Get Real

23

NOT HAVING the hoped-for comfort of Darlene in his life, Doug had dinner with a couple college friends, also bachelors, also beginning to get querulous about it, and got home at quarter to ten to find the lights on and John and Andy seated in his living room, reading his magazines. “Oh, come on,” he said. “Don’t you guys have homes of your own?”

“Where do you get your magazines, Doug?” Andy wanted to know. “A dentist’s office?”

“I’ve been busy lately,” Doug explained. “I’m behind on my reading.” And he thought, I’m apologizing to these people! They’re in my home. I don’t want them here.

Dropping last year’s TIME on an end table, Andy said, “We don’t wanna take up a lotta your time. Particularly when it’s that old. We just wanted to drop by, tell you, there’s a little change in the personnel.”

“Change? What do you mean, change?”

John said, “A couple facts come together today and we saw we didn’t have the exactly perfect string for this job.”

“You’re changing the crew?” Doug didn’t get it. “That’s what this is about? Why do you want to change the crew?”

“Because you did,” John said.

“See,” Andy said, “Ray’s a nice addition to the group, climbing up the walls and all that, but it means we got one guy too many.”

“You don’t wanna work in a crowd,” John explained.

“So what are you saying?” Doug asked. “One of the group is leaving?”

“Stan,” Andy said.

“Stan? What, Stan? He’s the one started this thing. His mother. But he’s the first one in.”

“But he’s a driver,” Andy said. “There’s no place in this thing for a driver, it’s all on the third floor of that building on Varick.”

Doug, trying to wrap his head around this change, said, “What does Stan think about it?”

“There’s always another job,” Andy said, with a shrug. “Always another day.”

“Is he happy about it?”

“Happy doesn’t come into it,” John said. “After we saw you people today, we thought it over, and we all agreed, the string’s got to change. So Stan’s out.”

Struck by a sudden horrible thought, Doug said, “You didn’t—You didn’t kill him, did you?”

They were both clearly astonished. John said, “What are you talkin about?” and at the same time Andy said, “We’re the nonviolent crowd, remember?”

“But you’re criminals,” Doug reminded them. “Is there really any such thing as a nonviolent criminal? Except politicians, you know, white collar.”

Andy, speaking with great sincerity, said, “I can guarantee you, Doug, we stay away from violence completely unless there’s absolutely no way it can get back at us.”

“Which is never,” John added.

Doug was unconvinced. He said, “Tiny? Are you saying Tiny isn’t ever violent?”

“Look at Tiny,” John suggested. “Does he need violence?”

“We don’t want to take up your whole night here,” Andy said. “All we wanted was to come by and tell you, Ray’s in, so Stan’s out, and you can tell that payroll guy.”

“Quigg,” John said.

“Yes, I will.” Doug frowned at them. “That was worth a whole trip? You couldn’t call me tomorrow? You’re gonna see me Monday.”

“We wanted you to know when it was fresh,” John explained. “You’ve got your girl Marcy working on it, shaping it, making it entertainment, we didn’t want her to waste any time shaping Stan, because he’s out.”

“I’ll tell her,” Doug said.

“Thank you, Doug,” John said, with dignity, and they both got up and left.

Doug brooded at the closed door through which they’d just passed. Something’s wrong here, he told himself. Something smells funny about this. But what? And why?