Billy Summers

‘No, and don’t much want to.’

‘Okay.’ Nick sighs and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Probably you’d like to sight the gun in, right? Take a few shots out in the country?’

‘Maybe,’ Billy says, but he won’t risk shooting, even out in the toolies where every stop sign has been riddled with bullet holes. He can zero the rifle with an iPhone app and a laser gadget they sell on Amazon.

Nick leans forward, hands clasped in front of his considerable basket. He wears an expression of friendly concern. To Billy it makes him look like an imposter. ‘How are you doing out there in … what’s it called? Midwood?’

‘Midwood, yeah. Pretty good.’

‘Kind of a shithole, I know, but the payoff will be worth it.’

‘Yeah.’ Thinking it’s actually a pretty nice neighborhood.

‘Keeping a low profile?’

Billy nods. No need for Nick to know about the Monopoly games, or the get-together in his backyard, or the drink he had with Phil Stanhope. Now or ever.

‘Have you thought any more about the getaway plan I mentioned to you? Because, as you see, the boys will be ready when it’s time. Reggie’s no rocket scientist, but Dana is a thinking cat. And both of them can drive.’

‘I just run around the corner, right? And get in the back of the van.’

‘Right, and change into one of the coveralls like the ones the city employees wear. You guys ask the cops if you can help with crowd control or something.’ Like Billy has forgotten all this. ‘If they say yes – they probably won’t, but if they do – you pitch right in. Either way, you’ll be out of state and on your way to Wisconsin by nightfall. Maybe sooner. So what do you think?’

Billy pictures himself not on his way to Wisconsin but lying dead beside a county road in a ditch along with the beer cans and discarded Big Mac boxes. That picture is very clear.

He smiles – big smile – and says, ‘It sounds good. Better than anything I could have thought up.’

Which is bullshit, what he’s thought up seems strong to him no matter how much he turns it this way and that. There are risks, but they are minimal. Nick doesn’t need to know his actual getaway plan. He may be pissed off later, but really, how pissed can he be if the job gets done?

Nick rises to his feet. ‘Good. Glad to help you out, Billy. You’re a good man.’

No I’m not, and neither are you. ‘Thanks, Nick.’

‘Last job, huh? You really mean that?’

‘I do.’

‘Well come here, bambino, and give me a hug.’

Billy does.

It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Nick, he thinks on his way back to the yellow house. It’s just that he trusts himself more. Always has, always will.

4

A couple of days later there’s a knock on the door of his little office suite. Billy has been writing, lost in a past that’s partly Benjy Compson’s but mostly his. He saves his work, shuts down, and opens the door. It’s Ken Hoff. He looks like he’s lost ten pounds since Billy saw him in June. The scruff on his face is scruffier than ever. Maybe he still thinks it makes him look like the leading man in an action movie, but to Billy he looks like a guy one day off a five-day drunk. His breath doesn’t help. The mint he’s chewing can’t disguise the shot or two he had on his way here, at ten-forty in the morning. His tie is natty, but his shirt is wrinkled and a bit untucked on one side. This is trouble on two legs, Billy thinks.

‘Hello, Billy.’

‘It’s Dave, remember?’

‘Sure, Dave, right.’ Hoff looks over his shoulder, making sure there’s no one in the hall that might have overheard his mistake. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Sure, Mr Hoff.’ He’s not going to call the man who’s essentially his landlord Ken. He stands aside.

Hoff takes another look over his shoulder and comes in. They’re standing in what would be the reception area if this was an actual business office. Billy closes the door. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Nothing, I’m fine.’ Hoff wets his lips and Billy realizes the man is afraid of him. ‘Just came by to see if everything was, you know, all right. If you needed anything.’

Nick sent him, Billy thinks. The message? You got off on the wrong foot with Billy and he’s our man on the spot, so get right with him.

‘Just one thing,’ Billy says. ‘You’ll make sure the merch is there when I need it, right?’ Meaning the M24. What Hoff called a Remington 700.

‘That’s all in hand. All in hand, my friend. Do you want it now, or—’

‘No. One of our friends will tell you when it’s time. Until then, keep it someplace safe.’

‘No problem. It’s in my—’

‘I don’t want to know. Not yet.’ Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, he thinks. Book of Matthew. What he wants on this day is to get back to what he was doing. He had no idea how good writing could make you feel.

‘Okay, sure. Listen, you want to go for a drink sometime?’

‘That wouldn’t be a good idea.’