physical before, and you break the guy’s jaw. You broke some teeth. He’ll be lucky if he isn’t disfigured. And he’s an actor, Max. How could you do that to an actor?”
“It was him or us, lad. Him or us. I prefer us.”
The elevator door opened and they strolled into the lobby. The entire staff seemed to be on cellphones or engaged with computer screens and didn’t even look at them.
Pookie was in the limo halfway up the block, reading a Harry Potter novel.
“Quick,” Max said. “Get us out of here.”
Pookie spoke up, still the cheery Indian. “You have been enjoying a pleasant evening, I trust, sir?”
“Just drive, will you?” Max said.
“You have been imbibing some alcoholic beverage, I am thinking. You are no longer transporting your bottle of champers and your mood is noticeably darker. Have you been forcing alcohol on the young fellow, too? He is looking ghostly pale, is he not?”
“Pookie, for God’s sake move it.”
In the back seat, Max and Owen removed their wigs and other makeup, Max scratching at bits of glue on his eyebrows. The smell of rubbing alcohol filled the car. Sirens grew louder in the distance, but there were always sirens in Las Vegas. They struggled out of their costumes and into the casual stuff that was waiting for them in an open suitcase.
By the time Pookie dropped them off at the El Cortez parking lot-for security reasons, neither he nor Roscoe knew about the Rocket-they were once again the old British wig salesman and his nephew.
They paid Pookie and said good night.
“
“Pretty good haul,” Max said.
“You didn’t have to hit him,” Owen said.
Max was checking his face in the bathroom mirror, looking for any makeup he had missed. “Tony the Thug was going to either jump us or get us thrown in the slammer, and I wasn’t about to let that happen. I don’t see why you’re so jellified about it. We’re thieves, boy, we dance with danger. Part of the fun.”
“Fun? Suddenly out of the blue you smash a guy’s jaw? An
“Tedesco is a well-known right-wing lunatic. I do not consider him a colleague. You’d be feeling a whole lot worse if we were sitting in jail now.”
“Max,” Owen said, “let’s please get out of this business before something terrible happens.”
“Get out any time you like, me lad. I’m in for the long haul.”
Max headed for the galley. It was their custom, after pulling a job, to have a snack before going to bed, but Owen got changed in the bathroom and climbed into his bunk.
“What’s this, lad? Going to bed without your midnight snack?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Nonsense. You hardly ate any supper. You’ll waste away.”
Owen turned out his light, wanting to put an end to the day.
The Rocket filled with smells of toast and the melted cheese in Max’s inevitable midnight omelette. Owen turned his back and stared at the wall.
SEVEN
Owen awoke the next morning to a soft rapping on the side of his bunk. It took him a moment to remember where he was-the Rocket, Las Vegas, Tony Tedesco’s jaw.
Max’s face was alarmingly close, his expression an almost comical rendering of sheepishness.
“Breakfast is served, boy.”
“I’ll be there in a sec.”
“A chorus line of pancakes awaits.”
“Great.”
But Max’s face stayed right there, worried and sad and-it had to be recognized-probably acting.
“Uh, boy,” he began, then turned politely aside while a series of throat clearings and prim little coughs was performed. “Boy, about last night …” Max went to the window opposite and opened the curtains, staring out at the vista of another Winnebago. He was wearing his Hyatt bathrobe. “You were right to speak sharply to me, boy. Your old uncle misbehaved, and-”
“I’ll say.”
“No, no, let me finish. You can’t go cutting a man off mid-apology. What I wanted to say was, I’m sorry.”
“It’s Tony Tedesco you have to apologize to. He’s probably in the hospital.”
Max raised his hand for silence. “I regret you were witness to mayhem. I was taken by a force-ten hurricane of panic. Utterly blew me over. So I lashed out.” He made a harmless-looking jab at the air, a kitten pawing a string.
“Sure didn’t look like panic,” Owen said. “For one thing, we weren’t in any danger. If we had just run right then, there’s no way hotel security would have caught us. We’d have been in the limo before they even got up to the room.”
“That’s why I’m apologizing, you clot-oops.” Max covered his mouth with his hand lest another insult escape. “Come and eat before it gets cold.”
Zig came out to the table carrying a latte in one hand and a cookie in a small paper bag in the other. He set the coffee down fast.
“Man, that’s hot. I think they got like a nuclear coffee maker back there or something.”
“Secret of Starbucks’ success,” Stu said. “Nuclear espresso machines.”
“Where’s Clem?”
“Went to get something in the mall. Here he comes.”
Clem came up the escalator. His sunglasses were Ray-Bans, but they were just a touch crooked. He was carrying a magazine.
“Where the fuck you been?” Zig said.
“Magazine store,” Clem said, offended. “Got the new
“Magazine store? Then how come you reek of alcohol?”
“One drink, I swear. Shot of Johnnie Walker.”
He sat down heavily on the metal chair and pulled closer to the table, making a horrible scraping noise on the floor.
“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning,” Zig said. “Already you’re drinking. I want you to stop right now, you got that? From now on you drink like a normal human being or I’m gonna kick your ass, you got it?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Don’t say yeah, yeah. I asked you if you got it.”
“Yes, Zig. I got it.”
“All right, what’s the scoop? What’d you find out?”
“I gotta get a coffee first.”
“No you don’t. Just tell me what you found out.”
“The fuck, man. You guys got coffee.” Clem started to get up but, seeing Zig’s look, sat back down. “All right. Your fat man has got two associates that we’ve seen so far. Three if you count the kid.”
“I don’t count the kid. Who are they?”
“Roscoe Lukacs and Terry Pook-bald guy. People call him Pookie.”
“I met Pookie on the job I did with Maxwell,” Stu said. “Good driver. Seemed like he was a steady guy, you know, reliable. That was a long time ago. Haven’t seen him since.”
