Hard Cash by Max Allan Collins Read Free Book Online

didn’t figure it was a wet dream.”
    “Not the one I remember, anyway. I was dreaming all night, I think, but I only remember that last one I was having.”
    “Yeah, well, I never dream.”
    “Everybody dreams, Nolan. You just don’t remember yours.”
    “I don’t dream. You want breakfast? I’m fixing myself some.”
    “What, eggs?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I’ll have a couple, over easy.”
    “You’ll have them scrambled.”
    “Scrambled’s fine. And bacon.”
    “Sausage.”
    “Sausage. Just what I wanted anyway.”
    They sat in the kitchen and ate.
    “Kid.”
    “Yeah, Nolan?”
    “This is really bothering you, isn’t it.”
    “What?”
    “The idea of hitting that bank again.”
    “No. I’m okay. Really.”
    “I don’t like it any better than you do.”
    “Yeah, sure, I know that, Nolan. Forget it. It’ll be a snap.”
    “Look. I think maybe we better call a man in.”
    “The way Rigley has it mapped out, just the two of us is plenty.”
    “No, I think an extra man would be better.”
    “What for?”
    “Somebody ought to stay behind and keep an eye on the bitch. I don’t trust her.”
    That was bullshit, and bullshitting wasn’t Nolan’s style. Jon didn’t know how to react. “Me, you mean? I should stay behind and watch her?”
    “Yeah. We’ll call in somebody else to help on the job itself.”
    “You don’t . . . don’t think I’m up to it, Nolan?”
    “You’re up to it. You done fine every time so far, and we been through some rough weather the last couple years.”
    “What, then?”
    “Nothing. I just don’t trust the bitch, is all.”
    “It’ll mean less money.”
    “Well pay the guy a flat rate. Anyway, I don’t care about the money so much. The money is fine, sure. A person can always use more money. But I’m more interested in protecting our interests here in Iowa City, seeing to it the job goes smooth so we can come back home and go on with our happy retirement.”
    “Whatever you think is best, Nolan.” Jon was ambivalent toward Nolan’s suggestion—relieved to be off the line of fire, hurt that Nolan might not feel him up to the pressure.
    “So who you got in mind, Nolan?”
    “Well, I pretty well kept a lid on my retirement. Lots of people in the trade think I’m dead, think the Chicago boys got me. And it’s nice being dead, if you know what I mean. Nobody to come ’round tempting me with prospective heists—except for an occasional bank president, of course—and nobody to come ’round looking for a handout. Besides, I don’t have that many friends left. Most of the people I worked with in recent years are punks, present company excepted, who I’d just as soon stay dead to. Most of the good people are dead. It’s that kind of business. So anyway, I’ll call in Breen, since he knows I’m here already and is a good enough man and can probably use the money.”
    Jon nodded. “Breen would be fine. Unnecessary, but fine.”
    After breakfast they went out in the front room, and Nolan stopped a moment and looked at the Christmas tree on top of the television set but said nothing. Then he sat on the couch and used the phone on the coffee table.
    Jon wasn’t paying attention to the conversation at first, but it didn’t take long for it to become apparent something was wrong on Breen’s end. When Nolan hung up, Jon asked him what the deal was.
    “Breen’s dead,” Nolan said. “Somebody blew him apart with a shotgun last night.”
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    6
     
     
    NOLAN HAD never been to Breen’s house before, but he didn’t have trouble finding it. Indianapolis was an easy town to get around in, for all its size, a town whose streets crisscrossed like a big checkerboard. And anyway, he’d been to Breen’s bar a number of times, and the house was in the same neighborhood.
    He parked the Buick in the driveway, behind a battered green Mustang he recognized as Breen’s. There were no other cars in the drive, though there was room; none were