Cop Out (2 page)

“The shots. You killed him.”

“So I killed him.”

“Stupid.”

Furia turned half around and his left hand swished across her face.

“I don't dig a broad with lip neither,” Hinch said approvingly. He drove across the lot on the bias, without lights. When he got to the turnout he braked. “Where to, Fure?”

“Over the bridge to the cloverleaf.”

Hinch swung left and switched on the riding lights. There was no traffic on the outlying road. He drove at a humble thirty.

“You asked for it,” Furia said.

There was a trickle of blood at the corner of Goldie's pug nose. She was dabbing at it with a Kleenex.

“The thing is I don't take names from nobody,” Furia said. “You got to watch the mouth with me, Goldie. You ought to know that by this time.”

Hinch nodded happily.

“What did you have to shoot him for?” Goldie said. In his own way Furia had apologized, they both understood that if Hinch did not. “I didn't set this up for a killing, Fure. Why go for the big one?”

“Who's to know?” Furia argued. “Howland sure as hell didn't sound about our deal. Hinch and me wore gloves and I'll ditch the heater soon as we grab off another one. So they'll never hook those three slugs onto us, Goldie. I even picked up the cases. You got nothing to worry about.”

“It's still the big one.”

“You button your trap, bitch,” Hinch said.

“You button yours,” Furia said in a flash. “This is between me and Goldie. And don't call her no more names, Hinch, hear?”

Hinch drove.

“Why I plugged him,” Furia said. “And you had a year college, Goldie.” He sounded like a kindly teacher. “A three-way split better than four, I make it, and I never even graduated public school. That shlep just bought us an extra six grand.”

Goldie said fretfully, “You sure he's dead?”

Furia laughed. They were rattling over the bridge spanning the Tonekeneke River that led out of town; beyond lay the cloverleaf interchange and the through road Goldie called The Pike, with its string of dark gas stations. The only light came from an allnight diner with a big neon sign at the other side of the cloverleaf. The neon sign said
ELWOOD'S DINER
. It smeared the aluminum siding a dimestore violet.

“Stop in there, Hinch, I'm hungry.”

“Fure,” Goldie said. “My folks still live here. Suppose somebody spots me?”

“How many years you cut out of this jerk burg? Six?”

“Seven. But—”

“And you used to have like dark brown hair, right? And go around like one of them Girl Scouts? Relax, Goldie. Nobody's going to make you. I'm starved.”

Goldie licked the scarlet lip under the smudge on her nostril. Furia was always starved after a job. At such times it was as if he had been weaned hungry and had never made up for it. Even Hinch looked doubtful.

“I told you, Hinch, didn't I? Pull in.”

Hinch skirted the concrete island and drove off the cloverleaf. Neither he nor Goldie said anything more. Goldie's face screwed smaller. She had a funny feeling about the caper. Fure was flying. It never works out the way I plan it. He always queers it some way, he's a natural-born loser.

Hinch swung the Chrysler into a slot. A dozen others were occupied by cars and trucks. He turned off the ignition and started to get out.

“Hold it.” Furia turned to examine Goldie in the violet haze. “You got blood on your nose. Wipe it off.”

“I thought I wiped it off.”

He ripped a tissue from the box over the dash, spat on it, and handed it to her. “The left side.”

She examined her nose in her compact mirror, scrubbed the smudge off, used the puff.

“Do I look all right for Local Yokel?”

Furia laughed again. That's twice in three minutes. He's real turned on. He'll try to be a man-mountain in bed tonight.

“We don't sit together,” Furia said to Hinch. “You park at the counter. Goldie and me we'll find a booth or somewhere.”

“That's using your tank, Fure.”

“Goldie don't think so. Do you, Goldie?”

He was sounding amused. Goldie risked it. “Does it matter what I think?”

“Not a goddam bit,” Furia said cheerfully. He got out with the black bag and made for the diner steps without looking back.

That's what I love about you, you're such a little gentleman.

The diner was busy, not crowded. Furia went in first and snagged a booth from four teenagers who had been nursing cheeseburgers and malts. Goldie managed to join him at the cost of a few stares. She saw no one she recognized. She slipped behind the partition and hid her miniskirt under the fake marble top. I told Fure I ought to wear slacks tonight but no he's got to show off my legs like we're on the town, these studs will remember me.

She was angrier with Furia than when he had struck her.

Hinch slouched in a minute later and settled his bulk on a stool a few feet away. He became immediately enchanted with one of the girls behind the counter, who had just come out of the kitchen. The girl had sprayshine black hair done up in exaggerated bouffant and a rear end that jerked from side to side as she moved.

“You'd better watch the pig,” Goldie said. “He's already got his piggy eyes on a girl.”

“Don't worry about Hinch,” Furia said. “What'll it be, doll? Steak and fries? Live it up.”

“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 Briggs, Marie Briggs. 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 had 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.”

Furia immediately said, “So?”

“The watchman can't finger you, you hit him in the dark. Nobody saw us at the plant except Howland, and he's dead.”

“That's why I hit him. That and the extra cut. But you got to make out like I'm a dumdum.”

“If we'd worked it the way I said,” Goldie said, “he'd have cut his throat before he fingered us. But I'm not going to argue with you, Fure. The big thing went sour was the manager driving past the plant. So now we're hung up here. For a while they're going to stop every car trying to leave New Bradford.”