Blaze

“Greedies get caught,” George agreed. “That’s what I taught you. But what’s the workman worthy of, Blaze-a- rino? What’d I teach you about that?”

“His hire,” Blaze said.

“That’s right,” George said, and hit his beer. “The workman’s worthy of his fucking hire.”

So here he was, driving back to the miserable shack where he and George had been living since drifting north from Boston, actually planning to go through with it. He thought he would be caught, but…two million dollars! You could go someplace and never be cold again. And if they caught you? The worst they could do would be put you in jail for life.

And if that happened, you’d still never be cold again.

When the stolen Ford was back in the shed, he remembered to brush the tracks away. That would make George happy.

He made himself a couple of hamburgers for his lunch.

“You really going through with it?” George asked from the other room.

“You lyin down, George?”

“No, standin on my head and jerkin off. I asked you a question.”

“I’m gonna try. Will you help me?”

George sighed. “I guess I’ll have to. I’m stuck with you now. But Blaze?”

“What, George?”

“Only ask for a million. Greedies get caught.”

“Okay, only a million. You want a hamburger?”

No answer. George was dead again.

Chapter 3

HE WAS GETTING ready to do the kidnapping that night, the sooner the better. George stopped him.

“What are you up to, dinkleballs?”

Blaze had been getting ready to go start the Ford. Now he stopped. “Gettin ready to do it, George.”

“Do what?”

“Snatch the kid.”

George laughed.

“What you laughin at, George?” As if I don’t know, he thought.

“You.”

“Why?”

“How are you gonna snatch him? Tell me that.”

Blaze frowned. It turned his face, already ugly, into the face of a troll. “The way we planned it, I guess. Out’n his room.”

“Which room?”

“Well —”

“How are you gonna get in?”

He remembered that part. “One of the upstairs windows. They got those simple catches on em. You saw that, George. When we was bein the lectric company. Remember?”

“Got a ladder?”

“Well —”

“When you get the kid, where you gonna put him?”

“In the car, George.”

“Oh my fuckin word.” George only said this when he had bottomed out and was at a loss for all other expression.

“George —”

“I know you’re gonna put him in the fuckin car, I never thought you were gonna carry him home pigga-back. I meant when you get him back here. What are you gonna do then? Where you gonna put him?”

Blaze thought about the shack. He looked around. “Well —”

“What about didies? What about bottles? And baby food! Or did you think he was gonna have a hamburger and a bottle of beer for his fuckin dinner?”

“Well —”