Danny Pogue resisted the urge to enter the negotiation; expectantly he looked at his partner. Bud Schwartz smoothed his hair, pursed his mouth. He wanted to hear what kind of bullshit offer Kingsbury would make on his own.
“I’m trying to think what’s fair.”
“Give me a fucking number,” said Kingsbury, “and I’ll goddamn tell you if it’s fair.”
What the hell, thought Bud Schwartz. “Fifty grand,” he said calmly. “And we toss in Ramex and the rest for free.”
Excitedly Danny Pogue began excavating a new pimple.
Kingsbury eyed the men suspiciously. “Fifty, you said? As in five-oh?”
“Right.” Bud Schwartz gave half a grin. “That’s fifty to give back the Gotti file…”
“And?”
“Two hundred more to forget what was in it.”
Kingsbury chuckled bitterly. “So I was wrong,” he said. “You’re not such a putz.”
Danny Pogue was so overjoyed that he could barely control himself on the ride back to Molly’s condominium. “We’re gonna be rich,” he said, pounding both hands on the upholstery. “You’re a genius, man, that’s what you are.”
“It went good,” Bud Schwartz agreed. Better than he had ever imagined. As he drove, he did the arithmetic in his head. Five thousand for the American Express file, fifty for the Gotti stuff, another two hundred in hush money…rich was the word for it. “Early retirement,” he said to Danny Pogue. “No more damn b-and-e’s.”
“You don’t think he’ll call the cops?”
“That’s the last place he’d call. Guy’s a scammer, Danny.”
They stopped at a U-Tote-Em and bought two six-packs of Coors and a box of jelly doughnuts. In the parking lot they rolled down the windows and turned up the radio and stuffed themselves in jubilation. It was an hour until curfew; if they weren’t back by midnight, Molly had said, she would call the FBI and say her memory had returned.
“I bet she’ll cut us some slack,” said Danny Pogue, “if we’re a little late.”
“Maybe.” Bud Schwartz opened the door and rolled an empty beer can under the car. He said, “I’m sure getting’ tired of being her pet burglar.”
“Well, then, let’s go to a tittie bar and celebrate.” Danny Pogue said he knew of a place where the girls danced naked on the tables, and let you grab their ankles for five bucks.
Bud Schwartz said not tonight. There would be no celebration until they broke free from the old lady. Tonight he would make a pitch for the rest of the ten grand that she’d promised. Surely they were square by now; Molly had been so thrilled by the contents of the Ramex file that she’d given him a hug. Then she’d gone out and had eight copies made. What more could she want of them?
Back on the road, Bud Schwartz said: “Remember, don’t say a damn thing about what we done tonight.”
“You told me a hundred times.”
“Well, it’ll screw up everything. I mean it, don’t tell her where we been.”
“No reason,” said Danny Pogue. “It’s got nothin’ to do with the butterflies, right?”
“No, it sure does not.”
Danny Pogue said he was hungry again, so they stopped to pick up some chicken nuggets. Again they ate in the parking lot, listening to a country station. Bud Schwartz had never before driven an automobile with a working clock, so he was surprised to glance at the dashboard of the Cutlass and find that it was half past twelve, and counting.
“Better roll,” Danny Pogue said, “just in case.”
“I got a better idea—gimme a quarter.” Bud Schwartz got out and walked to a pay telephone under a streetlight. He dialed the number of Molly McNamara’s condominium and let it ring five minutes. He hung up, retrieved the quarter and dialed again. This time he let it ring twice as long.
In the car, speeding down U.S. 1, Danny Pogue said, “I can’t believe she’d do it—maybe she went someplace else. Maybe she left us a note.”
Bud Schwartz gripped the wheel with both hands; the bullet wound was numb because he had forgotten about it. Escape was on his mind—what if the old bitch had run to the feds? Worse, what if she’d found the Gotti file? What if she’d gone snooping through the bedroom and found it hidden between the mattress and the box spring, which in retrospect was probably not the cleverest place of concealment.