Any Goodly Amount - The Wheelman
By Duane Swierczynski
MONDAY P.M.
“To a few, it’ll be grief
To the law, a relief
But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.”
—BONNIE PARKER
* * *
“FIRST OF ALL, YOU CAN CUT THE SHIT ABOUT BEING mute. I KNOW you’re not, okay?”
Saugherty had tap-danced like Fred Astaire on uppers to get inside this interrogation room. And this mick bastard was still playing the Shields and Darnell shit.
“Just say hi, you asshole. We don’t have time for this.”
The bank robber stared at him, his eyes opened wide, as if he was trying to mentally communicate with Saugherty. His hands were cuffed behind his back, looped through the chair. Go ahead and threaten to detonate a bomb in the U.S., see what happens. Saugherty still couldn’t believe he was in here.
Now the guy was trying to mouth something.
“I can’t read lips, so quit it. Do-you-know-where-the-money-is?”
The guy sighed.
Saugherty wanted to crawl up the side of the room and shit nickels. But then he stopped. Had he made a mistake? Was it possible the guy didn’t actually speak before firing that gun and blowing up Saugherty’s garage? Did he imagine the whole thing? No. He had heard it. That Irish brogue, the word “arsehole,” as if asshole needed the extra consonant. So what was going on here?
“Let me make it plain. I-know-where-your-sister-is.”
The bank robber’s eyes snapped to attention.
“Yeah, I know she’s your sister. Katie Selway. I know she got caught up in this whole thing, and I know she’s in trouble. And I can help you get to her.”
Of course, Saugherty was completely fumbling around this one. And he had left out an important detail or two, but that could be ironed out later.
“That got your attention, didn’t it?”
The guy nodded. Slightly. As if to say, go on.
“I need to know you’re going to help me out at the end of this, then. We need to recover that money, and then I’ll help you recover your sister. Do we have an agreement?”
Lennon, the bank robber, actually seemed to be thinking it over. He knew where the money was, alright.
He nodded again. Just once.
“You know, we have the most revealing conversations, you and I,” Saugherty said. “I love that about us. In this business, it’s really hard to meet people you feel a connection with. Do you feel the same way? Okay. Get ready.”
The two men sat there in the soft pink room with the wire mesh on the opaque windows, getting ready.
“It’s about to go off.”
Silence.
“What’s about to go off, you ask? The suitcase nuke I put in a locker over at the bus station at Tenth and Filbert. Let’s go.”