Bandits (1987) by Elmore Leonard Page B

you.
    Jack turned to face the door, took a short place-kick sort of step, his eyes on the VIDETTE ALARM SYSTEMS decal, and punched the sole of a black loafer through the plate glass.
    The blast of sound from the burglar alarm was so immediate and loud he barely heard the glass shatter. Even louder than he ' d expected. He looked around at the guy in the sunglasses edging away. The Creole-looking guy didn ' t move and the other one had to gesture to him. Jack watched them move off in a hurry, turned, and there was Sister Lucy ' s face in the side window, staring. And beyond the hearse the farm boys across the road, their heads raised to the clanging racket, heads turning now to follow the black Chrysler peeling its tires out of there, from shade into sunlight and gone, down the blacktop toward the interstate. Jack watched too, thinking, Well, there were other roads home, with bathrooms along the way. He had not felt this good in . . . he couldn ' t remember.
    The sister had a different look for him as he slipped in behind the wheel. Not exactly wide-eyed, but sort of stunned, lips parted, eyes staring in what he would like to think was respectful amazement. She didn ' t say a word. He didn ' t either until they were pulling away from that urgent sound and he gave her his nice-guy smile.
    That ' s why I only went into hotel rooms.
    Chapter 5
    AS SOON AS JACK turned onto Camp Street he saw the white Cadillac stretch limo in front of the soup kitchen.
    Right away he tried to think of a clever line, a quick, offhand comment. He would have said to Helene the first thing that came to mind: Boy, you must really cook good. For Lucy he ' d try a little harder.
    But then, when he saw the way she was looking at the car, not the least bit surprised, curiosity messed up his concentration. So he didn ' t say anything. He angled across the one-way street to bring the hearse in close behind the limo. Then, just as Sister Lucy was saying, That ' s my dad, a black guy in a tan chauffeur suit was getting out.
    Giving Jack a crack at another line. There was another obvious one. But now he was thinking that if her dad rode around in a stretch limo this was a nun from a very wealthy family. Which he ' d never heard of before. But could explain how she ' d bought the VW in Nicaragua something he ' d been wondering about. Except she would have taken a vow of poverty along with chastity and obedience. . . . And by this time it was too late to think of anything clever. She was out of the hearse as her dad made his appearance.
    He came ducking out of the car quick and agile, that wiry kind who reaches his fifties with still a lot of boy in him. Jack saw his energy, then his confidence in the relaxed way he stood: arms open to his daughter but with the elbows tucked in, cocking his head now, holding that pose as he called to her. There ' s my girl. Sis, I mean to tell you, you look just great. He seemed easy to type, coming out of a limo in his soft calfskin jacket and tailored jeans down on his hips, his cowboy boots. But Jack wasn ' t sure if he looked like a retired rodeo star or a movie producer. He had seen movie producers on location in New Orleans, had watched them shoot in the Quarter realizing, shit, that ' s what he should be, a movie actor. It was strange to see Sister Lucy going into a man ' s arms, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He held onto her, patting her back with big hands for a man his size, a ring gleaming there, which Jack squinted to appraise. Now they were talking face to face she didn ' t have his nose her dad keeping a hand on her arm.
    Jack turned to slide open the glass partition. He could see the crown of Amelita ' s head, her body encased in the plastic bag. You okay? She murmured something and he saw her move. Hang on. It won ' t be long. Amelita seemed like a very patient girl. She didn ' t have Bambi eyes, but they were nice ones, a liquid brown.
    The plan was to drop Lucy off so she could get her car. She ' d said my car,