Hinch skirted the concrete island and drove off the cloverleaf. Neither he nor Goldie said anything more. Goldie’s face screwed smaller. She had a funny feeling about the caper. Fure was flying. It never works out the way I plan it. He always queers it some way, he’s a natural-born loser.
Hinch swung the Chrysler into a slot. A dozen others were occupied by cars and trucks. He turned off the ignition and started to get out.
“Hold it.” Furia turned to examine Goldie in the violet haze. “You got blood on your nose. Wipe it off.”
“I thought I wiped it off.”
He ripped a tissue from the box over the dash, spat on it, and handed it to her. “The left side.”
She examined her nose in her compact mirror, scrubbed the smudge off, used the puff.
“Do I look all right for Local Yokel?”
Furia laughed again. That’s twice in three minutes. He’s real turned on. He’ll try to be a man-mountain in bed tonight.
“We don’t sit together,” Furia said to Hinch. “You park at the counter. Goldie and me we’ll find a booth or somewheres.”
“That’s using your tank, Fure.”
“Goldie don’t think so. Do you, Goldie?”
He was sounding amused. Goldie risked it. “Does it matter what I think?”
“Not a goddam bit,” Furia said cheerfully. He got out with the black bag and made for the diner steps without looking back.
That’s what I love about you, you’re such a little gentleman.
The diner was busy, not crowded. Furia went in first and snagged a booth from four teenagers who had been nursing cheeseburgers and malts. Goldie managed to join him at the cost of a few stares. She saw no one she recognized. She slipped behind the partition and hid her miniskirt under the fake marble top. I told Fure I ought to wear slacks tonight but no he’s got to show off my legs like we’re on the town, these studs will remember me.
She was angrier with Furia than when he had struck her.
Hinch slouched in a minute later and settled his bulk on a stool a few feet away. He became immediately enchanted with one of the girls behind the counter, who had just come out of the kitchen. The girl had sprayshine black hair done up in exaggerated bouffant and a rear end that jerked from side to side as she moved.
“You’d better watch the pig,” Goldie said. “He’s already got his piggy eyes on a girl.”
“Don’t worry about Hinch,” Furia said. “What’ll it be, doll? Steak and fries? Live it up.”
“I’m not hungry. Just coffee.”
Furia shrugged. He had stripped off his gloves and he began to drum on the table with his neat little nails. His Mediterranean eyes were glazed. In the glare of the fluorescents his skin had a greenish shine.
The diner was jumping with soul music, orders, dishes, talk. There was a lively smell of frying onions and meat. Furia drank it in. The overcast in his eyes was from pride at his achievement and regret that these squares could not know his power. Goldie had seen it before, a recklessness that would later rush to relieve itself. She had her own needs, which involved perpetual thought. His violence kept her squirming.
“Hey, you,” Furia said. The girl with the versatile rump was delivering a trayful of grinders to the next booth. “We ain’t got all year.”
Goldie shut her eyes. When she opened them the girl was clearing the dirty dishes from their table. She was leaning far over, her left breast over Furia’s hands.
“I’ll be right back, folks.” She flicked a rag over the table and seesawed away.
“That chick is stacked what I mean,” Furia said. “As good as you, Goldie.”
“I think she recognized me,” Goldie said.
“You think. You’re always thinking.”
“I’m not sure. She could have. She was starting high school when I left New Bradford. Her name is Griggs, Marie Griggs. Let’s split, Fure.”
“You make me throw up. And she did? It’s a free country, ain’t it? Two people having a bite?”
“Why take chances?”
“Who’s taking chances?”
“You are. With that bag between your legs. And packing the gun.”
“We’ll take off when I’ve ate my steak.” His lips were thinning down. “Now knock it off, she’s coming back. Steak medium-well, side order fries, two black. And don’t take all night.”
The waitress wrote it down. “You’re not having anything but coffee, Miss?”
“I just told you, didn’t I?” Furia said with a stare.
She left fast. His stare warmed as he watched her behind. “No wonder Hinch got his tongue hanging out. I could go for a piece of that myself.”
Flying all right.
“Fure-”
“She don’t know you from her old lady’s mustache.” His tone said that the subject was closed. Goldie shut her eyes again.
When his steak came it was too rare. Another time he would have turned nasty and fired it back. As it was he ate it, grousing. Steaks were a problem with him. Cooks always thought the waitress had heard wrong. He hated bloody meat. I ain’t no goddam dog, he would say.
He hacked off massive chunks, including the fat, and bolted them. The fork never left his fist. Goldie sipped carefully. Her skin was one big itch. Psycho-something, a doctor had told her. He had sounded like some shrink and she had never gone back. It had been worse recently.
Hinch was working away on the girl behind the counter, she was beginning to look sore.
One of these days I’m going to ditch these creeps.
At eleven o’clock, as Furia was stabbing his last slice of potato, the shortorder man turned on the radio. Goldie, on her feet, sat down again.
“Now what?”
“That’s the station at Tonekeneke Falls, WRUD, with the late news.”
“So?”
“Fure, I have this feeling.”
“You and your feels,” Furia said. “You’re goosier than an old broad tonight. Let’s hit it.”
“Will it hurt to listen a minute?”
He sat back comfortably and began to pick his teeth with the edge of a matchpacket cover. “First you can’t wait to blow the dump-”
He stopped. The announcer was saying: “-this bulletin. Thomas F. Howland, bookkeeper of the Aztec Paper Products company branch in New Bradford, was found in his office a few minutes ago shot to death. Mr. Howland was alone at the plant, preparing the payroll for tomorrow, when he was apparently surprised by robbers, who killed him and escaped with over twenty-four thousand dollars in cash, according to Curtis Pickney, the general manager, who found the slain bookkeeper’s body. Mr. Pickney was driving by on his way home from a late Zoning Board meeting, saw lights in the plant, and investigated. He notified the New Bradford police and Chief John Secco has taken charge of the case. The Resident State Trooper in New Bradford is also on the scene. A search is being organized for Edward Taylor, the night security guard, who has disappeared. Police fear that Taylor may also have been the victim of foul play. We will bring you further bulletins as they come in. In Washington today the President announced… “
“No,” Furia said. “Stay put.” He nodded at Hinch, who had turned their way. Hinch was blinking his pink eyes. At Furia’s signal he tossed a bill on the counter and ran out with two truckdrivers who had jumped up and left their hamburgers uneaten.
“I told you, Fure!”
“Say, Miss America, how’s about two more coffees?”
The waitress took their empty cups. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “That nice old guy.”
“Who?”
