Two for the Money by Max Allan Collins Page A

wanted a quick lift to an easy life, were bad risks; men like that spent as fast as they stole, could not betrusted. And it seemed like most of them lived life on a conveyer belt moving in and out of prisons. An intelligent heist artist would pick his jobs carefully, select co-workers carefully, and use his capital carefully.
    Nolan had had a goal, too: he wanted to reach a state of financial independence by age fifty, so he could go through the rest of his years at a walk instead of a run, maybe operating a club or something to occupy his time. Now it looked like this job would be his last shot at fulfilling that goal.
    The car door jumped open and Jon was there, saying, “This is Grossman, Nolan.”
    Standing beside Jon was a slouching figure of slightly under six feet, with a faint look of sour skepticism on his face and, hovering over his shoulders, matted, greasy hair that hadn’t been washed any more recently than his faded jeans. At his side but behind him a little was a young girl of medium height, age nineteen or twenty, her face a strange but appealing wedding of innocence and sensuality. She was dressed in pink, her skirt tight, and she was slenderly but nicely built, her breasts tilting upward under her fuzzy pink sweater.
    “And that’s Shelly,” Jon said, “behind Gross there.”
    Nolan nodded to her and she smiled hello, her eyes a warm and penetrating blue.
    “Climb in,” Nolan said, pointing his thumb toward the backseat.
    Jon got in and sat behind the wheel as Grossman and Shelly slid in back. Nolan swivelled around in the seat and extended his hand to Grossman. The kid’s handshake was sullenly limp.
    “Why don’t you pull the car off the highway and into the parking lot behind the tavern,” Nolan said to Jon. “We don’t want to attract undue attention.”
    “Okay.” Jon started the engine and drove around the corner into the bar’s cramped parking area.
    “Leave the motor going,” Nolan said. “It’s cold, we can use the heat. Anybody want a smoke?”
    All three accepted his offer, and after he’d fired everybody’s cigarettes, Nolan said, “Who’s going to fill me in?”
    “Hold it a minute.” Grossman leaned forward, his upper lip curling. “First I want to know just why the fuck you should be filled in at all.”
    Nolan said nothing. He could feel the eyes of the girl on him.
    Jon jabbed at the air with a finger. Around him the windows were fogging up fast, and the car was already filled with smoke. “Look, Gross,” he said, “this is my job. Mine. I talked it over with my uncle and he said we needed help to do this right, so he suggested we call in Nolan here. And I happen to think we’re pretty goddamn lucky to have a professional like him willing to work with us.”
    “I suppose Captain America wasn’t available.”
    “That isn’t necessary, Gross.”
    “Oh?” Grossman did a little jabbing at the smoky air himself. “I think it’s goddamn good and necessary, so we can cut through this pretentious bullshit and ask some questions. Such as, first off, why’s Super-robber here want anything to do with an inexperienced bunch like us anyway? Why isn’t he out hitting a mint with Willie Sutton or something?”
    “Gross, I warned you about . . .”
    Nolan said, “Jon, it’s a legitimate question. Let me answer it.”
    Jon shrugged. “You shouldn’t have to, Nolan.”
    “I want to.” Nolan turned toward Grossman. “You’re right. I’m not thrilled over the idea of working with virgins like the three of you. But I don’t have any choice.”
    Grossman tapped Jon on the shoulder and said, “See?”
    Nolan said, “Grossman, ever hear of the Family?”
    Grossman shrugged, not understanding.
    “How about the Syndicate? Cosa Nostra? Any of those ring a bell?”
    Grossman nodded, slowly.
    “About sixteen years ago I worked for the Family, which is the same thing. I ran a nightclub for them. I had a run-inwith a brother of one of the Family higher-ups, and I