Elmore Leonard: 52 pickup

"I want to talk to you today, Mitch."

"All right. But later on, okay? I've got things to do and I'm running out of time."

"Mitch, promise me-you won't do anything until you've talked to me."

"We'll see," Mitchell said. "But I may not have a choice."

Alan pulled the bedroom phone out of the jack and took it with him when he went downstairs. He got the Free Press off the front steps and read about Leo while the water was boiling. That Bobby. Goddamn gunslinger had to blow the place up. Style but wild. Man loved to pull the trigger. Yeah, Alan said, and smiled.

It was working, he told himself, pouring the coffee. Everything was working. He went down a checklist in his mind.

Leo out of the way.

Guy's wife upstairs, under control.

Panel truck in the garage. Stolen but as good as clean, because Richard the dealer sure wasn't going to any police.

Guy busy at his plant, not knowing what shit was going on.

That was the luckiest jackpot great-timing break of all, the guy not coming home last night. Jesus, so he didn't have to sneak Slim out and hide her in some motel and leave a phony note saying she was out for the evening or visiting her mother or some goddamn thing-which the guy might buy or might not. That had been the riskiest part of the whole idea and it turned out to be nothing to worry about.

He placed the coffeepot and cups, the paper and the telephone on a tray and carried it upstairs to the bedroom. She was lying in the big king-size bed with the sheet covering her and seemed to be still asleep. But her eyes opened as he set the tray on the night table. She watched him put the gun in his pocket and plug in the phone.

"Where did you sleep?" she asked him.

"Hey, Slim, come on. That wasn't a dream you were having. That was for real."

"Did you give me another injection during the night?"

Alan grinned at her.

"I mean the heroin, or whatever it is."

"Just the one, before we went to bed. Some other time I'm going to keep you awake for the show."

"May I get dressed now?"

"You're fine the way you are. Sit up, we'll have some coffee. First though-" He sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Mr. Mitchell, please. Mr. Raimy calling." Alan looked over at Barbara and winked.

"What happened to your friend?" Mitchell said, as soon as he heard Alan's voice.

"Who's that?"

"Leo."

"Never heard of him. Listen," Alan said. "I've been thinking about you and getting very bad vibes, like you're trying to pull some kind of shit on me. You ever get that feeling?"

"If you're nervous, see a doctor," Mitchell said. "If you want to get this done, then let's do it."

"You got the fifty-two?"

"I can have it today."

"Okay. We'll do it tonight."

"Where?"

"Get the money, go back to your office and stay there. I'll call you."

"I assume," Mitchell said, "you want it in the briefcase you sent."

"You assume correct. Now, one other thing."

"What's that?"

"No police. Okay?"

"No police."

"Not that I don't trust you but, man, I don't like taking a chance. You understand? So I'm going to have somebody with me."

"Who, Bobby?"

"Hey, you've been busy. No, somebody else. Hang on a second."

Mitchell waited.

Barbara said, "Mitch?"

His chair came upright as he straightened and the arms banged against the desk. "Barbara! Where are you?… Barbara!"

There was a silence before Alan came on the line again.

"You see it now, sport? If I find out you got the police in this-man, if I even feel it-no wife. I'm taking a chance. You may not even give a shit about her and I'm left holding Slim, but I don't see any other way to do it. You give me the fifty-two, I give you your wife. Shake hands and go home."

"Where are you?" Mitchell said.

"What difference does it make? I'll call you later."

"Let me talk to my wife again."

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of her."

The line went dead.

Mitchell pressed the phone button down, raised it and dialed his home. He listened to the phone ring ten times before he hung up.

He waited, picked up the phone again and this time put in a call for Ross.

Alan didn't say anything until the phone stopped ringing. "That's hubby checking up."

"It could be somebody else," Barbara said.

"It doesn't matter. We're not answering the phone today."

"I have a tennis match this afternoon. If I don't show up they're going to wonder. Someone may come over."

"Let me worry about that," Alan said. "Till we leave here we don't answer the phone or the door."

"Where are we going?"

"Hey, don't talk for a while, okay?" He picked up the phone again and was dialing a number.

After a moment, quietly, he said, "Bobby, I liked it… Yeah, you're a fucking cowboy… Listen, it's set for tonight. I'm going to call him later, let him know exactly where and all that. But listen, we don't want two cars. Have Doreen drive you out, meet me at Metropolitan Beach, it's just a little bit east of his plant, eight o'clock… I'm nowhere near you and I got things to do. Listen, get Doreen to drive you, drop you off. I'll meet you in the parking area over by… you'll see a sign, it says tot lot… where they got all the swings and slides and shit… Yeah, you'll see it over to the right as you come in. Hey, Bobby, and bring the guy's piece… That's right. Take you about forty-five minutes. So, I'll see you at eight. Man, on the button, eight o'clock."

As he hung up the phone Barbara said, "What are we going to do until then? That's a long time away."

Alan turned to look down at her, at the curve of her breasts beneath the sheet and her bare arms at her sides, lying flat, motionless.

"What do you want to do? Play a little tennis? At the club?"

She didn't say anything.

"Or we can shoot scag. Drift off somewhere and, you know, groove around."

"You do it," Barbara said. "I'll watch."

"Well, you're going to have some before we leave," Alan said. "You can bet on that."

Mitchell stood in the small outer lobby looking at the photographic lightbox display of Wright-Way trailers, campers and motor homes. He turned to the glass window with the round opening in it as the receptionist said, "Mr. Mitchell, he's out of the office right now."

"Is he in the plant?"

"Esther just said he was out of the office. Did you have an appointment?"

"Not in about three years," Mitchell said. "Why don't I wait a while, see if he turns up?"

"I'll try and locate him for you," the receptionist said.

Mitchell lighted a cigarette and stood looking into the front-office area, at the rows of secretaries and clerks sitting at their pastel green metal desks. After a few minutes the receptionist said, "He doesn't seem to be in the plant." Mitchell nodded. He smiled, showing her he was patient and in no hurry.

After a few more minutes he saw the Chief Engineer come out of the hall that led to the plant and go over to one of the secretaries. Mitchell waited. When the Chief Engineer turned from the desk, he saw Mitchell in the lobby, walked over waving for Mitchell to come in, and pulled open the glass door.

"What're you doing out there? Come on in for Christ sake."

"I'm waiting to see Ross. I guess they can't find him."

"I just talked to him five minutes ago," the Chief Engineer said. "What do you mean they can't find him? If he's not at his desk he's probably locked in the toilet with some broad."

Mitchell smiled. "How's it going? You got any problems?"

"A few things I could talk to you about," the Chief Engineer said. "Whyn't you come in my office?"

"How about after I get through with Ross?" Mitchell said. "He called, it sounded important."