Swag (15 page)

If he had had a little more time to make up his mind, maybe he would have said it wasn't worth it, shit no, and handed over the gun and taken his groceries and gone home. Maybe he looked like he was wavering, scared. Or he looked so easy the skinny guy couldn't resist going for him.

That's what the guy did, rushed him, pulling his knife hand back to throw it into him.

Stick shot him, not more than a yard away, and heard his scream with the heavy report of the gun.

The other black guy was caught by surprise, not ready until it was already happening, hurrying to get the revolver on the man, firing once, too soon.

Stick shot him twice, he was pretty sure in the chest. The guy fired again, wildly, a reflex action, and made a gasping sound, like the wind was knocked out of him, as he fell to the pavement.

The skinny black guy was running, holding the grocery bag against his sweatshirt. Stick heard himself yell at the guy to stop, to hold it right there, seeing the guy running and knowing he was going to keep running, and he fired almost as he yelled it, one shot from the .38 that caught him in the middle of the back. The skinny guy bounced off a car and hit the pavement facedown.

Stick didn't roll him over or feel for a pulse. He pulled the torn bag out from under him, in a hurry to get it, knowing he was leaving some bills but not caring about them, not wanting to touch the guy. He remembered that. He remembered the sound of someone running on pavement, coming this way, a dark figure against the restaurant sign, the way the skinny black guy had appeared when he first saw him. That seemed like a long time ago. Some other night. But he had talked to the guy less than a minute ago and now the guy was dead. The black guy with the gun lay on his back with his eyes open, staring at nothing. Maybe he could've talked to them a little more. Said, Look, you know how it is. I went to a lot of trouble for this, man. You want some, go get your own. Talk it over with them, couple of guys in the same business. No, a different type of business, but they'd understand things he did. He felt like he knew them. Couple of guys, shoot some baskets, play a little one-on-one, have a few beers after. The sound of the running steps was close, almost on top of him. He could hear someone breathing, out of breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Frank said. He looked at the two black guys on the pavement and at Stick holding the .38 tightly against the grocery bag, and said it again, “Jesus Christ.”

15

IT WAS IN THE NEWS
the next afternoon. Frank went out for beer and brought back a paper. He read the story through, twice, and had a beer open for Stick when he came out of the shower and sat down in his striped shorts.

Stick lit a cigarette first and drank some of the beer. He was anxious, but at the same time he wasn't sure he wanted to read it. Maybe it would be better not to know anything about the two guys.

“Nobody saw us?”

Frank shook his head. “Uh-unh. I figure we were in the cab before anybody found them.”

“It say who they were?”

“Read it.”

Stick looked down at the paper.

“Man, you did a job,” Frank said.

There was a quiet tone of respect in his voice Stick had never heard before.

The one-column story referred to it as “The Northland Slaying” and related how Andrew Seed and Walter Wheeler, both residents of Detroit, had been found shot to death in the parking lot of the shopping plaza, victims of an unknown assailant. Police were proceeding with an investigation, though there were no witnesses to the shooting or apparent motive other than attempted robbery. Both victims were known to the police.

Seed had been arrested several times on charges of robbery, felonious assault, and rape, and had served time in both the Detroit House of Correction and the Southern Michigan Prison at Jackson. Wheeler had a record of narcotics arrests and a conviction in addition to a list of assault and robbery charges. Both were also described as having been outstanding athletes while in high school, seven years before. Both had won All-City basketball recognition, first team, and All-State honorable mention.

“I knew it,” Stick said. “It was a funny feeling, the way they moved or something, I knew they'd played and I wondered, What're they doing out here trying to hustle somebody?”

“You played,” Frank said. “What were you doing, trying to steal a fucking car?”

“I wasn't that good, All-City. Those guys made All-City, All-State honorable mention.”

“You were good with the Smith,” Frank said. “Jesus, I couldn't believe it. Bam, bam—that's it, no fucking around. I wish I could've seen their faces. They're going to pull this easy hustle in a parking lot. Guy comes along with a bag of groceries, going home to Mom and the kids. Yeah? That's what you think, motherfuckers. Man, next thing they know, they're fucking dead. That time just before, that few seconds, that's what I'd like to have seen. You should've waited for me. I'd have helped you.”

“You could've done the whole thing,” Stick said. “Any time. Listen, I think about it, I don't even believe it happened. I see the guy running away, I can still see him—this light-colored sweatshirt on with the sleeves cut off—I yelled at him to stop and I shot him, I mean I killed him.”

“Because he wouldn't stop,” Frank said. He sounded a little surprised. “What were you supposed to do, let him get away? He's got our twenty-three hundred, forty-eight bucks. Guy's a fucking thief.”

“You don't kill somebody because he steals something.”

“Bull
shit
, you don't. What do the cops do? They shoot you, man. You don't stop, they shoot you.”

“I don't know,” Stick said. “This is different.”

“He was taking our money. You're supposed to let him take it? Sure, go ahead, any time. Bullshit, you're protecting our property.”

“Frank, we stole it.”

