Jack placed the glass on the phone table, his hand and part of his sleeve wet. “It was the other way around, Roy. It was Franklin gave half to Lucy. He’s the one had it.”
Roy was heading for the aluminum case lying on the bar. “He had it? What does that mean? Those guys up in the room had it, too, and you know what the nigger did to ’em? He tell you? He popped ’em, man. Both guys, twice in the chest.”
Jack said, “Franklin?”
“Your pal you had the long talk with’s gonna do you a favor, go up and get the keys. He got the keys, all right, and shot ’em dead. And you let him drive off with a million bucks? Fucking Indin never even had on a pair of shoes before? Jesus Christ, Jack, what were you thinking?”
Lucy said, “He didn’t tell us…”
Roy looked at her. “Had you known, would you given him all of it? I’d like to know how you people think. He’s gone-that’s it, huh? Jesus Christ, he even swipes the guy’s car and you two watch him drive off.” Turning to the aluminum case Roy said, “So what’re we left with? I suppose you’re gonna tell me she gets half…” He opened the case, stared at the rows of currency. “How much’s this, a million even?”
“A million one hundred thousand,” Lucy said. She went into her straw bag, lying on the sofa, and brought out a pack of cigarettes.
Roy looked past her at Jack. “You and I split half, or we cut this three ways? Fuck Cullen, he didn’t help none.”
“The way it turned out,” Jack said, “you and I didn’t help much either. I told you, Franklin gave the money to Lucy. I was there, I saw it. He didn’t give me any or say, here, this’s for Roy. Uh-unh, he gave it to Lucy. She thought we should have a piece of it, but I convinced her otherwise. Take it to Nicaragua, ’cause that’s what this whole deal is all about anyway.”
Roy said, “If bullshit was worth anything, Jack, you’d have the fertilizer market sewed up. What I see is, the schemers have been scheming again. Hell, I can hear you. Let’s see if we can fuck old Roy. Tell him all the money’s going to the poor lepers…”
Lucy was shaking her head. “Roy, it is, it’s for the hospital.”
“He knows it,” Jack said, “he’s looking for an excuse, that’s all.”
Roy said, “Why even talk about it.” He closed the case and lifted it from the bar. “If I can see it clear in my mind to take it off the Nicaraguans, I can surely take it off a you two, couple of lost causes.” He started past Lucy. “You have any complaints, take it up with the police. Tell ’em what you been doing.”
Jack put his hand around the brass candlestick, took it from the phone table to hold at his side.
Roy stopped a few feet away and opened his coat. “What’re you gonna do, take a swing at me? Jack, I’d shoot my mother for a million bucks.”
Behind him, Lucy said, “So would I.”
She stood by the sofa holding her dad’s nickel-plated .38 in both hands, arms extended.
Jack saw her as Roy, in front of him, half turned to look back.
Roy said, “Oh, shit, I forgot. You have your shoulder holster on? Show us. Jack, it’s like TV cops wear.”
Lucy said, “If you try to walk out with that I promise I’ll shoot you.”
Roy said, “Sister, if you had the nerve, you’d deserve the money.” He turned, took two steps toward the door.
Lucy fired and Roy screamed.
HELENE HAD THE BACK END of the hearse open and the mortuary cot halfway out, trying to get the goddamn legs to fold down. Jack walked up to her and said, “Here,” and released the catch. He said, “I’ll get him.” So calm about it. Helene watched him walk off, pushing the cot along the brick path through the garden. As he reached the shade trees a door on the patio opened and Lucy stood holding it for him. It didn’t take long. Helene watched Jack bring the cot out with a man lying on it, then stop to say something to Lucy and kiss her on the cheek. He came through the garden to the driveway, to the back end of the hearse. It wasn’t until Jack had the cot ready to load that Helene realized the man on it wasn’t dead.
His eyes were open. There were towels wedged in between his right arm and his side. He was saying ugly things trying to look mean, calling Jack a name Helene didn’t care for, usually said to women. It didn’t seem to bother Jack. He slid the man into the hearse and slammed the door on him.
She said, “Jack, I can’t pick up somebody who isn’t dead, can I?”
He said for her to come on and waved to Lucy standing over on the patio. Lucy waved back.
They got in the hearse and left, Helene driving, Jack sitting back lighting a cigarette, not a care in the world. The first thing Helene wanted to know was why they didn’t call an ambulance. Jack said because they’d ask how Roy got shot-reaching over and touching her just above the hip. Right there. Only on Roy it was a roll of fat. Jack said Roy would make up a story to tell at the hospital. Helene said, “Well, isn’t he pissed?” Jack said, who cares? Roy couldn’t tell on anyone without telling on himself. Jack asked her to save her questions till later. “Let’s get old Roy to Charity.”
At the emergency entrance they slid him out of the hearse and rolled him onto a gurney, Jack ducking questions from the orderly. He said to Roy, “You hurry up and get better, you hear?” The orderly was wheeling Roy off, so Helene missed what he said to Jack.
They drove off in the hearse. Jack said, “Go on up Canal. We’ll stop by Mandina’s and have one. How’s that sound? Leo and I used to drop in there after a funeral, unwind.”
Helene said, “If you think you’re gonna get your job back, you’re crazy.”
“It’s yours,” Jack said, “if it makes you happy.”
Helene gave him a look. He seemed so innocent sitting there, taking in the sights of Canal Street on a Saturday afternoon.
“I’ve never gone with a girl who worked at a funeral home; it’ll be a new experience.” He said after a moment, “I may go to Gulfport tomorrow, pick up a car. Guy offered to let me use his brand-new sixty-thousand-dollar Mercedes, long as I want. Keys’ll be at the Standard Fruit office.”
“If you don’t have it, fake it,” Helene said. “That doesn’t sound like you, Jack.”
“Or I could sell the car…”
“That sounds like you.”
“Send the money to Lucy, in Nicaragua.”
Helene looked at him. “Are you serious?”
Jack didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he was or not.
This section was prepared by the editorial staff of HarperCollins e-books, who thank Mr. Gregg Sutter, Elmore Leonard’s longtime researcher and aide-de-camp, for his unstinting support and help in the assembling of this material.
Further riches await the reader at the website that Mr. Sutter maintains, www.elmoreleonard.com, and in “The Extras” sections of other HarperCollins editions of Elmore Leonard’s novels (“All by Elmore” and “Selected Filmography” come standard in each e-book).
All by Elmore: The Crime Novels; The Westerns
The Big Bounce (1969); Mr. Majestyk (1974); 52 Pickup (1974); Swag* (1976); Unknown Man #89 (1977); The Hunted (1977); The Switch (1978); City Primevaclass="underline" High Noon in Detroit (1980);Gold Coast (1980); Split Images (1981); Cat Chaser (1982); Stick (1983); LaBrava (1983); Glitz (1985); Bandits (1987); Touch (1987); Freaky Deaky (1988); Killshot(1989); Get Shorty (1990); Maximum Bob (1991); Rum Punch (1992); Pronto (1993); Riding the Rap(1995); Out of Sight (1996); Be Cool (1999); Pagan Babies (2000); “Fire in the Hole”* (e-book original story, 2001); Tishomingo Blues (2002); When the Women Come Out to Dance: Stories (2002).