The Big Bounce

11

RYAN WENT FROM THE KITCHEN into the living room, taking his time as he looked around, the appraiser getting the feel of the place: the white walls and the dark wood in the quiet of early evening, the hardwood floor and the Oriental rug and the iron stairway that came up out of the living room floor and curved once into the ceiling. The dining room, too, through the open doorway was white and dark with a heavy table and wrought iron things on the wall.

You would have to be a weight lifter to clean this place. He walked over to the den and looked in. It was paneled, stained a gray-green with canvas chairs and big blue and green ashtrays. He wasn’t sure of the paintings; maybe they were all right, but he couldn’t put a price on them. The color TV he could get a hundred and a half for. He came back into the living room to the sliding glass doors along the front wall. Below, out past the sun deck, he could see the swimming pool and the lawn. Standing closer to the glass, he could see part of the patio.

He turned as Nancy came down the stairs-brown legs and a straw purse, then tan shorts and sweater and her dark hair.

She said, “Did you go to the lodge?”

It came as a little shock feeling inside him that he hadn’t gone out to look at Ray’s hunting lodge, that he had forgotten all about it.

“I didn’t have time.”

She stared at him a moment and turned away.

“I got hung up with work,” Ryan said, following Nancy down to the lower level, to the activities room bar, then through the sliding screen doors out to the patio: Ryan watched her drop the purse on the umbrella table.

“Is it loaded?”

She was facing him now, her cool look gone and smiling a little. “Of course it’s loaded.”

“What kind is it?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You going to shoot something?”

“We could. Windows are good.”

“We’ve done windows.”

“Not with a gun.”

“Have you?”

“Not in a while. Hey, are you hungry?”

“I guess so. Were the windows around here?”

“Uh-huh, when I first came up. I knew there wouldn’t be anything to do.”

“So you brought a gun to shoot at windows.”

“And boats. Boats are fun.”

“I imagine they would be. How about cars?”

“I didn’t think about cars.” She seemed pleasantly surprised. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah, that is funny.”

“I just wanted you to know we have it.”

“There’s a difference,” Ryan said, “between breaking and entering and armed robbery.”

“And there’s a difference between seventy-eight dollars and fifty thousand dollars,” Nancy said. “How badly do you want it?”

The telephone rang in the activities room. Nancy’s gaze held on Ryan; she was watching for his reaction. He showed nothing, keeping his eyes on hers, and she smiled a little and walked off.

When she was inside, Ryan took the long-barreled target pistol out of her purse. He knew the kind; he’d sold them at the sporting goods store. He extended his arm, aiming and putting the front sight on the lamppost. He pulled the clip out of the polished hickory grip; it was loaded, all right. Then he shoved it back in and returned the gun to her purse.

He walked out by the swimming pool with his hands in his pockets, past the swimming pool and across the lawn. He could still feel the polished grip in his hand and the balanced weight of the gun. He saw himself pulling the gun out of his raincoat as he walked up to the cashier’s window-not a bank, God no-a small loan company like the one Bud Long worked for, with two or three people behind the counter. As he pulled the gun Leon Woody would turn from where he was filling out a loan application and go over the counter and clean the place. They would have studied the place and timed it so that he’d walk in a few minutes before closing. Hit the place and then get out fast. They had talked about it once. Just once. Because it would be robbery, armed, and it could take all the nerve they had ever used during all the B& E’s put together and it still might not be enough to go in with a gun.

He walked to the edge of the lawn, to the bluff that dropped steeply to the beach, down to all the sand and water. The boat was gone; the guy from the club must have come and picked it up.

It was quiet and the grass felt good. He turned and started back. It was a funny thing, he had never in his life cut grass. The lawn had been cut recently and it was better than any infield he had ever played on. You would have to play the ball different on grass like this; it would skid and take low hops. You’d have to get used to playing it and then it wouldn’t be too bad.

Nancy was on the patio holding a tray, placing it on the umbrella table now and looking out toward him.

He felt all right but not completely at ease. It was a before-the-game feeling, or a walking-through-somebody’s-house feeling. He wouldn’t show it; he’d had enough practice not showing it; but he couldn’t do anything about the feeling being there. The girl and the swimming pool and the patio, but something was wrong. For some reason it wasn’t as good as sitting in the Pier Bar at six o’clock with an ice cold beer and not having to think about anything.