“Right, and that makes it ours. They weren't taking it from the store, going to all that work and getting their nerves stretched out, no, they think they're taking it from some meek, defenseless asshole who isn't going to do anything about it. Well, they made a mistake. And one's all you get.”

Stick drew on his cigarette. He could see the skinny black guy running with his shoulders hunched. He should have gotten in between some cars, but he ran instead, already with one bullet in his side. The guy had nerve. He was holding all that money and he was going to keep it. Stick wondered if the guy was married and had a family. He wondered if he'd be listed in the death notices and if there'd be a funeral and if many people would attend. The two guys must've had friends. They'd gone to school in Detroit. He imagined a lot of black people at a cemetery. He thought about his little girl for some reason and wondered what she was doing.

“Maybe we ought to rest awhile,” he said to Frank.

“What're we doing?” Frank said, “We're sitting down, we're resting. I was thinking we ought to have a party.”

“I mean knock it off for a while,” Stick said. “Make sure they don't have something on us.”

“The police? How could they?”

“They said there weren't any witnesses, but they wouldn't say if there were, would they? I mean maybe there's a way we can be traced.”

Frank shook his head. “No way. No car, no gun. We got the cab at least, what, a mile away from there. Nobody saw us or even knows it was two guys, right? And if there's no way they can even begin to trace us, we're clear.”

“We're clear,” Stick said, “but I still killed two guys.”

“You sure did,” Frank said. “Man. Listen, forget everything I said, we were talking in the bar, I said maybe you weren't ready for this thing I had in mind? I take it all back. You're ready.”

“In the bar—you mean just before?”

“I told you I'd been working something out?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Couple of days we'll know.”

Stick wasn't sure he was following. He hadn't slept very well. All night he kept waking up and hearing the .38 going off and seeing the two black guys, not dreaming it but thinking about it, especially seeing the one who'd tried to run.

“Couple of days we'll know what?”

“Whether or not we can set it up. It's going to take a little doing.”

“
We
,” Stick said. “You mean more than just you and me. You mentioned in the bar, you said, since I was in a nice, open frame of mind—”

“That was a little smart-ass of me,” Frank said. “I take it back. Forget it. But yes, there would be a few other people involved, because of the nature of the job. Couple of helpers, guys to watch more than anything else. And one on the inside. She's already there. In fact, it's because of her I got the idea. We've been talking it over.”

Stick was listening, paying close attention now. He knew Frank was serious.

He said, “You mean one of the broads lives here?”

“No, no, those broads, Christ,” Frank said. “This one's got it together and she likes the idea. You understand, she wouldn't be in on it, involved directly, so to speak, but she'd give us all the inside information we'd need.”

“If she doesn't live here—” Stick said. He stopped then. “You mean the colored broad? What's her name? Marlys?”

“That's right, you met her. I forgot,” Frank said. “Very smart and grown-up for her age.”

Stick could see her again, in the white bra and panties. Cute little black girl, yes, very grown-up.

“She said, I think she said she worked downtown, in an office.”

“She works at Hudson's,” Frank said. “Up on the fifteenth floor.”

Stick frowned. “That's a department store.”

“You bet it is,” Frank said. “The biggest one in town.”

“You're crazy,” Stick said, “Jesus,” and shook his head.

Frank waited.

“You're out of your fucking mind. Hudson's.”

“The J. L. Hudson Company,” Frank said. “You know how many cash registers they got in the store?”

“I don't want to know,” Stick said. “I don't give a shit if they got a thousand.”

“You're close,” Frank said.

16

AT ONE POINT IN THE
evening there were fifteen people in the apartment. Frank found most of them; others dropped in. They'd come and go.

The way it started, Frank went out for a couple of hours in the afternoon—Stick didn't ask where—and when he got back he brought four of the career ladies up from the pool, Karen, Jackie, Mary Kay, and Arlene, and started making them drinks. Stick got out the grapefruit juice for the Salty Dogs and Arlene came over to help him. Even Mary Kay said she'd have one. It was strange to see four girls sitting around the apartment in swimming suits. Frank said they dressed up the place. Stick thought it looked like a Nevada whorehouse, the way he imagined one would look. Frank had had a few—wherever he'd gone—and was already a little high. He told Stick to come on and quit moping around. Stick decided, Why not? He'd have some fun and quit thinking about the two colored guys.

Then Frank told him Marlys was going to try and stop by later, and winked, and Stick thought about the two guys again. He wondered if Marlys knew them.

A little later Stick asked Mary Kay, didn't she have to go to work? And was surprised when she told him she was going to call in and say she was in bed with the curse. It was amazing, one and a half Salty Dogs.

Still a little later Frank went down to the ice machine, ran into Barry Kleiman in his white belt and white loafers talking to Sonny the Model and one of the young married couples, the Kaplans, and got them to come up. Frank went in and put on his safari jacket and wore it with a chain he borrowed from Arlene, no shirt. Barry Kleiman said, Hey, cool.

They weren't sure when Donna, the dental hygienist, and her boyfriend came in; but they were there and after a while seemed like they'd always been there. Donna's boyfriend, Gordon, was working on his PhD in something that had to do with clinical psychology and he spent a lot of time with Karen.