Marsh turned it off. Scotty said, “He’s got a piece.”

“I know. Small revolver, back waistband.”

“He’ll walk. I don’t see his car.”

“It’s six blocks to the bank.”

Scotty passed his flask. Marsh took a nip.

“I lost a hundred.”

Scotty said, “I’ll underwrite you. I won three bills.”

“You bet against Ali?”

“I was at Saipan. Draft dodgers fuck with my head.”

Marsh passed the flask. “Give me the count. Jap infantry or 211 guys. Who gets the nod?”

Scotty took a nip. “I torched an ammunition bunker. I fried a hundred Japs in their sleep.”

“Did you win a medal?”

“The Navy Cross. Nice, but not as big as your deal.”

Marsh smiled. The flask moved contrapuntal. Lionel Thornton walked out.

He hoofed it southbound. The bank doors were side-street/south-facing. Scotty said, “We’ll take him there.”

Hut action exploded. Fuckers screamed, “Frazier.” Fuckers screamed, “Ali.” Two brothers traded blows. Fred O. broke it up. The TV set toppled. Junkie Monkey hit the deck.

Scotty hauled westbound and cut south on Stanford. He cut east on 63rd Street and parked across the street.

Marsh said, “That storage door just west of the main doors. He won’t see us there.”

Scotty put his gloves on. “He’s four minutes out.”

Marsh gulped. He was racy and a tad damp. Scotty sensed his pulse.

“How’s your wig, brother?”

“It be tight, brother. You knows I wants this.”

Scotty winked. “Let’s go, then.”

They walked across the street. The door well concealed them. Marsh checked his watch. Scotty heard footsteps.

Closer now. Louder. There’s his breath, there’s his shadow, there’s the jangle of keys.

There’s the key in the lock, there’s the click, there’s the door sweep.

They jumped.

They smothered him. They dog-piled him. They pushed him inside. The cash sack flew. Scotty hand-muzzled him. Marsh grabbed his piece. Thornton kicked and wriggled. Marsh caught a shoe in the face.

Thornton tried to bite. His mouth couldn’t move. Marsh rabbit-punched him. Thornton lost all breath. Marsh grabbed the keys and inside-locked the doors. Thornton kept thrashing. Scotty swooped him over his head and threw him twenty feet.

The cocksucker flew. His whole body cartwheeled. His feet brushed the ceiling. He landed by the front teller’s cage.

He screamed. Marsh pulled a standing lamp over and tossed light on his face.

The floor was dark. The lamp was a funnel spotlight. You got Thornton’s face, that’s it.

He screamed. Scotty stepped on his neck. He stopped screaming. His mouth was bloody. The crash landing took out his front teeth.

Scotty nodded. Marsh said, “We’re interested in the ink-and non-ink-stained cash and the emeralds. You know what we mean. We think you have information that might assist us.”

Thornton thrashed. Scotty stepped down harder. Thornton stopped thrashing. Scotty pulled out his reserve flask. Pastor Bennett’s confession brew: bourbon and Valium chips.

Marsh palmed it. Marsh grabbed Thornton’s hair and jerked. Thornton’s mouth went wide. Marsh poured him a jolt. Thornton almost tossed it. Marsh stepped on his face and kept it in.

Scotty nodded. Marsh withdrew his foot. Thornton gulped air. Thornton said, “No.”

Marsh slapped him. Thornton bit at his hand. Scotty grabbed his hair and pulled him behind the teller’s cage. Marsh unfurled the cord and carried the lamp over.

The teller’s cage was dark. The lamp was a funnel spotlight. Marsh framed Thornton’s face. The cage row got backlit.

Scotty said, “You can’t win here. You can make this easy or hard.”

Thornton dribbled blood on the floor. A bug skittered over. Marsh stepped on it. Thornton sucked in a breath.

“White-trash cracker. Uncle Tom piece of shit.”

Scotty nodded. Marsh pulled a sap and whipped Thornton’s knees. Thornton bit through his bottom lip and stifled a scream.

Marsh said, “Sergeant Bennett and I have pooled our information on this matter. We know that you’ve laundered at least a small portion of the heist money. Would you care to comment?”

Thornton spat blood and loose tissue. Thornton crawled to a wall post and propped himself up. Thornton shook his head-no, ixnay, fuck you.

Scotty pulled the lamp closer. Marsh tilted it for more glare. Thornton was mouth flap-bloody. Marsh grabbed the flask and poured in a jolt.

Thornton tried to retch. Scotty grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. Marsh relubed him.

Gargles now-blood, bile and blend. It started to seep out. Marsh mouth-clamped Thornton and forced it back in.

He shook his head-nyet, nein, no. Marsh removed his mouth clamp and sap-whipped his legs.

“Sergeant Bennett and I have developed separate information that we’ve decided to share. We were both there that morning. It would be foolish for us not to cooperate.”

Thornton shook his head. A loose tooth flew. Scotty undamped his hair. Thornton proned out and back-swallowed blood. He shook his head-nein, nyet, nyet.

Marsh said, “I had a neighbor. He was an elderly black physician. He attended to a heist-gang member who had been left for dead by the leader of the gang. The doctor received twenty thousand dollars in ink-stained cash as a payment for his services. He gave the money to you and told you to leak it prudently out to the community. The surviving gang member recovered and has not been seen since. Would you care to comment?”

Thornton wide-eyed it. His brain pulse went visible. Fucking brilliant Marsh. Scotty thought, Oh, you kid.

The cage was hot. Scotty was wet. Marsh was wet. Scotty saw a wall unit and hit the switch.

Cold air whooshed. Thornton sucked it up. Marsh sapped his knees. Thornton screamed. The wall-unit rattle blended in.

Marsh raised the sap. Scotty shook his head. Thornton blinked lamp glare out of his eyes. Scotty moved and provided shade. Marsh squatted by Thornton and sap-tickled his chin.

“Sergeant Bennett and I believe that the surviving gang member was a young chemist named Reginald Hazzard. I have a theory that I have not yet shared with Sergeant Bennett. I think that perhaps young Hazzard found a way to partially or fully obscure the ink markings and that perhaps you-a seasoned money launderer-ended up with the laundry list for all of the cash. Would you care to comment?”

Thornton wiiiiiiide-eyed it. It was truth serum-valid. Marsh, you genius cocksucker. The gang leader braced the Laundryman independently.

Thornton pissed his pants and shit his pants. Fey Marsh stood up and went phew.

Scotty winked. The wall-unit blew ice chips. A cockroach dipsey-doodled through the blood spill.

Marsh said, “Reginald Hazzard.”

Thornton sobbed and spit blood.

Marsh said, “Who sends the emeralds to the black people in need?”

Thornton rolled out of the lamplight. Marsh kicked him in the back. Scotty shook his head. Marsh went What now? Scotty pulled his penlight and wide-dialed the beam.

Marsh pulled out a roll of duct tape and sealed Thornton’s mouth. Scotty cuffed his right wrist to a wall pipe. It went telepathic: let’s toss the place.

They worked with two penlights and Thornton’s master keys. They sifted, dug, pored, overturned and upended. They triple-tossed the place.

They opened every office drawer and cash drawer.

They checked every cupboard.

They scanned every shelf.

They pulled up every rug.

They cut open every padded chair.

They went through every closet.

They broke every light fixture.

They scanned every surface, plane and cubbyhole for vault-combo stats.

They did it once, twice, three times. They mini-checked all the fucked-up debris.

Marsh said, “There’s nothing here.”