking of doing something. Nolan gave him a look and the hood sat down. Over on the other side of the room Angelo was smiling.
Nolan said, “Felix, is that who you want to go along and protect me?”
Greer waved his hands and said, “I wasn’t expecting...”
“You weren’t expecting,” Nolan said. “I suppose if somebody wants to hit us en route, they’ll announce it.”
Greer said, “You fucking son of a bitch...”
Felix said, “Greer.”
And Greer got quiet.
Nolan examined the gun. “I got no respect for a man who carries a snub-nose,” he said, tossing the gun back to Greer, hard. “You can’t aim the damn things, they shoot different every time. And all that damn fire coming out of the muzzle, and noisy, shit. What kind of bodyguard are you, anyway, carrying a snub-nose?”
“You’ve made your point,” Felix said. “You’ll go alone.”
“Fine,” Nolan said.
Felix was explaining to Nolan how to get to the Riverside bank, drawing a little map on note paper, when the phone rang. Felix told Angelo to answer it and Angelo did, then said, “It’s for somebody named Logan.”
“That’s my name here,” Nolan explained, and went to the phone.
“Nolan?” the phone said. “Nolan, Christ, Nolan, is it you?’
“Jon?” Nolan said. “Calm down, Jon, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Planner, Nolan.”
“What about him?”
“They killed him, Nolan, somebody killed him.”
“Jesus, kid. Stay calm. Don’t go hysterical on me. Jon?”
“Yes. I’m okay.”
“Now tell me about it.”
“He’s dead, Nolan. Planner’s dead.”
“You said that already. He’s dead. Go on.”
“He’s dead, and the money...”
“Yes?”
“It’s gone. All of it.”
Nolan drew a deep breath, let it out.
“Nolan? You okay?”
Suddenly he felt old again.
“Yeah, kid. Go on.”
Joey ordered lobster. He sipped his white wine as he watched the waitress sway away, a college girl in a yellow and orange Polynesian-print sarong. Nice ass on the kid, Joey thought, nice ass.
He was a fat, dark little man in a two hundred-and-fifty-dollar suit, a dollar for every pound he weighed. The suit was tan, its coat wide-lapelled, trousers flared. His shirt was rust color and his tie was white and wide and thickly knotted. His hair was black, brought forward to disguise a receding forehead, but skillfully so, by a barber who had shaped the hair well, leaving it long on the sides, partially covering Joey’s flat, splayed ears. Lamb-dropping eyes crowded the bridge of his narrow, hooking nose, and his teeth were white as porcelain. He wore a one-carat diamond pinkie ring on his left hand, and a two-carat diamond ring on the third finger of his right hand.
The wine was calming him down. This was his third glass and his stomach felt pleasantly warm. Not fluttering, as it had when he’d gotten Felix’s call, asking (demanding) in that soft Felix voice for Joey to come down to the Tropical for the evening. Joey’d been angry and afraid, but had shown neither emotion to Felix (hope to God!) and of course had said, yes, yes, sure. He was pissed off, but he said yes, Felix. He was pissless scared, but he said, what time should I be there, Felix?
