The Town: A Novel by Chuck Hogan

fine, duke the Florist. Keep him happy? Fine. But I won’t work for him. We are pros here, not cowboys in a Wild West show. We’re different. That’s what keeps us ahead in this cat-and-rat game. Free agents, we gotta stay smart, full-time, else we’ll get beat. I will walk away before I became some gangster’s personal fucking ATM machine. If I even
thought
that was coming, I’d walk away right now.”
    Jem put on a grin. “Bullshit. You could never walk away.”
    Doug said, “Have to, someday.”
    “You’d make a real good old woman, you didn’t have such a fucking nose for crime. Only you could be raggy about this score.”
    Doug chewed and watched the kids make their way off the ice, skate-walking to the doors.
    “Duggy’s share is back at my place,” said Jem, proceeding as if nothing had happened. To Gloansy and Dez, he handed over orange-headed locker keys. “Your pieces are out front. Remember, it’s all dirty linen and’s got to be washed. Now, last thing—bank manager.”
    Looking at Doug. Doug shrugged and said, “Yeah?”
    “You grabbed her license from me. What’s the scoop?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Thought you said she lives in the Town.”
    “Hasn’t been back home yet. I think we can forget about her. So long as you ditched the masks, she’s got nothing.”
    “Course I ditched the masks.”
    “Well, you seemed pretty fond of your artwork, I want to be sure.”
    “Masks, tools, everything ditched.”
    Doug shrugged. “Then whatever.”
    Gloansy said, “I saw her on the news, being walked away, her father. She’s too shaken up to tell them shit anyway.”
    “Yeah,” said Doug, swiping his nose like the manufactured cold was getting to him.
    “Done, then,” said Jem. “We’re clear. With that, this investment club meeting is officially adjourned.”
    Dez packed up his trash. “Gotta rock.”
    “I’m behind you,” said Doug, bagging his.
    “Whoa, where you running off to?” said Jem. “What clock you on?”
    “I got some stuff,” said Doug.
    “Blow it off. Free ice now. Me and Gloansy gonna skate.”
    “Can’t,” said Doug, rising, Dez already smacking fists and starting out.
    Jem frowned and said to Gloansy, “Guy lives in my house, I never see him.”
    Doug said, “I gotta breeze. You know how I get, between things.”
    “So stay. Have a few tall boys with us, relax. Gloansy brought his goalie pads, he’s gonna let us take shots at him.”
    “Fuck you,” sang Gloansy, lifting out the last skinny slice.
    “I’m walking,” said Doug, starting down the scarred planks. “Besides, you’re wrong. I do got a job. Keeping you homos in line.”
    “Ho, shit,” said Jem, their little tiff passing like a storm cloud. “That’s some full-time work right there.”
    D OUG CAME OUT THROUGH the doors as Dez was pulling his cut from the rink lobby lockers, the size of two thick phone books wrapped in butcher paper. Jem had left a Filene’s shopping bag folded in there and Dez dumped the package inside, rolling the bag into a bundle and tucking it up under his arm, football-style. They walked together through the doors out into the hard, white daylight.
    Dez said, “Ma’s been after me to get you over for dinner again.”
    “Yeah, we’ll do that soon.” The high sun summoned up in him a tremendous, satisfying sneeze.
    “God bless,” said Monsignor Dez.
    Doug squinted. “You going up to drop half that in the collection box right now?”
    “No time. Later.”
    “St. Frank’s gonna put a hot tub in the confessional before you’re done.”
    Dez looked at Doug without a smile. “The split’s light,” he said. “Isn’t it.”
    Doug rubbed his eyes. “Ah, fuck it.”
    “Why? Why let him be in charge? You know you run things. And that whole dock thing, that was a charade.”
    Doug shrugged, truly uninterested. “Hey, what’s a IDSN line?”
    “ISDN,” Dez corrected. “Data streaming, high-speed Internet. Like if I was a plumber bringing you your water,