Tyler said, “Keep your hands up where I can see em.
The kid, posed against the door, turned his palms up. Too cool. Maybe high.
Tyler said, “Step away from the car.”
The kid said, “You police? What’d I do?”
“I said step away from the car.”
Nicolet saw the kid glance this way and then back to Tyler, saying, “You want to look at my driver’s license? Lemme get it for you,” and ducked his head into the Firebird.
Nicolet was moving. Heard Tyler yelling again to get away from the car. Saw the kid’s head and shoulders come up and saw bright metal flash in the sunlight, the kid firing what looked like a Magnum at Tyler, firing again, coming around now to put the gun on the car roof, and Nicolet brought up the Sig and squeezed off three at him fast. Saw the kid duck down maybe hit, maybe not. Nicolet moved. Got to the off side of the Firebird crouched, looking straight at that fucking smoked glass you could-n’t see through, and blew it out firing three quick ones and three more, catching a glimpse of the kid through the shattered window and heard him scream. Nicolet went over the hood, rolled over it, and hit the door as the kid was getting to his knees and he screamed again, wedged against the front seat, his shiny .44 Mag on the ground. Nicolet kicked it under the car and put the barrel of the Sig Sauer against the kid’s head, the kid’s eyes dazed looking up at him, the kid saying, “Man, I’m shot.”
Nicolet turned his head to look toward the Chevy. He saw two bullet holes in the door and Tyler lying on the ground on his side, holding himself.
12
Max had that effortless feeling of a natural high. He couldn’t wait to see her. But the moment Jackie opened the door, looked at him and said, “Oh,” he felt his high begin to nose over.
All right, she was surprised, no question about it. He said, “You’re expecting someone.”
She said, “No . . .” not sounding too sure. She said, “Well, yes and no, but come on in.”
At this point there was still hope. She looked great.
“It’s okay?”
“Yeah, really.”
But then closing the door she said, “You want your gun, don’t you?” and the good feeling sunk all the way to hit bottom as she went to the bedroom in her loose T-shirt and tight jeans saying, “Let me get it.”
Like going to get change for the paper boy.
No apology or acting sheepish about it, wanting to explain. No—you want your gun? And goes to get it. He had come here prepared to treat it lightly. “You get a chance to use that gun you stole on anybody?” Like that, with a straight face. Well, no fun and games now. It pissed him off, this act she put on, so fucking casual about it. Ask her how she’d like to go back to the Stockade, since Ordell hadn’t paid the bond premium. See how casual she was then.
Jackie came out of the bedroom with his gun in her hand and kind of a sad smile, saying, “Max, I’m sorry,” and he felt his mood begin to swing up again, hope stirring in him. “I was afraid if I asked to borrow it you’d say no, and you’d have every right to. Would you like some coffee?”
Just like that, back in the game.
He said, “I wouldn’t mind,” following Jackie to the kitchen. “You get to use it?”
She gave him the smile again. “I felt a lot safer having it. I hope you don’t take milk. It turned sour while I was in jail.”
“No, black’s fine.”
He watched her lay the Airweight on the kitchen table, bare except for an ashtray, and go to the range. She looked even slimmer in the jeans than she did last night. Not slim exactly, just right.
“You want to hang on to it for a while? It wouldn’t be legal but, you know, if it makes you feel better to have it . . .”
She said, “Thanks,” pouring their coffee, “but I have my own now.” She came over to the table with two ceramic cups, plain white. “Do you take sugar?”
Max said, “No, thanks. You went out this morning and bought a gun?” It was possible if she drove up to Martin County; here, there was a three-day wait to buy a handgun, a cooling-off period.
“Let’s just say I have one,” Jackie said, “okay? I don’t want you to be concerned about it.”
“Somebody loaned it to you.”
“Right,” Jackie said, leaving the kitchen.
Max pulled a chair out from the table and sat down, wondering what kind of gun it was and if she knew how to use it. He thought of asking as Jackie came back in with cigarettes and the tan lighter and sat down across from him.
She said, “I couldn’t wait last night to get in the shower and wash my hair.”
And he forgot about the gun.
“It looks nice.”
“I called in sick. As far as the airline knows, I’m still available.”
“Are you?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m going to see Tyler, and I suppose Nicolet, later on today and ask them.” She paused to light a cigarette. “Do what you suggested. Offer to help and see what happens.”
“What I meant,” Max said, “was have a lawyer do the negotiating for you. If you can’t afford one there’s a good friend of mine, semiretired, I think would do it as a favor. He does-n’t need the fee as much as you need a lawyer.”
She was staring at him over her coffee mug and it reminded him of last night.
She said, “Maybe not. Let me talk to them first, about Ordell’s money.”
“That’ll interest them, but only up to a point.”
“All of it in Freeport. I mean a lot. Like a half million in safe-deposit boxes and more coming in.”
“How’d you find that out?”
“He told me last night.”
“Ordell called you?”
“He was here when I got home.”
Max said, “Jesus Christ,” and lowered his coffee mug to the table. “He broke in?”
“He picked the lock.”
“You call the police?”
“We talked,” Jackie said. “He had some doubts at first. But he’s always trusted me and wants more than anything to believe he still can. You know why? Because he needs me. Because without me all that money is going to sit in Freeport. There may be other ways to get it out, but I’m the only one he’s ever used, and all the other people he deals with are crooks. Put your
self in his place.”
Max stared at her. “How do you get it out?”
“The same way I’ve been doing it. But first they have to let me go back to work.”
“You’re offering to set him up.”
“If they let me off. Otherwise no deal.”
“You understand the risk involved?”
“I’m not going to prison or do that probation thing again.”
He watched her studying her cigarette, carefully turning the tip of it in the ashtray. “Well, you said you might have more options than you thought.”
Jackie was concentrating on the cigarette, bringing the ash to a point. She said, “You know how many miles I’ve flown?” and looked up at him.
Max shook his head. “How many?”
“About seven million, jetway to jetway. I’ve been waiting on people for almost twenty years. You know what I make now, starting over? Sixteen thousand, with retirement benefits you can stick in your ear. How do you feel about getting old?”
“You’re not old—you look great.”
“I’m asking how
“It’s not something I think about. I look in the mirror, I’m the same person I was thirty years ago. I see a
