Swag by Elmore Leonard Read Free Book Online Page A

approached he was peeling off tens from the wad he held in his hand.
    â€œJesus,” Stick said. “How much?”
    â€œDon’t talk, I’ll have to start over.”
    Stick put the drinks down carefully, got a cigarette and lit it and walked over to the window that looked out on the parking area behind the building. It was quiet back there, sunlight on the cars and long shadows, the end of the day. The cars looked hot. The tan Duster without air conditioning was parked there. A VW and a Pinto wagon and a Chevy pickup and a bike, a big Harley that made a racket every morning at seven fifteen—
    â€œAll right, how much you think?”
    Stick turned from the window. “Why don’t you tell me?”
    Frank was sitting back with the Scotch in his hand, all the bills stacked in front of him, now in five neat piles.
    â€œHow about six grand?” Frank said. “How about six thousand two hundred and forty-eight fucking dollars, man? Tax free.”
    Stick came over to the table and stared at the money.
    â€œSix, comma, two four eight,” Frank said. “Most of it was in a box under the counter.”
    â€œJesus, what a business,” Stick said. “One day he makes that much?”
    â€œYou mean one day we make that much. No, what it is,” Frank said, “the guy cashes paychecks.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œSee, to get the hourly guys to come in, working in the shops. So he’s got to have a lot of cash on hand payday. Keeps it in the box with the checks he cashes, from all different companies around there.”
    Stick looked up at him. “Endorsed? I mean the checks were signed?”
    â€œI thought of that,” Frank said, “but I figure it’s not worth all the trouble, unless you know somebody likes to buy checks.”
    â€œYeah, I guess so,” Stick said. “Then you’re dealing with somebody else.”
    â€œI figure we hit him earlier, we could’ve gotten even more. You know? Around three thirty or so, before the first-shift guys start coming in.”
    â€œYou complaining?” Stick said. “First time, Christ. I don’t believe it.”
    Frank started to grin. “Guy took one look at the Python—you see him?—I thought he was going to shit. I say to him, very polite, ‘You can empty the cash register, sir. But I see anything in your hand isn’t green or made of paper, I’m going to blow you right through the fucking wall.’ ”
    Stick was grinning, too, shaking his head. He said, “I gave the two guys over by the beer cooler a flash of the Smith. I didn’t take it out, I just showed it to them. I said, ‘Hey, fellas, you see what I got here?’ Just the grip sticking out. The guy drops his six-pack. The fella out in back’s eating his lunch. He says, ‘Can I help you?’ ”
    â€œWe’re home counting our wages,” Frank said, “they’re still looking for the car. Or they got it staked out. The guy comes out of the show and they bust him.”
    â€œIt’s the only way to do it,” Stick said. “Takes a little longer, but you keep your car clean, off the sheet. Yeah, it’s a very good rule. In fact, that told me right away you had it pretty well thought out.”
    â€œYou think it’s worth it then, uh, all the trouble?”
    â€œWhat trouble?”
    â€œThat’s the way I see it,” Frank said. “If they’re all this easy, I believe we found our calling.”

5

    FRANK WOULD STAND AT THE bar in the living room with one leg over a bamboo stool, pick up his Scotch, and say, “Well, here we are.”
    Stick would say, “You sure?”
    And Frank would say, “You look out and see if the broads are still there. I’ll go count the suits.”
    It was a ritual after three months in the business and twenty-five armed robberies—after they’d bought the clothes and the new car and