air.
“Pops,” he said, “you over there, come here.”
The old guy at the bar just looked down at them and acted like he was seeing a mirage.
“Wes, hold on,” Sean said as he stood.
The big guy at the corner table was looking at them with full attention, lockjawed and ready for something.
“You, come here,” Sean told him.
The guy at first didn’t move, so Sean walked over toward him and put the gun in his face.
“We don’t want anyone getting hurt. So just stand up and walk over to the bar.”
The man stood up but didn’t appear scared. He kept his arms in close and moved slowly toward where Sean told him. “Sit down—yeah, that’s it.”
They finally got the old guy to amble over toward them. He didn’t have a clue what was happening. He took a seat next to the big guy.
“Watch them,” Sean told Wes, going behind the bar. “Where’s your boss?” he asked the bartender.
“He’s out.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“He left an hour ago. Check the back.”
“Yeah, but why don’t you come with me? And first, give me everything in that drawer. And I know you got a lot. I’ve seen it—looks pretty full.”
The bartender seemed to pause for a moment and Sean aimed the gun at his head. It was amazing the power you had wielding a weapon. If the bartender knew deep down that Sean had no intention of killing any of them, he’d have probably relaxed and stopped sweating like a pig. But that was the thing—a stranger points a gun at your face and you’ll do anything, absolutely anything, because you have no idea who the guy is and what he is capable of.
Capability. That was the underlying factor.
“All right,” Sean said, “now let’s go to the back.”
“What for?”
“So you can show me the safe.”
“There’s no safe,” the bartender said.
“That’s cute. Now go. Wes?”
“Everything’s fine here,” Wes said.
He was holding his handgun too casually. Sean scrutinizedthe stocky customer for a moment, then decided everything was all right. He nudged the bartender with the pistol and motioned with his head toward in the back.
“Look, I don’t know the combination, and I don’t know—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sean told him. “Just show me where it is.”
The bartender led him into a little cave of an office. The safe sat in the back corner, a massive, refrigerator-sized chunk of steel that looked like it could survive a nuclear blast. It looked shiny, as if the owner actually polished the outside, and it had a fancy round knob, sort of like the steering wheel of an expensive yacht.
“Look, man,” the bartender was saying, “I don’t know how to get that thing—”
Sean interrupted. “See that chair?”
“Yeah.”
“Have a seat in it.”
The leather seat squeaked as the desperate-looking man sat back in it. Sean took a sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket and then went to work. He occasionally glanced over at the sweaty bartender but didn’t worry much.
When the safe finally swung open, it was just as Rita had told him.
And then some
.
There were several rifles and at least one handgun that he could see. A box contained a stack of cash, more than Rita had figured would be in there. Even the bartender looked amazed at the amount of cash.
“All right,” Sean told the bartender. “I want you to carry this box out there.”
Sean grabbed a couple of the rifles and stuck the automatic handgun under his belt. He still gripped the Glock in his right hand, and he kept it at the bartender’s back as they walked back out to the restaurant floor.
This is easier than I thought it’d be
.
15
THE MAN TOOK ONE LAST DRAG of his cigarette, then flicked it out into the full parking lot. He scanned the sea of cars like a father searching for his lost child but saw nothing unusual, then looked down along the Fox River waterfront. No watching eyes, not that Paul could see.
Just give it time
, he thought. Somebody would show up eventually.
Paul Hedges walked the
“Pops,” he said, “you over there, come here.”
The old guy at the bar just looked down at them and acted like he was seeing a mirage.
“Wes, hold on,” Sean said as he stood.
The big guy at the corner table was looking at them with full attention, lockjawed and ready for something.
“You, come here,” Sean told him.
The guy at first didn’t move, so Sean walked over toward him and put the gun in his face.
“We don’t want anyone getting hurt. So just stand up and walk over to the bar.”
The man stood up but didn’t appear scared. He kept his arms in close and moved slowly toward where Sean told him. “Sit down—yeah, that’s it.”
They finally got the old guy to amble over toward them. He didn’t have a clue what was happening. He took a seat next to the big guy.
“Watch them,” Sean told Wes, going behind the bar. “Where’s your boss?” he asked the bartender.
“He’s out.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“He left an hour ago. Check the back.”
“Yeah, but why don’t you come with me? And first, give me everything in that drawer. And I know you got a lot. I’ve seen it—looks pretty full.”
The bartender seemed to pause for a moment and Sean aimed the gun at his head. It was amazing the power you had wielding a weapon. If the bartender knew deep down that Sean had no intention of killing any of them, he’d have probably relaxed and stopped sweating like a pig. But that was the thing—a stranger points a gun at your face and you’ll do anything, absolutely anything, because you have no idea who the guy is and what he is capable of.
Capability. That was the underlying factor.
“All right,” Sean said, “now let’s go to the back.”
“What for?”
“So you can show me the safe.”
“There’s no safe,” the bartender said.
“That’s cute. Now go. Wes?”
“Everything’s fine here,” Wes said.
He was holding his handgun too casually. Sean scrutinizedthe stocky customer for a moment, then decided everything was all right. He nudged the bartender with the pistol and motioned with his head toward in the back.
“Look, I don’t know the combination, and I don’t know—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sean told him. “Just show me where it is.”
The bartender led him into a little cave of an office. The safe sat in the back corner, a massive, refrigerator-sized chunk of steel that looked like it could survive a nuclear blast. It looked shiny, as if the owner actually polished the outside, and it had a fancy round knob, sort of like the steering wheel of an expensive yacht.
“Look, man,” the bartender was saying, “I don’t know how to get that thing—”
Sean interrupted. “See that chair?”
“Yeah.”
“Have a seat in it.”
The leather seat squeaked as the desperate-looking man sat back in it. Sean took a sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket and then went to work. He occasionally glanced over at the sweaty bartender but didn’t worry much.
When the safe finally swung open, it was just as Rita had told him.
And then some
.
There were several rifles and at least one handgun that he could see. A box contained a stack of cash, more than Rita had figured would be in there. Even the bartender looked amazed at the amount of cash.
“All right,” Sean told the bartender. “I want you to carry this box out there.”
Sean grabbed a couple of the rifles and stuck the automatic handgun under his belt. He still gripped the Glock in his right hand, and he kept it at the bartender’s back as they walked back out to the restaurant floor.
This is easier than I thought it’d be
.
15
THE MAN TOOK ONE LAST DRAG of his cigarette, then flicked it out into the full parking lot. He scanned the sea of cars like a father searching for his lost child but saw nothing unusual, then looked down along the Fox River waterfront. No watching eyes, not that Paul could see.
Just give it time
, he thought. Somebody would show up eventually.
Paul Hedges walked the
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