open.
The one with the six-pack said, âJesus,â and dropped it on the floor. Stick kept himself from jumping back.
The other one didnât say a word, his eyes on the butt of the .38 Special sticking out of the waistband.
âYou donât want to get hurt,â Stick said, âand I certainly donât want to hurt you. So letâs march to the rear, see whatâs in back.â
Past the potato-chip rack he could see Frank holding open a paper bag and the man behind the counter dropping bills into it.
There was a young clerk in the storeroom, sitting on a stack of beer cases holding a sandwich and eating from a half-pint container of coleslaw. He looked surprised to see three men coming in, but he was also polite. He said, âCan I help you?â
Stick spotted the big walk-in reefer and said, âNo thanks, I guess I can handle it myself.â
He walked over, opened the door to the refrigerator, and nodded for the two customers to go inside.
The clerk said, âHey, you canât go in there. What do you want?â
âYou, too,â Stick said. He held open his coat again. âOkay?â
When he came out into the store he thought the place was empty and got an awful feeling in his stomach for a moment. Then, near the cash register, Frank rose up from behind the counter with the paper bag.
As he came over the counter, the bag in one handâthe top of it rolled tightly closedâand the Python in the other, Stick said, âWhereâs the guy?â
âOn the floor.â Frank looked over the counter and said, âStay down there, if you will please. Because if you raise up too soon, if you see me again, then Iâll see you, wonât I? And if I see you again, I wonât hesitate to shoot and probably kill you.â
Stick said, âTell him the other peopleâre in the icebox.â
âYou hear that, sir?â Frank looked over the counter again. âIn the icebox.â
âTell him much obliged,â Stick said.
âYeah, much obliged. Maybe weâll see you again sometime.â
Neither one of them wanted to look anxious. They walked out, taking their time.
In the car Stick put the gear into Drive and waited, looking at the rearview mirror, until he saw the big guy with the gray curly hair appear suddenly in the doorway and stop dead. Stick got out of there then, tires squealing as he peeled away from the curb.
Frank turned around to look straight ahead again. âHe saw the car, Iâm sure. Maybe even the license.â
âYou bet he did,â Stick said. âNow I drop you off at your car, head back to the picture show, and you pick me up there.â
âIt seems like a lot of trouble,â Frank said.
âYes, it does,â Stick said. âBut it sure keeps the police busy, looking for a â74 Cutlass Supreme, doesnât it? How much we get?â
Frank held the bag on his lap, the top tightly folded. âRule Number Six,â he said.
As soon as they were in the apartment Stick took off his sport coat. He was sweating. The Duster didnât have air conditioning. He looked at Frank, who was sitting on the couch lighting a cigarette like he had his lunch in the bag and there wasnât any hurry getting to it.
Stick said, âYou going to count it or you want me to?â
âWhy donât you make us a couple of drinks?â Frank said.
Stick went out to the kitchen. He poured Scotch in one glass and bourbon in another, then got a tray out of the refrigerator and began filling the glasses with ice. It was all right that Frank counted it, but he wanted to watch, at least. He put a splash of water on the drinks and went back out to the living room.
âI donât believe it,â Frank said.
He was hunched over the coffee table, looking down at the neatly stacked piles of bills, like a guy playing solitaire. He laid a twenty on one pile, a fifty on another. As Stick