The Big Bounce

“Hey, was that you?”

“What?”

“Somebody laughing.”

“What do you mean?” Ryan said.

“I mean, somebody laughing. What do you think I mean?”

“Maybe somebody on the beach.”

“Christ, it was like right outside the window.”

“I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”

Mr. Majestyk was staring at him. “You come around from that side, you didn’t hear anything?”

“I was taking a walk.”

“You can’t hear when you’re walking?”

“I didn’t hear anything. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“You didn’t see a girl? It sounded like a broad laughing.”

“I didn’t see any girl or anybody.”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Majestyk said. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe I should get my goddamn ears checked.” That seemed to end it. Mr. Majestyk paused, about to turn and go back inside. He looked at Ryan again. “Hey, you want to see a good movie?”

“I saw it,” Ryan said.

As he heard himself and saw Mr. Majestyk frown he wanted to keep talking, but there wasn’t anything to say and a little silence hung there between them.

“How do you know you saw it?”

“I was walking by, I heard the TV. I remembered, you know, it sounded familiar. What they were saying. It’s a Western, isn’t it? Randolph Scott?”

“You hear a TV inside somebody’s house,” Mr. Majestyk said, “but you don’t hear somebody laughing outside, right where you’re at?”

“I didn’t hear anybody. You want me to write it down and sign it, for Christ sake?”

“Take it easy.”

“Your ass, take it easy. You believe me or not?”

“Forget it.”

“I don’t forget it, you’re calling me a liar and I don’t like it.”

“Hey, come on-I haven’t called you anything.”

Ryan stood facing him. “You believe me or not?”

“Okay, I believe you,” Mr. Majestyk said. “You want me to write it down and sign it?”

“Forget it,” Ryan said. He walked past Mr. Majestyk, out of the light into darkness.

If Jackie didn’t follow her the beach way, Nancy decided, he would come over in the car, race over to arrive before she did, and be waiting with some nifty remark like, “Where you been?” From then on all his moves would be toward the bedroom. Naturally. If a girl asked you to steal $50,000 with her, she wasn’t going to say no to falling into bed, for God sake. Ryan would think that way and there was no reason he shouldn’t. Nancy looked at it as part of the plot, the romantic portion of The Great Cucumber Payroll Robbery. Or, Nancy and Jack at the Seashore. Though it was really a lake. Or, Two Mixed-Up Kids Trying to Make Out. They would make out. Nancy was reasonably sure of that. But if anything did happen, Ryan would be left with the bag and she would deny, if she had to, ever having seen him before. That part, if it ever happened, would be called Tough Bananas, Charlie. Or, Some You Win and Some You Lose.

It would be too bad if it happened, because she liked Jack Ryan. She liked his looks. She liked his face and his eyes and the smooth, tan leanness of him. She liked the way he stood with his hands on his hips, a little phony but not too phony. She liked the quiet way he talked and some of the dry things he said. It was too bad Jack wasn’t Ray. If Jack Ryan were Ray Ritchie, the whole view of her situation would be different. It didn’t mean she would stay with Ryan forever, she would have to think about the future; but at least the present would be more fun. It really was too bad Jack wasn’t Ray. It was too bad all the Ryans and the Ritchies in the world couldn’t trade places.

When she got home, she would turn on one lamp and the record player and watch Jackie lead up to it. He would probably be very quiet and move slowly but not waste much time, either. Maybe they should go for a swim first, with nothing on: the ultimate test of how poised he really was.

Nancy climbed the stairs to the front lawn. The pool did look sexy with the underwater lights turning the water green. If she knew for sure he was here watching, she could give him a little preview before the main feature. There were no lights on in the living room. Of course not, he’d be sitting on the couch in the dark, with a good view of the front lawn and the pool, going over his nifty remark and the way he’d say it. He could be watching her right now.

He was watching her; she could feel it.

Nancy walked to the edge of the pool. She took off her sneakers and dipped one foot into the water. She peeled off the tan sweater and shook her hair. She unbuttoned her blouse and felt the water again with her toes, taking her time. He would be on the edge of the couch now. As she took the blouse off he would see she wasn’t wearing a bra and that would bring him out of his seat. Okay, Jackie, Nancy thought, get ready. She unbuttoned her shorts and peeled to bare hips. Give him a little, Nancy thought. She turned slowly toward the house with her hands on her hips. She turned back, just as slowly, and dove in.

She swam across the pool underwater, came up, went down again, and pushed off against the side. In the middle of the pool she came to the surface and swam to the deep end with slow, easy strokes. To the shallow end and back would give him time to come down to the pool. She made her turn and stroked leisurely toward the diving board and now saw the figure coming out from the house, out of the deep shadow of the patio. She dove underwater, giving him time to reach the edge, and came up breaking the water smoothly, seeing the beer case he was carrying at his side, wondering why he had brought out a whole case of beer and realizing in the same moment that it wasn’t Jack Ryan, that it was a man she had never seen before, a dark figure standing now at the edge of darkness, the lights of the swimming pool reflecting on his sunglasses.

“Hey, come out of there.” Frank Pizarro grinned. “I got something for you.”

Nancy stared up at him, one hand on the pool edge. “Get out,” she said.

“Listen, don’t yell or scream or nothing, okay?”

“Mr. Ritchie has private police who come by here and I think it’s just about time-”

“They come see you swimming like that, uh? Goddamn,” Pizarro said. “I don’t blame them.”

“Tell me what you want,” Nancy said. “And then leave.”

“I got something to sell you.”

“You’re trespassing,” Nancy said. “You’re wasting your time and mine and if you’re still here when the police come, you’re going to have a very hard time explaining it. They’ll arrest you and put you in jail without asking questions. Just your being here will be enough to convict you.”

Pizarro waited patiently. “It’s wallets,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s wallets. I got some wallets I sell you for five hunnert dollar.”

Nancy hesitated. He could be high on something or he could be psycho. She said quietly, “I don’t need a wallet, so will you go, please?”

Pizarro shrugged. “It’s okay. You don’t want these wallets, then I got to take them to the goddamn police.” He set the beer case close to the edge and kneeled on it, hunching down closer to her. “These wallets come from a place that was robbed. You understand?”

She had decided there was no sense in trying to understand him; but she wasn’t sure what to say to threaten him, to make him leave. She said, “Yes, you should take them to the police. They’ll appreciate your help.”

“Sure,” Pizarro said, “I can tell them who stole the wallets. Or I can leave the case somewhere the police will find it. With the name of the person written down inside.” Pizarro watched her. “You know what I mean?”

“I know the private police should be here any minute-”

“Hey,” Pizarro said. “No more bullshit about the private police, all right? I been here three hours waiting and this private police you got never come by.” Pizarro grinned, trying to see her clearly through the distortion of the water. “Come out of there, okay,” he said. “So I can tell you something.”