The Town: A Novel by Chuck Hogan Read Free Book Online Page A

Too many commitments.”
    Gloansy toasted that. “Amen, brother.”
    Doug cracked open his Mountain Dew. “So let’s do this.”
    Jem ripped a burp and none of the kids on the ice even turned their heads. Doug liked the rink for its awful acoustics. He was worried more and more about surveillance around Town, but no bug could outwit those rumbling refrigerators.
    “Not much to say,” said Jem. “Looks like we’re out clean. Newspapers got everything wrong, as usual. Nothing went sour until the end, when everything did.”
    Gloansy said, “Duggy, man, you said banks train their people not to hit any alarms until after.”
    “They do. It’s a safety issue. Plus banks carry kidnap and extortion insurance, and shit like that voids it.”
    Jem shrugged. “So the homo pissed himself. Thing is, it shouldn’t of happened. Could of been real fucking bad. Time to settle up now, and these things get counted. Gloansy, my friend, it’s time to pay the piper. You’re docked.”
    Gloansy’s face fell, his open mouth full, looking at Jem. “What the fuck?”
    “It was your watch. You knew Monsignor Dez had to leave the vault and teller bells hardwired.”
    “
I’m
getting fucking docked?
Me?
”
    “All you had to do. Keep the citizens down on the floor and away from the bells.”
    “Fuck you.” Gloansy was teary, he was so shocked. “Fuck you, all I had to do? Who boosted the work van? You think you fuckin’… think you
walked
to and from this job? And who torched the rides after the delayed switch?”
    “Who was watching that kid at the ATM instead of the bankers at his feet?”
    “Fuckin’… so who delayed the switch? You’re the one that brought the manager along. Why’n’t you dock yourself?”
    “Plan to. Same as you. A hundred-dollar whack to the each of us.”
    “A hundred—” Gloansy’s face relaxed, pulling back into a fuck-you frown. He punched Jem’s left triceps hard, saying, “Fuckin’ ass munch.”
    Jem smiled tongue-out and slapped Gloansy’s cheek. “Fuckin’
this
close to bawling, Shirley Temple.”
    “Fuck you,” said Gloansy, shaking it off, all better now, taco-ing another sloppy slice into his freckled mouth.
    Doug took a bite out of his sandwich, so fucking tired of the whole fucking thing.
    “So, the magic number,” said Jem, tearing open packets of salt over the closed pizza box. “This is per, now, and net expenses.” With his finger he traced out a five-digit sum: 76750.
    Gloansy worked on the upside-down figure until his eyes grew big.
    Dez nodded, a smile flickering before he checked on Doug.
    Doug finished chewing, then leaned down and blew the salt figure away.
    Jem went on, “That’s minus a chunk I dropped into the kitty for the next one, replace the tools I dumped. And some short bundles of new consecutives, I incinerated, not worth worrying over. And then ten percent off the top for the Florist. Overall, a fucking dynamite haul. Oh—yeah.” He reached into his back pocket. “From the ATM. Stamps for all.”
    Doug said, “What’s this with the Florist?”
    Jem passed out the stamp sheets. “His tribute.”
    “And why you involving him?”
    “It’s not like he doesn’t already know about it. It’s the right thing to do.”
    “How’d he know?” Doug let his sandwich drop back onto the wrapper on the bench. “I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anybody. Unless someone here told someone, he didn’t know.”
    “Duggy. People know. People in the Town.”
    “Tell me how they know.”
    “They just know.”
    “What do they know? What? Yeah, maybe they
think
they know something. But
thinking
you know something, and actually
knowing
something—that’s two different things. The cops and the G, maybe they
think
they know something. But not
knowing
it is exactly what keeps us on the street, keeps us in the game.”
    “Fergie knows a lot of secrets, Duggy.”
    “And now he’s got one more on us. I don’t see the point of putting it out