the courthouse because thatâs the one place nobody expects it to be. But itâs not going to stay here forever. Once the trial is done, itâll be gone. We need to find it now, before the trial comes back.â
âHow do we do that?â said McQueen.
âMy brains, your legs.â
âAre you crazy, Gary? Weâre frigginâ court officers. We put our time in, we moonlight for extra cash, then we retire. We donât recover stolen art.â
âDoesnât mean we canât.â
âThis isnât something out of a paperback novel, Gary. This is real life.â
Gary lifted himself off the battle chair until his face began to twitch.
âDonât tell me about real life.â
âSorry, Gary. I shouldnât have said that.â
Gary dropped himself back onto the seat, panting and red-faced.
âNo sweat,â he said. âAll you do for me, youâre entitled to your say. But now I want you to listen to me, not because youâre my friend, not because I trust you, but because you and I were the only ones hurt that day. That treasure owes us, Mike.â
âI got slugged in the head,â said McQueen. âI bled like a pig and I had a headache for a few days. But the bleeding stopped and my headache went away.â
âNo, it was you and me on the front lines,â said Gary. âAnd if you got permanent brain damage, youâd be getting jerked around the same as me. Look, Mike, we do this and you wonât need to run any more fund-raisers. I wonât need to guilt-trip guys to come here on Saturdays to run wires and sweat pipes. You can sock something away. Stop worrying about me. Get married.â
âYeah, like who am I marrying?â said McQueen.
âYouâll be much more attractive with a wad in your pocket.â
McQueen laughed.
âSo forget women. Youâll have the money to fix up that piece of shit cabin you bought upstate.â
âHey, it ainât a piece of shit. I got big plans for it.â
âBig plans you havenât executed,â said Gary. âMy point is, we can do this, Mike. Iâve been studying this for three goddam years. We know the courthouse. I know more about the treasure than the so-called experts. We can do this.â
âWouldnât it be better if we had someone else with us?â said McQueen. âLike Foxx.â
âNo Foxx,â said Gary. âI donât want Foxx anywhere near this.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
After a workday, the two beers at Garyâs should have been just enough to propel McQueen ten blocks uptown to his own apartment and into a deep, comforting sleep. But seeing the security feeds on Garyâs computer scared the living shit out of him. And when that threat faded, Gary ran his insane plan right in behind it. So with sleep a near impossibility, he turned off Broadway and into a pub.
It was a shot-and-a-beer kind of place, empty except for the barmaid and a couple of guys at the far end of the bar. McQueen downed the first pint and pushed the glass forward. The barmaid came back to set up a second, and he slugged that one down, too.
âYou want another, or should I hang an IV bag instead?â said the barmaid.
McQueen wanted to respond with one of his patented wisecracks, but the words never made it from his brain to his tongue. The pizza was long gone from his stomach, and the two quick pints hit him hard.
The barmaid took his silence for a yes, drew another pint, and headed back to the two guys. She leaned in close, and each took turns glancing over in a way that McQueen knew they were talking about him. It was stupid to come in here, stupid to down those two pints, stupid not to leave rather than let the barmaid draw him a third. They didnât know how clever he was, how he could summon a wisecrack for any occasion. But the truth was, he never had Garyâs knack for small talk or Foxxâs ability to
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