Nobody Move by Denis Johnson Read Free Book Online

ask your name, sir?”
“Franklin. But listen—I’m about to hop on a bus. I’m late.”
“Where’s Mrs. Desilvera, Mr. Franklin?”
“Mrs. who?”
“The lady staying here with you.”
“Oh. I didn’t get her last name. Just her first.”
“Are you two pretty good friends?”
“They’re on a first-name basis,” the other one said.
“I just met her last night.”
“Yes. We’re aware of that.”
The other one said, “What’s in your bag? Two million dollars?”
“What?”
“Didn’t she tell you she’s sitting on a pile of other people’s money?”
“We barely got introduced.”
“We understand that,” the nicer one said. “Did she say where she was going?”
“No, sir. Destination unknown.”
“Let me tell you what this is about, Mr. Franklin. In just a few days your friend will plead guilty to embezzling two-point-three million dollars.” He waited for a reaction and seemed satisfied with Luntz’s speechlessness.
“You didn’t know about it?” the other one said.
“No, sir. No. Embezzlement—that’s a federal thing, huh?”
“She’ll plead guilty to state charges. But until the money goes back where it belongs, we’re very interested in her. Federal charges aren’t out of the question. Can you show us some identification?”
Luntz dug out his driver’s license and handed it over.
“I thought you said your name was Franklin.”
“Yeah—but that’s when I didn’t know who you were.”
“I told you who we were.”
“Oh,” Luntz said, “that’s correct. I guess I got confused. I thought you guys were Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
“Really?”
“Look, I have to catch a bus south in fifteen minutes. I mean, now it’s ten minutes.”
“When will you be seeing Mrs. Desilvera again?”
“Never. I got the impression it was, you know—a fluke.”
“A fluke?”
“That’s the description I’m giving it.”
“What’s in the bag? That’s not her bag, is it?”
“It’s mine. It’s my luggage, is all.”
“I bet you wish it was her luggage.”
“So she still has the money, huh?”
“Was she carrying anything, Mr. Luntz?”
“You mean like a satchel with a big old dollar sign on it?”
Neither of them laughed.
“Just a purse,” Luntz said. “About yay big.”
“You mind if we look around the room?”
“Help yourself. I’m all checked out. And I’m really late, so—yeah.”
The nicer one raised an index finger. “Call coming in.” He took a few paces backward, and the other one joined him and stood with his back to Luntz, the first one with his phone to his cheek, talking. It seemed the other might be talking too. Fake phone call. Luntz lit a cigarette while they reached an agreement.
“Okay if I get moving?”
“That’ll be fine. We’ll make a note of your name, Mr. Luntz.”
“Okay. I sure hope I make that bus.”
They stepped aside for him, and the nicer one said, “Good luck.”
“I was born lucky.”
Luntz set out at a good pace without a backward glance. He had no idea where he was going.
In his pocket, the cell phone started ringing.

    Gambol closed his eyes. He felt his head nodding forward and rode a Ferris wheel down into violent cartoons.
He shivered, but he didn’t feel cold. When he shivered the pain filled his right leg.
“I want another shot.”
“Not for two more hours,” the woman said. “This isn’t an opium den.”
He opened his eyes. He wore a frilly blue nylon robe. Probably the woman’s.
“Where’s my clothes?”
“How many times are you going to ask me that?”
“Fuck you.”
“Your stuff went out with the rest of the bloody trash.”
Gambol’s head drooped, and he looked down into Jimmy Luntz’s face.

    The landscape had that blond, Central Valley look. Some pine trees. Oaks. Orchards. Farmland. Sunny and still. They drove south past Oroville, looking for a shopping mall. The speed signs said 65. Luntz stayed legal. He kept his window cracked to suck his cigarette smoke away from Anita’s face.
Luntz said, “Dude who