Blue gave the doorbell a five-second ring and waited. Ten seconds later, the heavy front door flew open and Colleen Cullen appeared, aiming her sawed-off double-barrelled shotgun at them. Durant automatically noted it was fully cocked and that she had fingers on both triggers.
“Whatever you want, Slim, the answer’s no. N-O. No.”
“We want the whole place for tonight,” Georgia Blue said.
“Full up. Booked solid. No room.”
“Tell her about the money,” Durant said to Georgia Blue.
“Well, shit, he can talk,” Cullen said. “Just opens his mouth and out it comes. Who’s Mr. Tan Man, Slim?”
“My partner.”
“What happened to Maw-reese?”
“All three of us are partners.”
“Tell her about the money,” Durant said.
“What you got in the bag, Mr. Tan Man?” Colleen Cullen said.
“Money,” said Durant.
“Open it up and let’s see,” Cullen said.
“Not out here.”
“I got a double-barrelled sawed-off that says open it up.”
“Ms. Blue’s hand is in her purse,” Durant said. “In that hand is a thirty-eight I understand you sold her. It’s aimed at your right eye. If you even think you’re going to pull a trigger, you’re dead.”
Colleen Cullen and Durant stared at each other. Nobody moved or spoke or blinked until Georgia Blue said, “Let’s go inside, Colleen, and have a drink and talk about money.”
Still staring at Durant, Cullen said, “How much we going to talk about?”
“Enough,” Blue said. “But inside.”
“Okay,” Cullen said and took two quick steps back, the shotgun still levelled at Durant. “But Mr. Tan Man goes first. Then you, Slim.”
As she followed Durant through the door, Georgia Blue said, “To your right.”
When they reached the closed sliding doors, Blue said, “Open them.”
Durant slid the two doors back into their walled recesses, went into the large living room, looked around quickly, then turned to Colleen Cullen and said, “Hughes and Pauline Goodison were shot dead yesterday in a motel bathroom in Oxnard.”
Cullen reacted with a clearly visible start. But the shotgun didn’t waver. “That calls for a drink,” she said. “Big round table back there’s where the whiskey is. You pour, Mr. Tan Man. Three bourbons. Water.
No ice.”
Durant turned, went to the big round table, poured generous shots of Virginia Gentleman from the now half-empty bottle into three glasses, then added water from a glass pitcher. He did it all with his right hand, keeping a tight grip on the blue carryall with his left.
Once the drinks were poured he turned to look at Colleen Cullen, who was aiming the shotgun at Georgia Blue. “I’m going to open the bag and put something on the table,” Durant said to Cullen. “If you don’t like it, shoot her.”
Without waiting for agreement, Durant zipped open the blue carryall, took out $10,000 worth of bound hundred-dollar bills and placed it on the table. He then picked up his drink and had a long swallow.
Cullen used the shotgun to herd Georgia Blue toward the table.
When they reached it, Cullen picked up the bound packet of currency, flicked through it with one hand, her eyes shooting from the money to Durant to Blue and back to the money. It was an indifferent, even contemptuous gesture. Cullen then picked up one of the drinks Durant had mixed and tasted it while studying her guests over the rim of the glass.
She put the glass down, resumed her two-handed grip on the shotgun, backed away two steps and asked, “If I pull these two triggers, how much richer am I?”
“Three hundred thousand dollars richer during the second before we kill you,” Georgia Blue said.
“What if I did you first, Slim?”
“Mr. Durant would shoot you in the left eye.”
“You shoot folks in the right eye. He shoots ‘em in the left. Those the rules or something?”
“Pick up the money and count it,” Durant said.
“Shit, I don’t need to count it. I know what’s there. Ten thousand dollars. You think I don’t know how high a ten-thousand-dollar stack in hundreds is?”
“Here’s the deal,” Durant said. “We’ll pay you seventy-five hundred for the exclusive use of your house from seven to twelve tonight.”
Cullen frowned. “What’s the other twenty-five hundred for?”
