Elmore Leonard - The Big Bounce

Nancy heard him on the outside stairs and now, sitting in the oversized chair in the dark, she saw him on the sun deck; she watched him slide open the glass door and come in; she watched him pause, getting his bearings, then start for the den. When he was within a few feet of her chair, Nancy said, “Hi.”

He didn’t answer right away. She had surprised him and it took a few seconds for him to locate her and think of something to say.

“I was going to surprise you,” Ryan said.

“I don’t sleep in the den.” Nancy waited.

Ryan leaned close to her chair to turn on the lamp.

“Where do you sleep?”

“Upstairs.”

“Show me.”

“After,” Nancy said. “I brought up everything we’ll need.”

“Like what?”

“From the bar.” Nancy watched him, her head slightly lowered, her eyes raised. Ryan stared back at her. It was her half-assed Ann-Margret look, but it was all right.

“The beer’s in the fridge,” Nancy said. She didn’t move.

“I don’t think I feel like anything.”

“I do,” Nancy said.

“I didn’t think you drank beer.”

“Sometimes. Will you get me one?” She watched him go to the kitchen and in the corner of her eye saw him reach in and turn on the light. She heard the refrigerator door open and, after a moment, close.

From the kitchen he said, “There isn’t any beer.”

Nancy stared at the sliding glass door, at the darkness outside, and the dim reflection of the room. She could see herself sitting in the chair. “Look in the cupboard next to the fridge. Bottom shelf.”

“What’re you English, you like warm beer?”

“Put a couple of bottles in the freezer. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Maybe we should have something else.”

“I don’t want something else, I want beer.”

Ryan looked in. “I believe you.”

She waited. She heard him open the cupboard. There were faint sounds. Then silence. She counted a thousand and one, a thousand and two, a thousand and three, a thousand and four-

“You don’t have any beer,” Ryan said.

She looked over her shoulder, past the corner of the backrest, to Ryan in the doorway.

“You’ve got a bunch of old wallets, but you don’t have any beer.”

Nancy twisted around, leaning on the chair arm. “Do you recognize them?”

He stared back at her. He stared thoughtfully, taking his time. Finally he came into the living room. He drew up the ottoman of Nancy’s chair and sat down.

“I have never been mean to a girl,” Ryan said. “I have never talked loud to a girl or ever hit a girl.”

“There’s beer downstairs,” Nancy said.

“Maybe I’ll have something else.”

“Help yourself. Behind the bar. The beer’s in the fridge underneath.”

“Do you always say that?”

“What?”

“Fridge.”

She frowned a little. “Not always.”

“It’s a dumb word,” Ryan said. He got up and went down the circular stairs to the activities room. A lamp at one end of the bar spread a soft pink light over the polished wood. He found a bottle of bourbon and poured some of it into an Old Fashioned glass. He took ice and beer from the refrigerator, put two cubes into the glass, and opened the beer. He lit a cigarette from a dish of filter-tipped cigarettes on the bar; he blew the smoke out slowly and took a sip of the bourbon.

Nancy had not moved. She waited as Ryan placed the beer and a glass and the bottle of bourbon on the table next to her and sat down on the ottoman.

“All right,” Ryan said. “Tell me the name of the game.” He watched her patiently.

“You sound different,” Nancy said, “at different times. I’ll bet you’re moody.”

“Tell me the game, okay?”

“Being moody is all right if you have something to be moody about, but I think most people pretend, like a pose.”

Ryan drank the rest of his bourbon and stood up. “I’ll see you.”

“The game,” Nancy said, “is called unless you’re a nice boy and do what I tell you, I’ll go to the state police with the wallets. It’s sort of a long name for a game, but it’s fun.”

“It is a long name,” Ryan said. “Why do you think I have anything to do with them?”

“Because your friend told me. Frank something. He came here last night and said he’d go to the police unless I gave him five hundred dollars for the wallets.”

“Five hundred?”

“He settled for eighty.”

“Why did he think you’d be interested?”

“I guess because he saw you with my car. He decided we must have a thing going.”

“Well,” Ryan said, “that’s his story.”

“No, it’s my story now,” Nancy said. “I’ll say I saw you come out of the house. I followed you and picked up the case when you threw it away.”

“You’re going to a lot of trouble.”

“Because I need you.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“And I think if your friend was arrested,” Nancy said, “he’d blame the whole thing on you.”

Ryan sat down again. He poured bourbon over the melting ice cubes and sipped it, seeing Frank Pizarro in a straight chair with the sheriff’s cop, J. R. Coleman, standing over him.

“I think you might have something,” Ryan said.

“Good.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

Nancy smiled. “Very good. I thought you might be mad at first, but you’re taking it like a little man.”

“I want to get it straight,” Ryan said. “If I back out of our deal, you’ll call the police and put them on Frank Pizarro.”

“Right.”

“You don’t care about Bob Junior seeing us.”

“Not at all.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Ryan said. He raised his glass. “Can I get some more ice?”

“Help yourself.”

“I don’t guess you want another beer.”

“I hate beer.”

He got ice from the refrigerator in the kitchen and came out carrying the beer case. Nancy watched him drop it on the ottoman.

“I’ve thought it over,” Ryan said. “No.”

Nancy waited a moment. “Okay.”

“So I better take this with me.”

“Go ahead. I don’t need it.”

He sat on the edge of the ottoman, facing her, his knees touching her legs tucked under her. “Look,” he said, “don’t do anything dumb, all right? People start telling on each other it gets to be a mess. The police start asking you questions and it gets in the newspaper and whether you like it or not, everybody knows your business. You don’t want that, do you? I mean you got a good deal here, what do you want to wreck it for?”

“I was just thinking,” Nancy said, “your little job Sunday will be in the Geneva paper tomorrow. They’ll be talking about it in town.”

“For a couple of days maybe.”

“Everybody will keep their doors locked.”

“That’s another thing,” Ryan said. “Bob Junior will read about a robbery and have it on his mind. I mean, our timing is bad.”

“Why don’t you relax?” Nancy said. She took his cigarette and drew on it before settling back in the chair. She gave Ryan her nice smile and a soft, warm look with her eyes.

“I was just playing,” she said then. “Do you really think I’d go to the police?”

“If you thought it might be fun.”

“Jackie-” Sounding hurt, disappointed.

“And if you thought you could stay out of it,” Ryan said. “But that’s what I mean. You can’t stay out of it. They put your picture in the paper and your life story and everybody knows your business. It puts Ray on the spot and he dumps you, like that.”

Nancy pressed close to one arm of the chair, making room and patting the seat cushion. “Come on over,” she said, and gave him her sympathetic pout look. “Come on, let’s be friends.”