his case any: he’d be held overnight because of the way he was acting and be arraigned in the morning at Frank Murphy. Greta said, Oh, boy. Not too happy. She lowered her head to rest it on her hand. Maureen got up from the bench they were sitting on, saying she’d be right back, and walked over to the counter. Not a minute
later Greta looked up to see Woody’s driver, Donnell, standing in front of her. Donnell said, “You in trouble now, if you don’t know it.” Greta said, “Why don’t you go to hell.” He stood there looking down at her until she heard Maureen coming, Maureen calling Donnell by name, telling him to keep away from her. Donnell left and Maureensaid, “Did he threaten you?” Greta shook her head, swallowing. She didn’t feel like talking, not even to Maureen.
Skip remembered Robin’s mom’s house, big country place made of fieldstone and white trim with black shutters, off Lone Pine in Bloomfield Hills and worth a lot. The kind of house important executives lived in. He liked the idea of staying here but arrived bitchy; he’d been ready to come last night and Robin wasn’t home.
“I was working,” Robin said, bright-eyed, glad to see her old buddy, “and I have a tape to prove it.”
“Full of grunts and groans,” Skip said. “I know what you were doing. Me, I’m looking out the window of the Sweet Dreams Motel at car headlights. Did the farmer see me sneaking out of his barn? Shit, I don’t know. Hey, but you know what else I got, sitting right there? A sack of ammonium nitrate fertilizer. On the way back I bought a couple alarm clocks. They’re not the kind I wanted, but they’ll do.”
“When you’re happy, I’m happy,” Robin said. She showed him the way: in the side door from the attached garage and downstairs to the basement bar-recreation room, Skip with the case of Austin Powder, Emulex 520 written on the side, Used in 1833 and Ever Since . Robin had his luggage, ahanging bag and a carryon. She told him he’d have to stay down here, not wander around or fool with any of the lamps that were on timers. The Bloomfield Hills cops could know which lights were supposed to be on. “Some fun,” Skip said.
She had taken the shelves out of the refrigerator so he could slip the whole dynamite case in. Skip told her it wasn’t necessary unless she wanted it out of the way in a safe place. Robin said it was how they’d stored it back in the golden age, shoved the sticks in there with the Baggies of grass and the leftover brown rice dishes. Remember? She said, “We’d sit at the kitchen table and you’d wire the sticks to the battery and the clock while I read the directions to you out of The Anarchist Cookbook .”
“Like a couple of newlyweds,” Skip said. “I also picked up a lantern battery, I forgot to mention, hanging around Yale with my finger up my butt.”
“You’re ready to go,” Robin said, “aren’t you?”
“Depending what we’re gonna blow up.”
“Woody’s limo.”
“Not the theater, late at night?”
“The limo,” Robin said. “With Woody in it. And Donnell too, his driver.”
“What’ve we got against Donnell?”
“I don’t like him.”
Skip said, “I bet you said hi to him and he didn’t remember who you were.”
“If Woody’s in the car, so is Donnell,” Robin said. “How about when he turns the key?”
“Woody could still be in the house.”
“You’re right. . . . Maybe some kind of a timer then.”
“We’ve used timers. We used ’em at the Federal Building, the Naval Armory, that bank downtown, but it was when nobody was in those places.”
“Time it to go off while they’re driving along.”
“If we knew he went someplace every day.”
“He does, he goes out all the time.”
“But we’d have to know exactly when. I don’t think it’d be good if it blew in traffic, take out some poor assholes going home to their dinner.”
“You want to do it at his house.”
“Yeah, keep it neat,” Skip
later Greta looked up to see Woody’s driver, Donnell, standing in front of her. Donnell said, “You in trouble now, if you don’t know it.” Greta said, “Why don’t you go to hell.” He stood there looking down at her until she heard Maureen coming, Maureen calling Donnell by name, telling him to keep away from her. Donnell left and Maureensaid, “Did he threaten you?” Greta shook her head, swallowing. She didn’t feel like talking, not even to Maureen.
Skip remembered Robin’s mom’s house, big country place made of fieldstone and white trim with black shutters, off Lone Pine in Bloomfield Hills and worth a lot. The kind of house important executives lived in. He liked the idea of staying here but arrived bitchy; he’d been ready to come last night and Robin wasn’t home.
“I was working,” Robin said, bright-eyed, glad to see her old buddy, “and I have a tape to prove it.”
“Full of grunts and groans,” Skip said. “I know what you were doing. Me, I’m looking out the window of the Sweet Dreams Motel at car headlights. Did the farmer see me sneaking out of his barn? Shit, I don’t know. Hey, but you know what else I got, sitting right there? A sack of ammonium nitrate fertilizer. On the way back I bought a couple alarm clocks. They’re not the kind I wanted, but they’ll do.”
“When you’re happy, I’m happy,” Robin said. She showed him the way: in the side door from the attached garage and downstairs to the basement bar-recreation room, Skip with the case of Austin Powder, Emulex 520 written on the side, Used in 1833 and Ever Since . Robin had his luggage, ahanging bag and a carryon. She told him he’d have to stay down here, not wander around or fool with any of the lamps that were on timers. The Bloomfield Hills cops could know which lights were supposed to be on. “Some fun,” Skip said.
She had taken the shelves out of the refrigerator so he could slip the whole dynamite case in. Skip told her it wasn’t necessary unless she wanted it out of the way in a safe place. Robin said it was how they’d stored it back in the golden age, shoved the sticks in there with the Baggies of grass and the leftover brown rice dishes. Remember? She said, “We’d sit at the kitchen table and you’d wire the sticks to the battery and the clock while I read the directions to you out of The Anarchist Cookbook .”
“Like a couple of newlyweds,” Skip said. “I also picked up a lantern battery, I forgot to mention, hanging around Yale with my finger up my butt.”
“You’re ready to go,” Robin said, “aren’t you?”
“Depending what we’re gonna blow up.”
“Woody’s limo.”
“Not the theater, late at night?”
“The limo,” Robin said. “With Woody in it. And Donnell too, his driver.”
“What’ve we got against Donnell?”
“I don’t like him.”
Skip said, “I bet you said hi to him and he didn’t remember who you were.”
“If Woody’s in the car, so is Donnell,” Robin said. “How about when he turns the key?”
“Woody could still be in the house.”
“You’re right. . . . Maybe some kind of a timer then.”
“We’ve used timers. We used ’em at the Federal Building, the Naval Armory, that bank downtown, but it was when nobody was in those places.”
“Time it to go off while they’re driving along.”
“If we knew he went someplace every day.”
“He does, he goes out all the time.”
“But we’d have to know exactly when. I don’t think it’d be good if it blew in traffic, take out some poor assholes going home to their dinner.”
“You want to do it at his house.”
“Yeah, keep it neat,” Skip
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