hawkish look, high cheekbones and narrow eyes; perhaps an American Indian was in his ancestry somewhere. His hair was shaggy and black and widow’s peaked, with graying sideburns. He wore a mustache, a droopy, gunfighter mustache that underlined his naturally sour expression. Nolan did have a sense of humor, but he didn’t want it getting around.
Wagner skirted the pool table, almost bumping into it, bringing the drinks back from the bar too fast.
“Take it easy, Wag,” Nolan said, taking the Scotch from his friend. “I’m out of breath just watching you.”
“Shit, I’m just excited to see you again after so long. Didn’t Planner ever mention I was in town?”
“I guess maybe he did once. But it slipped my mind.”
Wagner and Nolan had run into each other on the street this afternoon, in Iowa City. Planner was the business associate of Nolan’s, dead now, whose nephew Jon had been Nolan’s companion on his last three “adventures,” as Jon might put it.
“I’m sorry as hell about Planner. I guess I was the only one at his funeral from the old days. The only one there who knew him before he retired.”
Planner, too, had been active in professional thievery and had retired—or semi-retired—twenty years ago. In his remaining years, Planner (as his name would imply) had continued to help Nolan and other pros in the planning of jobs, using his Iowa City antique shop as a front.
“I never did get the story on how Planner got it, Nolan. I mean, I don’t buy him dying of old age, for Christ’s sake. He was too tough an old bird for that. I wish I had his ticker.”
“Well, he didn’t exactly pass away in his sleep.”
“That’s how it sounded in the paper.”
“It better have, considering what I paid out to Doc Ainsworth for the death certificate.”
“What really happened?”
“He was watching some money for me, and some guys came in and shot him and took it.”
“Jesus. Did you find those guys? And your money?”
“The guys are dead. Or one of them is, anyway. The other one was what you might call an unwitting accomplice, and I let him go. I’m getting soft in my old age.”
“What about the money?”
“Gone. Irretrievable.”
“Well, what money was it? I mean, from one job or what?”
“It was all of my money, Wag. Everything I had.”
Wagner stroked his thin gray face, and Nolan could see embarrassment flickering nervously in the man’s eyes. Embarrassment because Wagner had earlier, on impulse, proposed to Nolan that he join with Wagner in the restaurant business—but that proposal had been made on Wagner’s assumption that Nolan would have a healthy nest egg of his own.
Nolan took him off the hook. “I’m not broke, Wag, if that’s what your latest heart attack’s about.”
Wagner grinned. “Jesus, Nolan, I’m sorry if I . . .”
“Fuck it. Money, I got. Not as much as I’d like, but enough to buy in, I think. I think I can muster seventy grand.”
“Oh, well, no sweat, then.”
“If I bought in, I’d want it rigged so I could eventually take over the entire ownership. I want my own place, Wag.”
“I know. That’s how I used to think. It’s how I still think, but I got to slow down, Nolan, you know that. I’m thinking maybe I’ll spend the winters in Florida, or something. You lay some heavy money on me and I can go buy me a condominium and stay down there half the year or something, you know? I got to slow down.”
Wagner said all that in about five seconds, which indicated to Nolan how much chance there was of Wagner slowing down. He could picture the little guy running along the shore in Florida grabbing up seashells like a son of a bitch.
“Look, Wag, this appeals to me. You don’t know how this appeals to me. But I got a funny situation going with Chicago.”
“I thought you said . . .”
“Yeah. Everything’s straight. All the guys who wanted me dead are dead themselves. But I’m in with these guys, the new ones, and they been
Wagner skirted the pool table, almost bumping into it, bringing the drinks back from the bar too fast.
“Take it easy, Wag,” Nolan said, taking the Scotch from his friend. “I’m out of breath just watching you.”
“Shit, I’m just excited to see you again after so long. Didn’t Planner ever mention I was in town?”
“I guess maybe he did once. But it slipped my mind.”
Wagner and Nolan had run into each other on the street this afternoon, in Iowa City. Planner was the business associate of Nolan’s, dead now, whose nephew Jon had been Nolan’s companion on his last three “adventures,” as Jon might put it.
“I’m sorry as hell about Planner. I guess I was the only one at his funeral from the old days. The only one there who knew him before he retired.”
Planner, too, had been active in professional thievery and had retired—or semi-retired—twenty years ago. In his remaining years, Planner (as his name would imply) had continued to help Nolan and other pros in the planning of jobs, using his Iowa City antique shop as a front.
“I never did get the story on how Planner got it, Nolan. I mean, I don’t buy him dying of old age, for Christ’s sake. He was too tough an old bird for that. I wish I had his ticker.”
“Well, he didn’t exactly pass away in his sleep.”
“That’s how it sounded in the paper.”
“It better have, considering what I paid out to Doc Ainsworth for the death certificate.”
“What really happened?”
“He was watching some money for me, and some guys came in and shot him and took it.”
“Jesus. Did you find those guys? And your money?”
“The guys are dead. Or one of them is, anyway. The other one was what you might call an unwitting accomplice, and I let him go. I’m getting soft in my old age.”
“What about the money?”
“Gone. Irretrievable.”
“Well, what money was it? I mean, from one job or what?”
“It was all of my money, Wag. Everything I had.”
Wagner stroked his thin gray face, and Nolan could see embarrassment flickering nervously in the man’s eyes. Embarrassment because Wagner had earlier, on impulse, proposed to Nolan that he join with Wagner in the restaurant business—but that proposal had been made on Wagner’s assumption that Nolan would have a healthy nest egg of his own.
Nolan took him off the hook. “I’m not broke, Wag, if that’s what your latest heart attack’s about.”
Wagner grinned. “Jesus, Nolan, I’m sorry if I . . .”
“Fuck it. Money, I got. Not as much as I’d like, but enough to buy in, I think. I think I can muster seventy grand.”
“Oh, well, no sweat, then.”
“If I bought in, I’d want it rigged so I could eventually take over the entire ownership. I want my own place, Wag.”
“I know. That’s how I used to think. It’s how I still think, but I got to slow down, Nolan, you know that. I’m thinking maybe I’ll spend the winters in Florida, or something. You lay some heavy money on me and I can go buy me a condominium and stay down there half the year or something, you know? I got to slow down.”
Wagner said all that in about five seconds, which indicated to Nolan how much chance there was of Wagner slowing down. He could picture the little guy running along the shore in Florida grabbing up seashells like a son of a bitch.
“Look, Wag, this appeals to me. You don’t know how this appeals to me. But I got a funny situation going with Chicago.”
“I thought you said . . .”
“Yeah. Everything’s straight. All the guys who wanted me dead are dead themselves. But I’m in with these guys, the new ones, and they been
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