“Beer or Cold Duck?” Nancy was waiting for him with two bottles of beer on the tray, a bottle of mixed Cold Duck, and a pasteboard bucket of fried chicken. “I phoned for it,” Nancy said. “It isn’t very good chicken, but I didn’t imagine you’d be taking me out to dinner.”

Ryan opened a beer and sat down in a canvas chair. He lit a cigarette and now he waited. But she outwaited him and he said, “Who was it? Ray?”

“Ray called this afternoon. It was Bob Junior,” Nancy said. “He wants to come over.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’m tired and I’m going to bed early. He said something clever and I told him if I saw his truck drive up, I’d call his wife.”

“I don’t get that,” Ryan said, “going out with him.”

“It was something to do.” She was pouring a glass of Cold Duck at the table. “I guess to see if he had the nerve more than anything else.”

“You’ve got a thing about nerve.”

She turned with the glass in her hand. “What else is there? I mean, that you can count on.”

“What if your nerve gets you in trouble? What if Ray finds out?”

“About Bob Junior?”

“Of if somebody tells him they saw us together.”

Nancy shrugged, the little girl movement again. “I don’t know. I’d think of something.” She pulled a chair close to his and sat down. “Why all the questions? A little nervous, Charlie?”

“You said Ray called earlier.”

“He won’t be up until Saturday. He has to go to Cleveland.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’ll be in Cleveland and won’t be here Friday night. How does that grab you?”

“But the money will.”

“It has to be if they pay them Saturday.” Nancy waited. “That’s why I’ve decided we should sneak in the lodge tonight.”

Ryan shook his head. “Not till I look at it in the day.”

“You’ve seen it before.”

“Not with this in mind.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Nancy said. “Sneaking in and going through it in the dark.”

“Tomorrow’s my day off,” Ryan said. “I can go over sometime tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll go with you. Then we’ll sneak in tomorrow night.”

He wished he could ruffle her, shake her up a little. “It might not work,” Ryan said. “You know there’s that possibility.”

“But we’ll never know unless we try,” Nancy said. “Will we?”

Ryan ate some of the chicken and with the second bottle of beer began to relax. But as he relaxed he became aware of something happening. Nancy sat next to him, facing him, a brown knee almost touching his chair. She would hold a piece of chicken in both hands and take little bites as she watched him. She would sip her wine and look at him over the rim of the glass. She would move her hair from her eye and let it fall back again. They ate in silence and he let it work on him. Sitting low in the chair and now lighting a cigarette, aware of the dark-haired girl close to him, giving him the business, and Ryan said to himself: You are being set up.

He was being offered the bait, shown what it would be like. He had been taken up on a high mountain by Ann-Margret and was being shown all the kingdoms of the world, all that could be his. While off from them, across clean tile, the underwater lights of the swimming pool glowed in the dusk.

How do you get that sure of yourself? Ryan thought.

And then he thought, She makes it look easy.

She’ll do it one time and get fifty grand and never know it’s hard.

He could break into a place and Leon Woody could break into a place and all kinds of other guys could break into places, most of the guys pretty dumb or strung out, but that didn’t mean she could do it. It wasn’t like throwing rocks and running, it wasn’t a game; it was real and maybe she could do it without clutching up, but how did she know until she had done it and found out what it was like? That’s what got him. If it was so easy, what did she need him for? Like he was some stiff she was hiring to do the heavy work. Like she could do it, but she didn’t want to strain herself and get a hernia.

Ryan said, “If you were going to break into a place, how would you do it?”

Nancy thought a moment. “I’d try the door first.”

“What if somebody’s home?”

“Oh, I thought you meant the lodge.”

“Anyplace, if you wanted to break in.”

“I guess,” Nancy said, “I’d still try the door.” She smiled a little. “Very quietly.”

“What if it’s locked?”

“Then I’d try a window.”

“And if the windows are locked.”

“I don’t know; I guess I’d break one.”

“You know how to do that?”

“Hey, but in the summer you wouldn’t have to,” Nancy said. “You could just cut a hole in the screen.”

“If there’s a window open.”

She sat up. “Let’s do it. Break into somebody’s house.”

“What for? There’s no reason.”

“For fun.”

And Leon Woody said, “Like, man, a game?” And he said to Leon Woody, riding along in the carpet cleaning truck, “Yeah, sort of a game.”

Ryan said, “Have you ever done it?”

Nancy shook her head. “Not really.”

“What do you mean, not really? You either have or you haven’t.”

“I’ve looked through people’s houses when they weren’t home.”

“And you think it’s fun.”

