Elmore Leonard - The Big Bounce

“Just us chickens,” Nancy said. “I’d like to really hear what they’re saying. We’re too far.”

“He’s going in to call the cops now.”

“You think he will?”

“What would you do?”

“Yes, I suppose. Hey, what if we wait for the police car and when it comes-zap-zap.”

“What if we went and got a beer?”

“We have to get closer to one,” Nancy said. “Come on.”

She moved off again through the tree shadows with Ryan behind her, watching her legs and the ground, stopping close to her when she stopped, putting his hand on her shoulder and feeling her collarbone, frail beneath his fingers. She smelled good; not of perfume but maybe powder or soap. She smelled clean.

“There it is,” Nancy said. “Perfect.”

He followed her gaze across the road and the deep lawn to the new-looking, low-roofed house trimmed with grille work and bathed in a soft gray-pink spotlight rising out of the shrubbery. Dim lights showed in every room and on the screened porch that extended along the right side of the house, facing a stand of birch trees.

“A quiet party,” Nancy said. “A few friends over for a tightener after dinner.”

Ryan counted five on the porch. Three women. A man appeared from inside the house, coming out with a glass in each hand.

“Fresheners,” Nancy said. “Tighteners and fresheners. Sometimes drinkees or martin-eyes.”

“Duck,” Ryan said.

Headlights, turning onto the drive, swept the trees. Close to them, as the car hurried past, they saw the Sheriff’s Patrol insignia on the door. The car’s rear lights moved into the darkness and, a block from them, turned bright red.

“They’ll be there ten minutes,” Ryan said. “Then start prowling.”

“How do they expect to find anybody in a car.”

“They have to go through the motions.”

“Dumb official nothing.”

“What?”

“Listen, this time you go around to the back of the house and put one through the kitchen window,” Nancy said.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you get it?”

“You’ll be in the trees by the porch watching?”

“Very good.”

“We’ll only have about five minutes.”

“All we’ll need.”

“Wait a minute,” Ryan said. “I don’t have any more rocks.”

Nancy handed him one. “If you promise to pay me back.”

She moved off. Ryan watched the two red dots of light down the street as he crossed over. There were bushes here separating the houses, and a tall hedge. He moved along close to it, along the edge of the yard all the way to the house, then across the backyard, partly lit by the kitchen and breakfast room windows, to the side of the garage. If he ever ran into Leon Woody again, if Leon Woody ever got out of Milan and he ran into him, he’d say to Leon, “Hey, man, I got a new thing.” Leon Woody would say, “What’s that, man?” And he’d say, “Breaking windows, man. You go around at night breaking windows.” And Leon Woody would say, “Breaking windows. Uh-huh, yeah, that sounds pretty good, man.” For Christ sake, Ryan thought, and threw the rock through the window before he could think about it anymore.

He stepped back to the corner of the garage, partly behind it, and watched. When the man appeared in the kitchen-the man coming in and looking around and not knowing what to expect, and now the rest of them coming behind him-Ryan left. He went into the birch trees and worked his way up along the porch side of the house. He tried to pick out the girl among the trees, the shape of her in the darkness. He came up even with the porch. The girl wasn’t in the trees.

She was on the empty porch. She had a bottle in her hand and two glasses, trying to pick up something else. Finally she put the bottle under her arm. Then with the two glasses in one hand and an ice bucket in the other and the bottle under her arm she pushed open the screen door with her fanny and walked across the lawn toward Ryan at the edge of the trees. See, Leon, you don’t just bust the windows. You bust them and then you go in and steal a bottle of whiskey and some ice. And Leon Woody would say, “Uh-huh, sure, man, you got to have the ice.”

“I LIKE CRACKED LIPS.”

“From the sun,” Ryan said. “Out in the sun all day.”

“They’re more fun. I think kissing hard and sliding around is nothing.”

“Yeah, well some people think it gets you up there quicker.”

“Up where?” Close to him in the sand Nancy leaned in, nuzzling in, brushing the side of his face with her mouth and gently biting his lower lip.

“I’ll go your way,” Ryan said.

“All the way?”

He was taking his time; he wasn’t going to rush it and look like some hick, but it wasn’t easy to do. He said, “Do you want another drink?” Nancy shook her head. He pushed up on one elbow and put his hand in the ice bucket. “Water,” he said. “How about bourbon and cold water?”

“I thought I was taking Scotch.”

“You did all right.”

“Thank you.”

“The walking away from the porch was good. I’ve got a friend would have liked that.”

“Someone you worked with?”

“Cleaning carpets.”

“I mean the other thing. B and E. I like B and E, the sound of it. Isn’t that funny? I mean it sounds so simple, two little letters.”

“Why don’t we get some ice at your place?” They were a little way down the beach from the orange post lamp on the bluff. Sitting up, Ryan could see the point of light against the sky.

“I feel like something else,” Nancy said.

“Like what?”

“Cold Ducks. But there aren’t any in the house.” She pushed up next to him then. “I know where there are some though. Come on.”

Like that. Ryan collected the bottle and ice bucket and glasses and followed her down the beach, aware that he was following her, and hurried to catch up. She was looking out at the lake, at the deep dark of the water and the lighter dark of the sky.

“There it is,” Nancy said.

“I don’t see anything.”

“The boat.”

He saw the white shape that must be a cabin cruiser lying about fifty or sixty yards out. At the same time he realized they were opposite Nancy’s house, with the orange glow of the light high on the bluff above them.

“That’s Ray’s, uh?”

“Somebody from the club was supposed to pick it up,” Nancy said, “but they haven’t.” She looked at Ryan. “We won’t need any of that.”

“What do I do with it?”

“How about putting it down?”

“And somebody finds it in front of your house?”

“So?”

“I’ll bury it.”

At the foot of the bluff he dug away enough sand to cover the ice bucket and glasses and the bottle. Coming back across the beach to the water, he saw Nancy was nowhere in sight. Her clothes were in a pile.

He took off his shirt and pants, folded them, and put them on the ground next to Nancy’s sweater-and shorts that were dropped there; he went into the water wearing only his shorts, making himself go right in without fooling around touching the water with his toes. It wasn’t deep; he was halfway to the boat before the water was up to his waist, but God, it was cold without the sun. He had to go in and get wet all the way and dove out, swimming under water to get used to it. Coming up, he swam sidestroke, reaching the stern of the boat on the starboard side, pulling himself up on the side rail and ducking under the canvas top of the afterdeck.

“Where are you?”

“In here.”

He followed the sound of her voice through the open hatch, down three steps into sleeping quarters, through a short passage into the lamplight of the galley. She stood in the narrow aisle opening a bottle that looked like champagne, her wet hair straight and pressed to her face. She was wearing a sweater, a black ribbed V-neck sweater that hung to her thighs.