muscle-corded surface
with her hand, but hed begun to think about the job he had planned with
Pedersen later this evening, and about the Finn job itself. He looked at his
watch. Seven-fifteen. He shifted slightly, disturbing Masher, who stretched and
shuddered and began to purr again.
Anna sensed the change in Wyatt and
pulled away from him. Are you going?
Soon.
Ill get the photos.
In a graceful single motion, she
uncoiled from the floor and stood back from him. He got to his feet, watching
her cross the room to where a leather bag had been placed on a small table. She
had a lithe, unselfconscious style of walking. The red marks on her skin from
his body and the carpet were oddly appealing and in other circumstances he
would want her again.
She came back with a handful of
polaroid shots of Finns office. He began to shuffle through them. He came to
one that showed the safe and he stopped, thinking hard. He stood like a statue,
staring into Annas fireplace without focusing on it, trying to work out the
details.
She touched his arm. He seemed to
jerk awake and she flinched a little at the look of coldness and distance on
his face. Whoops, she said.
He muttered something.
You were far away, she said.
He hated to be interrupted when he
was concentrating on a job. He wanted to leave, go for a walk somewhere, find a
quiet place where he could think. But that might offend her, so he started to
say something reassuring. And then the answer to the Finn job came to him,
quick and complete. A smile creased his face, transforming it.
Welcome back, Anna said, stepping
close to him.
He watched her. She had the control
now. This was what she was good at. Her head dipped and she moved down his
body, nuzzling him. Later, when they were on her rug again and she was moving
on him, she leaned forward to kiss him and he could taste both of them on her
lips.
Her thighs began to pull at him as
if measuring desire and anger. Her face was severe. I didnt expect any of
this, she said.
He nodded. Ive got a place on the
coast, he said, watching her. Well go there when this is over.
She smiled and stopped her pulling
and they fell into a trance-like rocking. Masher woke suddenly, licked a
foreleg, fell asleep again.
* * * *
Twenty-Two
By
eight-thirty that evening, Wyatt and Pederson were watching cars hiss along
Chapel Street in dismal rain. An Alfa and then a BMW paused outside Henris
Bistro and drove on again, looking for somewhere to park. Five minutes later
the occupants were back, running in the rain, getting their feet wet, ruining
their composure.
Pedersen was sour about it. It
wouldnt hurt these guys to drop their chicks off and then park.
Therell be a gentleman along soon,
Wyatt said.
They were standing under the awning
of a shoe shop two doors down from Henris. They wore hired navy-blue uniforms,
gloves and caps, decorated with enough gold braid to unnerve the Queen. In his
pocket Wyatt had a dozen cards, printed with the words Valet Parking. In
smaller type at the bottom was a disclaimer: The management takes no
responsibility for loss or damage. He got a kick out of that.
Whats wrong with these fuckers?
Pedersen said. He was hyped-up, cracking his knuckles, pacing back and forth.
Take it easy, Wyatt said.
Pedersen sniffed. I do safes, not
this shit.
Wyatt turned to examine him, his
face expressionless. Theres no guarantee well score. Waitings part of the
job, you know that.
Yeah, Pedersen said. In the rain.
Wyatt said nothing. There was always
someone who got jumpy before a job. There was always someone not as solid as
youd like. Always some personal problem, some quirk, but if you spent all your
time ironing it out, youd never get anything done. He just hoped Pedersen was
sound in the long run.
This is a bummer, Pedersen went
on. We could give the money you took off that pimp to Eddie Loman and owe him
the rest. Lets pack it in.
A few minutes, okay?
Then out of the corner of his
with her hand, but hed begun to think about the job he had planned with
Pedersen later this evening, and about the Finn job itself. He looked at his
watch. Seven-fifteen. He shifted slightly, disturbing Masher, who stretched and
shuddered and began to purr again.
Anna sensed the change in Wyatt and
pulled away from him. Are you going?
Soon.
Ill get the photos.
In a graceful single motion, she
uncoiled from the floor and stood back from him. He got to his feet, watching
her cross the room to where a leather bag had been placed on a small table. She
had a lithe, unselfconscious style of walking. The red marks on her skin from
his body and the carpet were oddly appealing and in other circumstances he
would want her again.
She came back with a handful of
polaroid shots of Finns office. He began to shuffle through them. He came to
one that showed the safe and he stopped, thinking hard. He stood like a statue,
staring into Annas fireplace without focusing on it, trying to work out the
details.
She touched his arm. He seemed to
jerk awake and she flinched a little at the look of coldness and distance on
his face. Whoops, she said.
He muttered something.
You were far away, she said.
He hated to be interrupted when he
was concentrating on a job. He wanted to leave, go for a walk somewhere, find a
quiet place where he could think. But that might offend her, so he started to
say something reassuring. And then the answer to the Finn job came to him,
quick and complete. A smile creased his face, transforming it.
Welcome back, Anna said, stepping
close to him.
He watched her. She had the control
now. This was what she was good at. Her head dipped and she moved down his
body, nuzzling him. Later, when they were on her rug again and she was moving
on him, she leaned forward to kiss him and he could taste both of them on her
lips.
Her thighs began to pull at him as
if measuring desire and anger. Her face was severe. I didnt expect any of
this, she said.
He nodded. Ive got a place on the
coast, he said, watching her. Well go there when this is over.
She smiled and stopped her pulling
and they fell into a trance-like rocking. Masher woke suddenly, licked a
foreleg, fell asleep again.
* * * *
Twenty-Two
By
eight-thirty that evening, Wyatt and Pederson were watching cars hiss along
Chapel Street in dismal rain. An Alfa and then a BMW paused outside Henris
Bistro and drove on again, looking for somewhere to park. Five minutes later
the occupants were back, running in the rain, getting their feet wet, ruining
their composure.
Pedersen was sour about it. It
wouldnt hurt these guys to drop their chicks off and then park.
Therell be a gentleman along soon,
Wyatt said.
They were standing under the awning
of a shoe shop two doors down from Henris. They wore hired navy-blue uniforms,
gloves and caps, decorated with enough gold braid to unnerve the Queen. In his
pocket Wyatt had a dozen cards, printed with the words Valet Parking. In
smaller type at the bottom was a disclaimer: The management takes no
responsibility for loss or damage. He got a kick out of that.
Whats wrong with these fuckers?
Pedersen said. He was hyped-up, cracking his knuckles, pacing back and forth.
Take it easy, Wyatt said.
Pedersen sniffed. I do safes, not
this shit.
Wyatt turned to examine him, his
face expressionless. Theres no guarantee well score. Waitings part of the
job, you know that.
Yeah, Pedersen said. In the rain.
Wyatt said nothing. There was always
someone who got jumpy before a job. There was always someone not as solid as
youd like. Always some personal problem, some quirk, but if you spent all your
time ironing it out, youd never get anything done. He just hoped Pedersen was
sound in the long run.
This is a bummer, Pedersen went
on. We could give the money you took off that pimp to Eddie Loman and owe him
the rest. Lets pack it in.
A few minutes, okay?
Then out of the corner of his
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