“Uh-huh, don’t you?”

And Leon Woody said, “Do you know what you get if you lose the game?” And he said to Leon Woody, “That’s part of it. The risk.”

“How do you know if you have the nerve?” Ryan said to her.

“Oh, come on.” Nancy reached toward the umbrella table for a cigarette. “What’s so hard about sneaking into a house?”

There.

Ryan waited. He watched her light the cigarette and exhale smoke to blow out the match. He waited until she looked at him and then he said, “Do you want to try it?”

“No rocks tonight,” Ryan said. “Okay?”

“No rocks,” Nancy said. “I’ve decided if there aren’t any lights on, no one’s home. It’s dark enough but it’s too early for people to be in bed.”

“Maybe they’re on the porch.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Of course where the lights are on, they might still not be home. I always leave a light on.”

“I guess most people do.”

“So we’ll have to go up close and take a look.”

She was at ease, Ryan could feel that. He couldn’t imagine her not at ease. But she still could be faking it. It was still talking and not doing and there were a few miles of nerve between the two.

“Which house?” Ryan said.

“I was thinking that dark one.”

“Let’s go.”

He would remember, after, that he’d said it. She didn’t have to plead with him or push him. She stood relaxed, watching him, and when he said, “Let’s go,” she smiled-he would remember that too-and followed him across the beach, up into the tree darkness that closed in on the houses, out of the trees and across a front lawn and up the steps to the porch of the house that showed no lights, doing it now and not fooling around, hoping he was shaking her up a little.

Ryan pushed the doorbell.

“What do you say if someone comes?” Her voice was calm, above a whisper.

“We ask if they know where the Morrisons live.”

“What if that’s their name?”

He rang the bell again and waited, giving them enough time to come down if they were upstairs in bed. He waited another moment, putting it off, then opened the screen and tried the door. The knob turned in his hand.

“I told you it wasn’t hard,” Nancy said. She started past him into the house.

“Wait till I look.”

He went in, through the darkness to the back of the house, to the kitchen, where he looked out the window and saw the rear end of the car in the garage. He moved back through the house.

Nancy was sitting on the porch rail smoking a cigarette. He took it from her to throw it away, but he saw the way she was looking at him and he took a drag on the cigarette and handed it back to her.

“Well?”

“They’re close by. They won’t be gone long.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know. Okay?”

She shrugged, standing up. He saw the movement and maybe a faint smile, though in the dark he wasn’t sure of the smile. She came down the steps after him and they crossed the lawn to the beach.

“If the car’s there,” Ryan said, “they’re not far away.”

“I’ve been thinking, Jackie. If we go in where we know they’re not home, what’s the fun?”

Ryan stared at her and he heard Leon Woody say, “You go in when they’re not home, when you know it and have it in writing they’re not home.”

He kept looking at her until she was about to say something, until he said, “Come on,” and they went up from the beach into the trees again, moving in on the house closest to them that showed lights, running hunch-shouldered-the same way they had gone in to throw the rocks-keeping to the trees and bushes and deep shadows until they were next to the house and could edge up to a window and look in.

“Playing cards,” Ryan said.

“Gin. She just went down and he’s mad.”

“Come on.”

There wasn’t anything to see. There wouldn’t be, either, Ryan was sure of that. Not when you were expecting something. Like the carpet cleaning job, expecting to see the broads going around without any clothes on. They moved along the beachfront from one house to the next. They saw people playing gin, people reading, people watching television, people eating, people drinking, people talking, and more people drinking.

“Maybe we’ll catch somebody in bed,” Nancy said.

“If they’re in bed, they’ll have the lights off.”

“Not everybody.”

“Would you like somebody watching you?”

“I’ve never thought of it,” Nancy said.

They saw people playing bridge and people sitting, not doing anything. They saw a woman alone, reading, and Nancy drew her fingernail down the screen. The woman jumped visibly and sat staring at the window, afraid to move.

When they were in the trees again, Ryan said, “That was fun. Maybe we can find some old lady with heart trouble.”

Ryan didn’t recognize the brown house when they came to it. If they had come up from the beach, he would have, even in the dark. He knew the house was along here, but he wasn’t looking for it and by the time they were across the side yard and to the porch, he was too close to the house to recognize it.

They moved around the far side, past dark windows, and came to the back porch and he still didn’t recognize the house. He was watching Nancy now as she walked out to the garage and looked in.

As she reached him she said, “There’s no car in the garage, but let’s go in anyway.”

