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They merged onto Lakeshore, the Mustang purring as it muscled past a CTA bus with an ad for some computer thing on the side. They were two miles up, Evan thinking about turning on the radio, when Da
“Get off here.”
Evan squinted at him, decided to go along, and exited at Montrose. Da
“Kill it. Let’s take a walk.”
The lakefront was crowded with people biking and Rollerblading, a few jogging. A couple of old white dudes messed around on their sailboats in the marina, playing Jimmy Buffet, pretending they were in Margaritaville in June instead of Chicago a week before Halloween. In the summer the bike path was mobbed with chicks in bikinis, but now everybody wore a sweatshirt. Da
Evan took out his smokes, tapped one free. Flicked the wheel on the silver Zippo, lit the cigarette, and held the flame a moment longer than necessary, looking at the lake through the flame, like he was setting it on fire. “So we’re here. Now what? You want to cuddle, watch the sunset?”
Da
“Rules?”
“The rules of the job.”
Look at that. Been trying to make a point to the man for two weeks, and he’d finally gotten through. Apparently Karen was the lever to move Da
“Not much choice, right? I got your point.”
“Good.” He kept his tone light, with just a hint of steel in it.
“You want my help, though, there are three rules.”
“Yeah?” Just like Da
“First off, nobody gets hurt. Not a scratch, you hear? Especially not Tommy.”
“Who the fuck is Tommy?”
Da
Evan made quick fists to pop his knuckles, then forced a smile. As long as Da
“Next,” Da
He nodded, thinking, Now how you going to control that, Da
“The third rule is that this squares us. We do this, I never see you again. If I do, even once, I say to hell with the consequences and call the cops, and we go down together. You and I,” his tone still even, no anger in it, “we’re done.”
Evan kept his mouth shut. His hopes of brotherhood had died just before Patrick did. The guy with him now was only an angle to be played.
“All right.” Evan raised the smoke to his lips, stared at the horizon himself, wondering what Da
“One more thing.”
The tone should have warned him, but he’d already dropped his guard. Da
But Da
Even before he’d gotten his breath back, Evan had his hand on the pistol tucked in his waistband. He started to draw. And then remembered where they were. Lincoln Park. Probably two hundred witnesses, and nowhere to hide.
Evan let go of the gun, took a breath. Now he knew why they’d come here. Propping himself up on an elbow, he laughed. He’d been outplayed. Old school, the way the Da
Forget it. This time.
Da
“Let’s go to work.” Da
“Now?”
“Now.”
As they pulled into Evanston the gloomy humidity had finally given way to one of those noiseless October rains that soaked the hell out of everything. Rotting leaves tattooed the asphalt orange and brown. The bossman’s house – Richard, it turned out his name was – looked cheery, porch lights glowing on either side of the carved oak door.
“Don’t turn off the engine.” Da
“Why not?”
“We’re not staying. This neighborhood pays for a security service to patrol, and we don’t want them stopping by.”
Evan nodded. Rich cunts never failed. The more money they had, the higher the walls, the brighter the lights. Like hanging a target around their neck – just made it easier to spot a score. He rubbed at his chin. It was a little sore, but not likely to show a bruise. “So what are we doing?”
“Looking at the house. Where do you want to go in?”
“Right now?” He was surprised, but game.
“Of course not.” Da
Evan pretended he’d been testing Da
“Walk up with masks on? We look a little old for trick-or-treaters.” Da
“House like this, there’s got to be an alarm system.”
“There is, but Maria – Richard’s maid – kept setting it off. They only use it at night now.”
Evan nodded. “When?”
“Next week. We’ll do it one day after school.”
“Do we need to worry about the maid?”
“I know when she comes.” Da
Evan put the car in drive and rolled forward, tires whisking on the pavement. He cracked the window to listen to the rain. “Most alarms have a panic button, right?”
“Yeah.”
“How do we make sure the kid doesn’t get to it first?”
“Or for that matter dial 911? I’ll think about it.” Da
“You do that. Meanwhile, I got a question for you.” Evan smiled.
“Yeah?”
“You hungry?”
It turned out to be beer they both wanted. Four or five bottles of Old Style apiece smoothed the rough edges between them to a tolerable level. They had the place to themselves, just a couple of Mexicans behind the counter paying them no mind. Evan finished the last bite of his second chili dog, crumpling the wax paper and dropping it on the counter.
“I love beer in the afternoon.” He smiled. “Remember ditching school with Marty and the Jimmy brothers and smuggling beer into the soccer games?”
Da
“Yeah. And Marty down on the sidelines, offering sports massages.”
They both laughed, tipped their bottles back. Halfway through the swallow, though, Evan saw a little catch in Da
“We’ll need somewhere to stow him,” Evan said. “The kid.”