“I’m not hungry. Just coffee.”
Furia shrugged. He had stripped off his gloves and he began to drum on the table with his neat little nails. His Mediterranean eyes were glazed. In the glare of the fluorescents his skin had a greenish shine.
The diner was jumping with soul music, orders, dishes, talk. There was a lively smell of frying onions and meat. Furia drank it in. The overcast in his eyes was from pride at his achievement and regret that these squares could not know his power. Goldie had seen it before, a recklessness that would later rush to relieve itself. She had her own needs, which involved perpetual thought. His violence kept her squirming.
“Hey, you,” Furia said. The girl with the versatile rump was delivering a trayful of grinders to the next booth. “We ain’t got all year.”
Goldie shut her eyes. When she opened them the girl was clearing the dirty dishes from their table. She was leaning far over, her left breast over Furia’s hands.
“I’ll be right back, folks.” She flicked a rag over the table and seesawed away.
“That chick is stacked what I mean,” Furia said. “As good as you, Goldie.”
“I think she recognized me,” Goldie said.
“You think. You’re always thinking.”
“I’m not sure. She could have. She was starting high school when I left New Bradford. Her name is Griggs, Marie Griggs. Let’s split, Fure.”
“You make me throw up. And she did? It’s a free country, ain’t it? Two people having a bite?”
“Why take chances?”
“Who’s taking chances?”
“You are. With that bag between your legs. And packing the gun.”
“We’ll take off when I’ve ate my steak.” His lips were thinning down. “Now knock it off, she’s coming back. Steak medium-well, side order fries, two black. And don’t take all night.”
The waitress wrote it down. “You’re not having anything but coffee, Miss?”
“I just told you, didn’t I?” Furia said with a stare.
She left fast. His stare warmed as he watched her behind. “No wonder Hinch got his tongue hanging out. I could go for a piece of that myself.”
Flying all right.
“Fure-”
“She don’t know you from her old lady’s mustache.” His tone said that the subject was closed. Goldie shut her eyes again.
When his steak came it was too rare. Another time he would have turned nasty and fired it back. As it was he ate it, grousing. Steaks were a problem with him. Cooks always thought the waitress had heard wrong. He hated bloody meat. I ain’t no goddam dog, he would say.
He hacked off massive chunks, including the fat, and bolted them. The fork never left his fist. Goldie sipped carefully. Her skin was one big itch. Psycho-something, a doctor had told her. He had sounded like some shrink and she had never gone back. It had been worse recently.
Hinch was working away on the girl behind the counter, she was beginning to look sore.
One of these days I’m going to ditch these creeps.
At eleven o’clock, as Furia was stabbing his last slice of potato, the shortorder man turned on the radio. Goldie, on her feet, sat down again.
“Now what?”
“That’s the station at Tonekeneke Falls, WRUD, with the late news.”
“So?”
“Fure, I have this feeling.”
“You and your feels,” Furia said. “You’re goosier than an old broad tonight. Let’s hit it.”
“Will it hurt to listen a minute?”
He sat back comfortably and began to pick his teeth with the edge of a matchpacket cover. “First you can’t wait to blow the dump-”
He stopped. The announcer was saying: “-this bulletin. Thomas F. Howland, bookkeeper of the Aztec Paper Products company branch in New Bradford, was found in his office a few minutes ago shot to death. Mr. Howland was alone at the plant, preparing the payroll for tomorrow, when he was apparently surprised by robbers, who killed him and escaped with over twenty-four thousand dollars in cash, according to Curtis Pickney, the general manager, who found the slain bookkeeper’s body. Mr. Pickney was driving by on his way home from a late Zoning Board meeting, saw lights in the plant, and investigated. He notified the New Bradford police and Chief John Secco has taken charge of the case. The Resident State Trooper in New Bradford is also on the scene. A search is being organized for Edward Taylor, the night security guard, who has disappeared. Police fear that Taylor may also have been the victim of foul play. We will bring you further bulletins as they come in. In Washington today the President announced… “
“No,” Furia said. “Stay put.” He nodded at Hinch, who had turned their way. Hinch was blinking his pink eyes. At Furia’s signal he tossed a bill on the counter and ran out with two truckdrivers who had jumped up and left their hamburgers uneaten.
“I told you, Fure!”
“Say, Miss America, how’s about two more coffees?”
The waitress took their empty cups. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “That nice old guy.”
“Who?”
“That Tom Howland.”
“The one they say got shot? You knew him?”
“He ate in here all the time. Used to bend my ear by the hour. I can’t believe it.”
“You never know,” Furia said, shaking his head. “Step on those coffees, huh, doll?”
She went away.
“Some day you’ll learn to listen to me,” Goldie muttered. “I told you to just tie him up. No, you’ve got to go and shoot him.”
“Goddam it, Goldie, you bug the living hell out of me sometimes, you know that?”
They drank their second cups in silence. There was no music in the diner now. The cook had turned the radio off, too. People were arguing about the robbery and murder. Furia said, “Now,” and rose. Goldie slid from the booth and made her way safely to the door. Furia, carrying the black bag, strolled up to the counter and said to the waitress, “How much for the lousy steak and javas?”
Goldie slipped out.
Hinch had the motor running when Furia got in beside him. “Turn on the police band.”
Hinch turned it on. The air was full of directives and acknowledgments. The state police were setting up roadblocks throughout the area.
“Now what?” Goldie had her arms folded over her breasts. “Big shot?”
“You want I should shove your teeth down your throat, is that what you want?” Furia said. “I ought to let Hinch work you over.”
“Any time, pal,” Hinch said.
“Who asked you? I got to think.”
“What’s to think?” Hinch said. “We hole up in the hideout till the heat goes away, like we said. No sweat. Let’s drag, Fure.”
“If you had a brain you’d be a dope.” Furia had a roadmap of the area spread on his lap under the maplight. “To get there from here we got to cross this intersection. There’s no other road in. That’ll be one of their main checkpoints. We can’t make it tonight. We got to think of something else.”
“You’d better get rid of the gun,” Goldie said remotely. She was burrowed as far as she could get into the corner of the rear seat.
“Not till I get me another one.”
“You going to kill somebody else for one?”
“I told you!”
“Why didn’t you take the watchman’s gun?”
“Because it landed in some bushes when we jumped him. We couldn’t hang around looking for it in the dark. I’ll get one, don’t worry.”
“It’s a wonder you didn’t shoot him, too.”
“You’re asking for a rap in that big moosh of yours, Goldie. I’m telling you! When Howland sent this Taylor into town for coffee and we hit him on the road, he put up a fight and we had to cool him with a knock across the ear. We tied him up and threw him in some bushes. How many times I got to tell you?”
Hinch said, “We parking here all night?”
“Let me think!”
Goldie let him think. When she thought the time was ripe she said, “Maybe if we think out loud.”