Both the front and back doors were locked, but it was still easy. They went in through a living room window off the porch after Ryan poked a hole in the screen with a stick and flicked open the latch; Ryan first and then Nancy. She followed him to the front hall and stood close while he checked the back door, opening it and closing it quietly, feeling better now with a way to go out on three sides of the house.

The light, throwing a shadow on the wall, startled him, turning him from the door.

Nancy had opened the refrigerator.

“Beer?” She was hunched over, looking in, offering him a can of beer behind her back. “They don’t have a whole lot to offer.”

“They didn’t know we were coming,” Ryan said. He popped open the top and took a good swallow of the beer.

“Salad dressing, mustard, milk, pickles, jelly, mustard-they’ve got enough mustard, God-four jars, and catsup-two, three-they must live on mustard and catsup.”

“Maybe they had a party.”

As he said it, moving toward the doorway to the hall, he knew where they were and was sure of it even before he stepped into the hall and saw the stairway on the right and the faint outside light coming from the two windows on the landing.

“Kitchens aren’t much,” Nancy said. She was behind him now. “I like bedrooms the best.”

It was funny being here. At first, realizing where he was gave him an uneasy, on-guard feeling, as if something were wrong. But it was all right. So it was the same house. It could be the one next door or down the beach; it was a house. Going into it again didn’t mean a thing. Right? And Leon Woody would say, “Right, man, it don’t mean anything. You just walk in the same house and don’t know it.” But kidding. He wouldn’t really mean it.

They went up the stairs holding the rail, Ryan still in front. At the top he stopped a moment to listen, then went into the first bedroom on the right, the one where he and Billy Ruiz had found the men’s clothes. The room was familiar: the window over the back porch, the dresser, the twin beds, the night table where he had put his cigar. He remembered now that he must have left the cigar in the ashtray and he moved between the beds to see if it was still there, not expecting to find it but curious. Nancy went past him to the dresser and began going through the drawers.

Ryan sat on the bed, sipping his beer, watching her. She had opened a drawer and was feeling inside, closing it gently now and opening the next drawer to dig her hands under the clothes and feeling around in there thoroughly. “You see, what she does she goes through everything to make sure no valuables are hidden anywhere.” And Leon Woody would say, “Yeah, the valuables. Say, man, did you tell her about dumping the drawers on the floor to get at all them valuables?”

No, he didn’t tell her about that. He finished the beer and went through the bath to the adjoining bedroom, the one the women had used Sunday, and checked the tops of the dresser and the chest of drawers. There were two more bedrooms across the hall. He looked into each but saw nothing worth taking, not a hundred and fifty miles from Detroit without a car. He thought of something then and went back through the second bedroom to the bath and opened the medicine cabinet. The Jade East was still there. He rubbed a few drops of the lotion between his palms, then over his jaw, staring at the mirror but barely making out his reflection in the darkness.

He went into the bedroom where he had left Nancy-not hearing a sound in the room and not seeing her at first because he expected to see her standing by the dresser or by the closet. He looked toward the door and as his gaze shifted he saw the movement on the bed, in the bed, that’s where she was, in bed with the spread pulled up to her chin. She was watching him, waiting for him to find her, watching him now as he came around between the twin beds and sat down on the empty one.

“I give up,” Ryan said. “What’re you doing?”

“Waiting for you,” she said, giving him the look with her dark hair on the white pillow. “Guess if I have any clothes on.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Guess.”

He began to nod then, slowly. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re right,” Nancy said. “Know what you win?”

“Listen, I know a better place.”

“Where?”

“My room.”

“Nope. Right here.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think it’s ever been done before.”

“I believe it and I’ll tell you why,” Ryan said.

“In other people’s houses after you’ve sneaked in. That’s the new game.”

“I’ve heard it’s not as much fun, listening for somebody to walk in.”

Nancy smiled. “Wouldn’t that be good? Can you see the look on their face?”

“Just tell me why,” Ryan said. “Okay?”

“Why. That’s all you say. You know, Jackie, you’re really sort of a drag. I thought you might be fun, but I don’t know-”

“Move over.”

“First you have to take off your clothes. It’s a rule.”

“Shoes?”

“Everything.”

He began unbuttoning his shirt and pulling out the tails, standing close to the bed now and looking down at her.

“Everything,” Nancy said.

“In a minute.” Ryan eased down next to her and her hands held the spread tightly up under her chin.

“Not till everything’s off.”

