“Tell us, my friend,” Coldwater said, staring down the table, “Just what did you do to get put into prison?”
Jesse swallowed hard and tried to take a deep breath. He would have to keep this as close to the truth as possible. He opened his mouth to speak.
“I was in for armed robbery and second degree murder,” a voice said.
Jesse looked up. Charley Bottoms had spoken; Charley was sitting at the foot of the table.
“And what was your sentence?” Coldwater asked.
Jesse discovered that he had been holding his breath. He let it out in a rush. Across the table, Pat Casey glanced sharply at him, but Coldwater didn’t seem to notice.
“I got twenty-five to life,” Charley said. He was beginning to look ill at ease.
“Which means you would ordinarily serve, let’s see, twelve and a half years?” Coldwater asked.
Charley said nothing.
“And how long did you serve, Mr. Bottoms?”
“Three years and two months.”
“Three years and two months,” Coldwater repeated. “Your behavior inside must have been awfully good.”
Charley shrugged. “I got lucky, I guess.”
“I guess you did, Mr. Bottoms. Out in three years and two months. What luck!”
Jesse placed his hands on the dining table, the more to get the microphone out in front of him.
“I’m going to ask you just once, Mr. Bottoms,” Coldwater said. “Who got you out, and why?”
Charley continued to play dumb, which turned out to be a big mistake. He shrugged. “The parole board.”
Coldwater looked up at Ruger. “Kurt, please escort Mr. Bottoms downstairs and put the question to him a little more firmly.”
Ruger pushed himself off the wall and put an automatic pistol to the back of Charley’s head. “Easy, now, Bottoms; let’s not put your brains on the table.”
“Jesse,” Coldwater said.
Jesse’s head jerked around toward Coldwater. “Yes, sir?”
“Give Kurt a hand.” He reached inside his jacket, produced a 9mm automatic and handed it to Jesse.
Jesse took the gun. The evening was not going at all the way he had planned. He stood up and followed Charley and Ruger out of the dining room. They entered the kitchen; two young women were washing dishes at a double sink; they looked up then quickly down again.
“Jesse, open the cellar door,” Ruger said.
Jesse looked around and spotted the door; he opened it and stood back.
“Right down the stairs,” Ruger said to Bottoms. “Come on down, Jesse.” He switched on a light.
Jesse followed the two men down the stairs. As they walked down, Jesse considered his position, and he didn’t like it at all.
“Right over there,” Ruger said, shoving Charley.
Jesse saw a heavy wooden chair, and it was bolted to the floor.
“There’s some cord attached to the back of the chair; tie his hands behind him.”
Jesse followed Ruger’s instructions, but he didn’t tie Charley’s hands too tightly.
Ruger tucked his pistol into his belt, picked up a length of pipe from the floor, then squared off before Charley Bottoms. “I know you’re not going to answer my questions right away,” he said, “so why don’t we just skip that part,” He struck Bottoms across the face with the pipe.
The sound was like a football being kicked, Jesse thought.
Ruger turned away for a moment, as if to take a deep breath. Charley Bottoms turned toward Jesse, his face bloody, and silently mouthed, “Shoot me.”
Jesse looked away. If he helped Charley he’d give himself away, and they’d both be shot. Charley had just told him, in effect, that he expected to be killed and that Jesse should save himself.
Chapter 58
Ruger had been at it for half an hour, and Charley Bottoms was no longer recognizable. He was alive, though, and occasionally, he spat out some blood.
Jesse stood, the gun dangling at his side, and tried not to watch. Ruger drew the pipe back again, and as he did, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and Ruger and Jesse both turned to look. Coldwater’s feet appeared on the stairs, and at that moment, Charley’s right hand shot out. He grabbed the pistol from Ruger’s belt and fired two rounds into his tormentor’s head. Then, without hesitating, he flipped the gun around, got his thumb on the trigger and stuck the barrel into his mouth.
Jesse’s shot went off simultaneously with Charley’s. Charley lurched backwards and sideways, leaving blood and brains on the wall behind him. Without thinking, Jesse fired a second shot into the body.
Just as Jesse’s knees buckled, Coldwater reached out and took the pistol from him, and he sagged into Pat Casey’s arms.
Jesse sat on the sofa in Coldwater’s study, his face in his hands.
“Feeling better?” Coldwater asked.
“I should have been faster,” Jesse said.
“I saw it all; you couldn’t have done better,” Coldwater replied. “He might have gotten me.”
Pat Casey handed Jesse a damp face cloth. “Here,” he said, “maybe this will help.”
“Poor Jesse,” Coldwater said. “And you weren’t feeling well to begin with. Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa for a while? I have a business negotiation to complete.” He turned to Casey. “Pat, see that the mess downstairs gets cleaned up.”
“Right,” Casey replied, then left the room.
“Are you really better?” Coldwater asked, concern in his voice.
“Thank you, sir,” Jesse muttered. “I’ll be all right in a minute.”
Coldwater clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You stay here; I’ll check on you later.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Jesse gave them fifteen seconds by his watch before he moved, then he got up, went to the bookcase and moved back the facade, exposing the safe. He put an ear to it and starting moving the tumblers. He couldn’t hear well enough, so he went to the bar, got an empty glass, pressed it against the steel, put his ear to the glass and tried again. Better. He glanced at his watch.
Forty minutes later, the safe door opened; it had been harder than he had thought it would be. The bottom of the safe was full of papers, he didn’t much care what, and the top shelf was lined with dozens of neatly banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
Jesse looked around the room, and his eyes fell on a large, wicker wastebasket with a plastic liner. Jesse ripped out the liner, emptied the trash back into the basket and began raking the money into the bag. He hesitated for a moment, then he packed the papers at the bottom of the safe into the bag, as well. He closed the safe door, twirled the knob and shut the bookcase facade, then he took the corners of the plastic bag and tied them into a secure knot.
There were voices from the front hall. Jesse looked around for a hiding place for the bag and didn’t see one. He ran to the windows, pushed one up and stuck the bag outside. He swung it a couple of times, then let go, tossing it in the direction of the road. The door behind him opened.
“Feeling better?” Coldwater boomed.
“Yes, thank you, sir; I was just letting in some fresh air. How did your meeting go?”
“A great success, I’d say.” Coldwater poured himself a brandy from the bar and one for Jesse, as well. “This ought to make you feel a little better, and close that window, will you? It’s freezing in here.”
Jesse closed the window and accepted the brandy. He took a good-sized swig, then sat down.
“Jesse,” Coldwater said, “I’d like you to take on some of Kurt’s duties.”