Bandits

Cullen thought about it, looking off. “I’m not sure. I guess I could. But where would I go?”

Jack hesitated before he said, “Maybe I’ve got something might interest you… the old pro, huh? You don’t look sick to me.”

“No, I’m feeling pretty good.” Cullen leaned toward Jack, lowering his voice as he said, “I’ll tell you something. Place like this, you wouldn’t believe it. There’s more pussy around here’n you can shake a stick at.”

Jack looked over the lounge, saw nothing but little bent-over ladies with gray hair, some of them tied into their wheelchairs.

“I think I’m about to get me some,” Cullen said. “See the one right across from us? The one reading the magazine? That’s A

Jack looked at little A

“You kidding? Look. It’s saying, ‘Put it to me, kid, it’s been a long time.’ You know how long it’s been for me, since I got laid?… The last time was December the twenty-second, 1958. I went in my last bank January the third, 1959. Art Dolan, the fuck, breaks his leg going over the teller’s counter-I should’ve known he was too old-and I spend the next five months in Central Lockup, no bond. They knew I’d have left facing fifty to life, no chance of parole, and they were right. Oh, well, that’s what I get helping out a pal.” Cullen exhaled, sounding tired, his stomach filling his shirt in the robe hanging open.

Jack said, “I might have something to talk to you about. Depending if you’re up to it.”

Cullen, still watching A

Jack said, “That’s interesting, Cully. I don’t doubt for a minute you’re go

“Well, I try not to give anybody any shit. You know. What’s the percentage?” Cullen’s gaze moved off and stopped. “You know who that is? Jack, look. The guy in the wool shirt hanging out? That’s Maurice Dumas. You’ve heard of him, Mo Dumas, one of the great trombonists of all time. He played with Papa Celestin, he played with Alphonse Picou, with Armand Hug… You’d see all those guys at the Caledonia Bar on Saint Philip. Go in there after a funeral you’d see every one of ’em there. You know what he does now? He goes in people’s rooms and steals clothes, puts ’em on. Go on over and look at him, he’ll have about three shirts on and a couple pairs of pants. He doesn’t think anybody notices.”

Jack said, “I’m looking for a guy that’s a little more professional, Cully. How many banks was it you’ve done in your life, about fifty? You know, it’s amazing, if I hadn’t stopped there in front and saw you in the window…”

“I think it’s sixty something. You get around these people you start to forget things. Old guy’s son comes in to see him, the old man looks at him, says, ‘Who the fuck are you?’ This simp says, ‘It’s me, dad, Roger. Don’t you know me?’ I think this particular old man is faking. That’s one way. Or you make excuses for your kids. Tommy Junior’s sold out, he’s scared to death of Mary Jo, a broad that goes through life sewing on buttons for something to do. But I don’t say nothing. What’s the percentage? She thinks I’m dying to live there, blow smoke all over her fucking house.”

“You know how to read people, Cully.”

“I knew when to get my ass out of a bank if it didn’t feel right. And I always looked like a customer, too. None of this going in with a shotgun and a ski mask. That’s the wild-ass amateurs. They go in and start screaming and everybody in the place turns around, they take a good look at the guys and then make ’em in a show-up.”

“There you are, what I’m getting at,” Jack said, “you’re a pro.”

“Yeah, but I’m not doing any more banks. They got tricks now, they hand you a stack of taped bills that’s hollow inside, with a dye in there that’s set off by some kind of a timer. I don’t know how it works, this fish was telling me about it. Not here, Christ, Angola. The teller picks the stack up off a battery plate in the drawer and the guy says ‘it starts to think.’ You put the take in your clothes or in a bag and as soon as you get outside, like in twenty or thirty seconds, the thing pops and you got red dye all over you. And tear gas, all this shit going off. It’s like you come out of there with a sign, I just robbed the fucking bank.”

Jack said, “Cully, I’m not talking about a bank. This is much bigger than a bank.”

“I thought you were an undertaker.”

“I’m taking a leave of absence or I’m quitting. I don’t know yet.”

“I’m not doing any armored cars, either. Christ, I’m sixty-five years old.”

Jack said, “Cully, I’m looking at a score where if you plan it out carefully, as you know how to do, not miss anything that could blow up in your face, we walk off with five million. Cash.”

“Jack, what’s money? I got enough to last me the rest of my life, if I die Tuesday.” Cullen paused. “I can’t do another twenty-seven. I come out I’d be… Christ, ninety-two. Broads’d be saying, ‘Look out for Cullen, he hasn’t been laid in fifty-four years.’ ”

“I’m go

“Speaking of which,” Cullen said, and gave Jack a nudge.

“What?”

“Head. I’ll see if A

“You’re feeling pretty frisky, aren’t you?”

Cullen turned to look at him. He said, “Jack get me out of here, will you?”

At Mullen & Sons, backing the hearse toward the rear door, it opened and there was Leo waiting for him. Jack saw him in the outside rearview mirror, Leo motioning to him now to come on, hurry. By the time Jack had the hearse positioned, Leo’s face was right next to him in the side window, Leo tense, all eyes.

“Will you get out of there?”

“I would, Leo, if I could open the door without breaking your nose.” Leo stepped back and Jack slipped out from behind the wheel. “What’s the matter?”

“There two guys just came in. They want to see Amelita Sosa.”

“She isn’t here.”

“I know she isn’t here, for Christ sake.”

“Leo, calm down. What’d you tell them?”

“I said she wasn’t here.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“They don’t believe me. They want to look around.”

“Couple of Latin dudes?”

“I don’t know what they are.”

“Little black-haired fellas…”

“Jesus Christ, will you go in and talk to them?”

“Wait. First, what’d you say? She’s not here and never was? I hope that’s what you said.”

“I told them I don’t know anything about it, I wasn’t here yesterday. I was across the lake. I drove over there Saturday evening and didn’t get back till last night.”

“Did you sweat when you were telling ’em all that?”

“You think it’s fu

“Doing what? We’ve never even heard of Amelita. Amelita what? No, sorry, nobody here by that name.”

“You don’t care-that’s the trouble, how we get involved in something crazy like this. You don’t care or have any feeling about this business.”