nostalgic spirit was slightly disrupted when a computer cash register totaled their order.
“The hippies did it right for once,” Wagner said, referring to the restaurant. He was about to bite into a sub the size of one of the shoes the kid in line was planning to make.
“I agree with you,” Nolan managed, between bites of a hot bratwurst sandwich, dripping with mozzarella cheese and sauerkraut.
“I love this town. Love it. Makes me feel young.”
“Yeah, well, it makes me feel old, and you be careful or you’ll have another heart attack before the ink is dry.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, his mouth full of sub, “this pacemaker’s made a new man out of me.”
“You should’ve stayed in Florida. There’s nothing wrong with being retired.”
“Florida stinks! Nothing but old people and Cubans.”
“And sunshine and girls in bikinis.”
“Don’t believe everything the Chamber of Commerce tells you. How’s the Quad Cities thing working out?”
“Okay,” Nolan said. “It’s early yet.”
“It’s smaller than the Pier, I take it”
“Much. I can loaf with this place.”
“You opened yet?”
“In a couple weeks. Still getting the inventory together. Still working with the staff.”
“I’m sure you’re working with the staff. Particularly the female staff.”
“Just one.” He smiled.
“Special, this one?”
“Just a girl. I knew her from before.”
“Oh. What’s it called?”
“Sherry.”
“Not the girl, the joint.”
“Nolan’s.”
“No kidding? What was it called before that?”
“I don’t know. I think it was always called Nolan’s. It’s been around for years. That’s why I had to shut it down, for remodeling and such.”
“Whaddya know. It must’ve been meant to be. So are you using the Nolan name there, then?”
“Yeah. I decided to. The coincidence of it was just too good to pass up. I still pay taxes and sign legal stuff with the Logan name. That’s one good thing I got out of the Family—a legal name.”
Wagner started on the second half of the massive sub. “You know,” he said through the food, “I feel guilty about not giving you more money for the Pier. You’re giving me a better operation than I sold you.”
“I know. I didn’t sell out entirely, remember. I still got half interest.”
“Which you split with that kid, Jon, right?”
“Right. And the money you’re going to be paying me monthly is sent in two checks, one for me, one for him.”
“You see much of him lately?”
“No.”
“So what’s he doing? Where is he?”
“Playing with a rock ’n’ roll band, of all things.”
Wagner shook his head. “A nice kid, messed up in a business like that.”
Nolan smiled, sipped his beer. “Yeah. When he could’ve stayed in heisting.”
They finished their meal and walked out onto the street. “We still got work to do,” Wagner said, hands in pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet. “The accountant’ll be down at the Pier by now.”
“Let’s get it over with,” Nolan said.
“You in a hurry or something?”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Then you’ll stay the evening? The Al Pierson Dance Band’s playing.”
“Sure. Why not.” He hadn’t given Sherry a definite time he’d be back. There was no rush.
They drove down in Nolan’s dark blue LTD.
The Pier was a former Elks Lodge, on the banks of the Iowa River, converted into a seafood restaurant. The bottom floor was the Steamboat Lounge; the main floor was the Mark Twain Dining Room; and the upper floor was the Captain’s Ballroom. But Nolan and Wagner were headed for the Accountant’s Den, which was to say, the office that had been Nolan’s and was now Wagner’s, where an accountant was waiting to go over the books, before the final changeover in management.
That took several hours, and by that time Nolan and Wagner were ready to eat again, in the dining room, where an illuminated aquarium built into the length of one wall gave a
“The hippies did it right for once,” Wagner said, referring to the restaurant. He was about to bite into a sub the size of one of the shoes the kid in line was planning to make.
“I agree with you,” Nolan managed, between bites of a hot bratwurst sandwich, dripping with mozzarella cheese and sauerkraut.
“I love this town. Love it. Makes me feel young.”
“Yeah, well, it makes me feel old, and you be careful or you’ll have another heart attack before the ink is dry.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, his mouth full of sub, “this pacemaker’s made a new man out of me.”
“You should’ve stayed in Florida. There’s nothing wrong with being retired.”
“Florida stinks! Nothing but old people and Cubans.”
“And sunshine and girls in bikinis.”
“Don’t believe everything the Chamber of Commerce tells you. How’s the Quad Cities thing working out?”
“Okay,” Nolan said. “It’s early yet.”
“It’s smaller than the Pier, I take it”
“Much. I can loaf with this place.”
“You opened yet?”
“In a couple weeks. Still getting the inventory together. Still working with the staff.”
“I’m sure you’re working with the staff. Particularly the female staff.”
“Just one.” He smiled.
“Special, this one?”
“Just a girl. I knew her from before.”
“Oh. What’s it called?”
“Sherry.”
“Not the girl, the joint.”
“Nolan’s.”
“No kidding? What was it called before that?”
“I don’t know. I think it was always called Nolan’s. It’s been around for years. That’s why I had to shut it down, for remodeling and such.”
“Whaddya know. It must’ve been meant to be. So are you using the Nolan name there, then?”
“Yeah. I decided to. The coincidence of it was just too good to pass up. I still pay taxes and sign legal stuff with the Logan name. That’s one good thing I got out of the Family—a legal name.”
Wagner started on the second half of the massive sub. “You know,” he said through the food, “I feel guilty about not giving you more money for the Pier. You’re giving me a better operation than I sold you.”
“I know. I didn’t sell out entirely, remember. I still got half interest.”
“Which you split with that kid, Jon, right?”
“Right. And the money you’re going to be paying me monthly is sent in two checks, one for me, one for him.”
“You see much of him lately?”
“No.”
“So what’s he doing? Where is he?”
“Playing with a rock ’n’ roll band, of all things.”
Wagner shook his head. “A nice kid, messed up in a business like that.”
Nolan smiled, sipped his beer. “Yeah. When he could’ve stayed in heisting.”
They finished their meal and walked out onto the street. “We still got work to do,” Wagner said, hands in pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet. “The accountant’ll be down at the Pier by now.”
“Let’s get it over with,” Nolan said.
“You in a hurry or something?”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Then you’ll stay the evening? The Al Pierson Dance Band’s playing.”
“Sure. Why not.” He hadn’t given Sherry a definite time he’d be back. There was no rush.
They drove down in Nolan’s dark blue LTD.
The Pier was a former Elks Lodge, on the banks of the Iowa River, converted into a seafood restaurant. The bottom floor was the Steamboat Lounge; the main floor was the Mark Twain Dining Room; and the upper floor was the Captain’s Ballroom. But Nolan and Wagner were headed for the Accountant’s Den, which was to say, the office that had been Nolan’s and was now Wagner’s, where an accountant was waiting to go over the books, before the final changeover in management.
That took several hours, and by that time Nolan and Wagner were ready to eat again, in the dining room, where an illuminated aquarium built into the length of one wall gave a
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