Read Online Two for the Money by Max Allan Collins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Max Allan Collins
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Charlie?”
“I don’t want to kill you, Nolan, not really. My poor dead brother’s been gone a long time now, and like the anti-capital punishment boys would say, your death won’t bring him back. It’s been said revenge is a fire that burns in a man, but all fires cool with time . . . besides, even I got to admit you had cause to shoot the damn fool like you did . . . and the money you took? A drop in the bucket.” Charlie leaned forward, his eyes intense. “But do I hate you, Nolan? Do I hate you as I sit across from you like this, while the two of us chatter like a couple goddamn schoolgirls? Yes. I do, Nolan. Yes.”
Nolan knew when not to say anything.
Charlie went on, his face a soft red. “Why? Reasons, Nolan. Reasons you never once had occur to you in these sixteen years past.”
Charlie seemed to catch himself getting close to some self-appointed mark, and he stopped for a heartbeat and leaned back, trying to disguise his trembling. Nolan realized suddenly that the man had been working, working hard for restraint, to maintain a calm outer shell during these minutes of “friendly” conversation.
Nolan said, “What reasons, Charlie?”
Charlie forgot self-control and lurched forward, veins throbbing over his collar, letting loose words held in for too many years. “You made a clown out of me, Nolan!” He cupped his knees with his hands, and bones and veins on them stood out vividly. “You killed my brother, you stole my money, and then you got away with it! Everybody in the Family knew about it. Everybody knew a goddamn nobodyin the organization, a goddamn club manager, had made a goddamn clown out of me! No, I don’t have reason to hate you, Nolan, you didn’t do anything but destroy my life! Because of what you did, I never rose an inch with the Family; sixteen years after your grandstand stunt I’m still stuck in the same goddamn spot I was in then. If you hadn’t screwed things up for me, Nolan, Jesus, I might have made top man, I might be top man in the Family today!”
Werner said, “It’s not like you were demoted or anything, Charlie.”
“Shut up!”
Nolan stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray resting beside the lamp on the nightstand. He repeated what he’d asked before. “What do you want, Charlie?”
Charlie’s eyes slitted, and two small, penetrating coals glinted out at Nolan. Charlie had self-control back, and he had it in spades. He said, “I want you to sweat, Nolan. I want you to sweat blood.”
“Talk sense, Charlie. You know I don’t have your feel for the melodramatic.”
The little man sat up, composing himself as though he were a family patriarch preparing to carve a holiday turkey. “All right, Nolan. We won’t waste time with a lot of needless talk. I’ll make it simple and spell it out for you. This is what I want, all I want . . . one hundred thousand dollars. That’s all, Nolan. One hundred thousand dollars.”
Silence held the room for a full minute.
Nolan sat back in the chair and got a fresh cigarette going and weighed Charlie’s words. Werner sat leaning forward, mouth half open, trying to comprehend what was going on. Charlie sat straight, hands folded.
Finally Nolan cut through the silence.
“Okay, Charlie,” he said, “it’s a lot of money, but I won’t bitch about it. We can call it interest on the twenty thousand I took from you sixteen years ago. All I need is your word you won’t leak the Earl Webb name, and you can have your hundred thousand.”
Charlie’s features grew tight, seeming to converge toward the center of his face. “You miss my point . . . I don’t want any of that money. That would be too easy. You got to go out and get new money for me.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Nolan. Go out and get it for me. Earn it. Steal it. Counterfeit it if you can do a good enough job. But you got to be able to show me where you got it. I want to pick up the newspaper and see such-and-such jewelry store got hit, or
“I don’t want to kill you, Nolan, not really. My poor dead brother’s been gone a long time now, and like the anti-capital punishment boys would say, your death won’t bring him back. It’s been said revenge is a fire that burns in a man, but all fires cool with time . . . besides, even I got to admit you had cause to shoot the damn fool like you did . . . and the money you took? A drop in the bucket.” Charlie leaned forward, his eyes intense. “But do I hate you, Nolan? Do I hate you as I sit across from you like this, while the two of us chatter like a couple goddamn schoolgirls? Yes. I do, Nolan. Yes.”
Nolan knew when not to say anything.
Charlie went on, his face a soft red. “Why? Reasons, Nolan. Reasons you never once had occur to you in these sixteen years past.”
Charlie seemed to catch himself getting close to some self-appointed mark, and he stopped for a heartbeat and leaned back, trying to disguise his trembling. Nolan realized suddenly that the man had been working, working hard for restraint, to maintain a calm outer shell during these minutes of “friendly” conversation.
Nolan said, “What reasons, Charlie?”
Charlie forgot self-control and lurched forward, veins throbbing over his collar, letting loose words held in for too many years. “You made a clown out of me, Nolan!” He cupped his knees with his hands, and bones and veins on them stood out vividly. “You killed my brother, you stole my money, and then you got away with it! Everybody in the Family knew about it. Everybody knew a goddamn nobodyin the organization, a goddamn club manager, had made a goddamn clown out of me! No, I don’t have reason to hate you, Nolan, you didn’t do anything but destroy my life! Because of what you did, I never rose an inch with the Family; sixteen years after your grandstand stunt I’m still stuck in the same goddamn spot I was in then. If you hadn’t screwed things up for me, Nolan, Jesus, I might have made top man, I might be top man in the Family today!”
Werner said, “It’s not like you were demoted or anything, Charlie.”
“Shut up!”
Nolan stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray resting beside the lamp on the nightstand. He repeated what he’d asked before. “What do you want, Charlie?”
Charlie’s eyes slitted, and two small, penetrating coals glinted out at Nolan. Charlie had self-control back, and he had it in spades. He said, “I want you to sweat, Nolan. I want you to sweat blood.”
“Talk sense, Charlie. You know I don’t have your feel for the melodramatic.”
The little man sat up, composing himself as though he were a family patriarch preparing to carve a holiday turkey. “All right, Nolan. We won’t waste time with a lot of needless talk. I’ll make it simple and spell it out for you. This is what I want, all I want . . . one hundred thousand dollars. That’s all, Nolan. One hundred thousand dollars.”
Silence held the room for a full minute.
Nolan sat back in the chair and got a fresh cigarette going and weighed Charlie’s words. Werner sat leaning forward, mouth half open, trying to comprehend what was going on. Charlie sat straight, hands folded.
Finally Nolan cut through the silence.
“Okay, Charlie,” he said, “it’s a lot of money, but I won’t bitch about it. We can call it interest on the twenty thousand I took from you sixteen years ago. All I need is your word you won’t leak the Earl Webb name, and you can have your hundred thousand.”
Charlie’s features grew tight, seeming to converge toward the center of his face. “You miss my point . . . I don’t want any of that money. That would be too easy. You got to go out and get new money for me.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Nolan. Go out and get it for me. Earn it. Steal it. Counterfeit it if you can do a good enough job. But you got to be able to show me where you got it. I want to pick up the newspaper and see such-and-such jewelry store got hit, or
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