“What about this horse parlor he keeps talking about?”

“Now, that worries me. Horse parlors are always run by the mob, just like bookmaking is. I think after the bank job, I’ll just drift back to New Jersey and enjoy my new apartment for a while, watch some TV, wait for opportunities to raise their heads. That’s what you should do, too.”

“If you say so. I sure don’t want the mob after me. Life is too short for that shit.”

“Vinny, what do you tell your mother you do for money?”

“I don’t tell her nothing, and she don’t ask.”

“Why not? Doesn’t she want to know what her son does for a living?”

“My old man was a short-con grifter his whole life. He didn’t tell her nothing, and she learned not to ask. I’m just carrying on the family tradition.”

“You’re a grifter?”

“Nah, I don’t seem to have the talent for talking, like the old man did.”

“Whatever happened to him?”

“He ran into a wise mark and got himself plugged a couple times. That was that.”

“Vinny, you going to be okay for this bank deal?”

“I’m okay, if you’re okay, Gene. You got reservations, I got reservations.”

“I got no reservations,” Gene said, and ordered another drink with an umbrella.

—

Dino woke to a faint buzzing from the phone on his desk. He grabbed it: “What?”

“You’ve got a regular lunch date with the DC of PI at one,” she said. “That’s in fifteen minutes.”

“Break it. Tell him I’m not caught up yet.” He hung up and tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. He got up and used his private powder room, then went back to his desk and called Stone. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but don’t tell Viv.”

“Of course not. I looked at you last night and thought you weren’t ready to go back, but I didn’t say anything.”

“Fifteen minutes after I got here I was asleep on my sofa.”

“That’s what a sofa is for,” Stone said. “Where’s Viv today?” Viv traveled all the time.

“Chicago—should be back for dinner, she says.”

“Why don’t you go home and go to bed?”

“I can’t, Eva would rat me out.”

“Come over here, then, and use my sofa.”

“Love to,” Dino said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes, if I have to use the siren.” He hung up, got his jacket, and opened the door. “Tell ’em to bring the car around,” he said.

“Where you going?”

“Private meeting, confidential informer.”

“That’s what my last boss used to say. He’s divorced now.”

“Nothing like that. I just can’t stand being in the office for another minute. I came back too soon.”

“I knew that the minute I saw you.” She picked up the phone and called for the car. “Go home and get some rest.”

“Don’t tell anybody,” he said.

Ryan and Vinny were picked up by Charlie at noon and driven to a disused garage west of Lauderdale. Charlie had a stolen van fixed up with a legend on each side that said QUIK PEST CONTROL, and he outfitted them with gray jumpsuits with a logo on the breast, military surplus gas masks, and baseball caps, again with logos. Then some guy Charlie had hired to drive came in.

“I parked the car where you told me,” he told Charlie. “We’re all set.” He was carrying some light canvas duffels, and he dumped them, along with three riot guns, on a table, along with a box of shells.

“Let’s load up,” Charlie said.

Everybody put four shells in a shotgun, racked the slide, and put one more round in, then set the safety. They followed Charlie into the van, their masks around their necks. “Okay,” he said, “when we get there, we stop out front, put our masks on, and walk into the bank, like we’re providing a service. As we walk in, you, Gene, and you, Vinny, take a guard each. Disarm them, and don’t forget to look for a backup piece, then make them lie on the floor. Then give me your duffels. I’ll deal with the manager and take him to the vault, which will be open, and we’ll start stuffing cash into the bags while you two keep an eye on the folks in the bank. Don’t shoot anybody—that’s important. We’ll leave by the back door, where Ricky, here, will be waiting with the van. We drive to where the getaway car is, torch the van with the clothes and masks inside, and drive to the Sea Castle Motel, where we divvy up. Any questions?”

Ryan and Vinny both shook their heads.

“Let’s go, then,” Charlie said, checking his watch. “We’re right on schedule.”

They piled into the van. Half a block from the bank, Charlie donned his mask, and the others followed suit. The van stopped; Charlie slid the door open, hopped out, and walked into the bank, followed by Ryan and Vinny.

“All right, everybody,” Charlie hollered, “just stay where you are and don’t move and you won’t get hurt.”

Ryan and Vinny were already dealing with the guards. There were only two customers in the bank, men standing at a table, filling out deposit slips. Ryan liked the Glock he took from his guard’s holster, and he dropped it into the pocket of his jumpsuit for a keepsake. Neither guard was carrying a backup piece.

Charlie grabbed the empty duffels, and he and the manager disappeared through a door. Ryan checked the clock on the wall; they had been there a little over half a minute, and they had another minute and a half before cops started showing up. They’d hear the sirens first.

Charlie came out with the manager. “Grab a duffel each,” he said. Ryan and Vinny complied, and they started toward the back door. Ryan was walking backwards, keeping the shotgun pointed into the bank. Then the two men on the floor did a strange thing: they both produced handguns.

“Back door’s open,” Charlie said from behind them, and then there was a roar of gunfire at the door and Charlie staggered back into the bank, clutching his belly.

“Cops!” Vinny yelled, and then he took a shotgun blast and fell facedown.

Ryan held his duffel in front of him and ran for the front door, pointing the shotgun at the two men with guns. They were bringing theirs up, so he fired a round. Nothing happened. He threw the shotgun at the men, and while they ducked, he got out his borrowed Glock and got two rounds off in their direction, causing them to hit the floor. By then he was at the front door, and he ran out into the street. A cab was parked out front, and the driver was helping an elderly gentleman out the rear door. The front door was open, the engine was running, and Ryan tossed his duffel in and dived into the front seat.

The cab’s momentum closed both doors, and the driver and his passenger were left standing in the gutter. Ryan, breathing hard, pulled off his mask and drove quickly, but not too quickly, down the street. He took a left and stayed in the flow of traffic. I-95 was ahead, and he got in the lane for the southbound exit.

He drove, staying with the traffic, two exits down, then got to U.S. 1 and started north. Two blocks from his motel, he pulled into an alley, got out of the jumpsuit, stuck the Glock in his belt, grabbed the duffel, and started walking, keeping his pace to a quick stroll. He made it to the motel and went into his room.

He sat down on the bed for a couple of minutes to get his breath, and he started to think. He wasn’t going to sit around waiting for the cops to come. He got his two suitcases out of the closet and started packing the neatly bundled bills into the larger one. That done, he crammed most of his clothes into the two bags and put the rest into a laundry bag from the closet.