He leaned in closer, placing his hands on the pillow so that she was looking directly up at him now, between his arms.

She sniffed. “What’s that?”

“Nice?”

“You put too much on.”

“You want to talk or what?”

“I told you the rule-”

He leaned in almost all the way, setting the angle so that their mouths would fit just right and feeling her strain a little toward him, and there he hesitated, holding motionless.

Almost touching his mouth she said, “What’s the matter?”

“Shhh.”

Neither of them moved. The room, the house, was silent.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

Ryan pushed himself up slowly, bringing his hands off the pillow. He touched a finger to his mouth as he rose and moved quietly around the bed to the door. He stood with one hand on the door frame, leaning into the hall, listening. He glanced at her and now he was moving, closing the door and locking it carefully, stepping to the window to look out, hesitating, then pushing open the screen and lowering it to the porch roof. Going out the window, ducking under, he looked at her once more.

“You going to wait for them?”

“Where are they?”

He motioned with one hand, pointing down to the floor. “Come on.”

Then he was out, over the edge of the roof and hanging a moment before dropping. He was in the field bordering the yard, in the high brush, before he turned to see Nancy coming out the window, fully dressed. She stood looking down, undecided, and Ryan smiled. He waited patiently, knowing she would come down because she had no choice, and right now seconds to her were like minutes. He watched her go to her knees and look down again and slowly roll over and let the lower part of her body hang from the roof. It’s going to sting your feet, Ryan thought, but it’s the only way. He watched her drop and stumble and stand motionless as she came to her feet.

From the edge of the bushes he called softly, “Hey!” and waited for her to reach him. He took her arm then and moved through the brush and scrub trees toward the beach, almost running, dragging her after him. As he reached the low rise above the sand he turned to catch her, letting her weight and momentum carry them over the edge so that they fell down to the sand clinging to each other, rolling and coming to a stop with Ryan lying partly on top of her, one leg over hers, resting his weight on his arms beneath her. He could feel her breathing against him as she tried to catch her breath, the nice nose and the partly open mouth close to his face and her eyes closed. He waited until her eyes opened, then waited a little more, looking at her and feeling her body relax.

“You get dressed quick.”

Her expression was calm, but her gaze held his expectantly, sensing something in his eyes or in the tone of his voice.

“You didn’t hear anyone,” she said finally. “You didn’t hear a thing.”

“Just for a while,” Ryan said, “let’s not talk, okay?”

“If we’re going to not talk,” Nancy said, “I’d rather not talk somewhere else.”

“You don’t like the sand?”

“I’m not the outdoorsy type, Jackie. You might as well know it.”

“I don’t think I can move.”

“Try,” Nancy said.

Ryan watched himself at certain times, sometimes when he was alone-like standing seven feet off third base and his hat on just right, or walking along the beach or driving a car-but usually it happened when he was with certain people. He wasn’t aware of himself when he was with Mr. Majestyk. But he was aware of himself almost all the time with Nancy, seeing himself and hearing himself and most of the time he looked dumb. Big jerky dumb guy saying dumb things, trying to impress the girl. He couldn’t get in the right frame of mind to feel sure of himself. He could fake it; he could act like the big smooth-o; but he could feel her watching him, still not impressed, maybe laughing at him, and he never for more than a moment felt in control. He was pretty sure she was at ease. But what if she was faking it? What if she was someone else inside, the way she said her mother was someone else looking out through her eyes? Maybe she was faking it. She was being cool and he was being cool, each trying to be cooler than the other until pretty soon, Ryan decided, you get so cool you can’t even move because of the chance that anything at all you might do might turn out to be dumb-anything. What good was being cool if you weren’t you? Whoever you are, Ryan thought.

He was at the wheel, aware of himself acting natural, not telling her where they were going and finally not having to tell her as they pulled in past the big blue-lit Bay Vista sign with the small red NO VACANCY glowing beneath it.

“I’ll show you where I live.”

He got out and waited for her and finally she came with him, around the side of the motel to his room.

“Wow,” Nancy said. She stood looking toward the dark swimming pool and the closed-in area between the cabanas that extended out to the beach.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can just see everybody at the pool,” Nancy said.

“All the tool and die makers sitting around in their vacation outfits.”

“Some of them go down to the beach.”

“That’d be fun too. Like a Black Sea resort.”

He opened the door to No. 7 and she stood just inside, looking around. Ryan had to move her to close the door. Then he stood looking around with her.

“Yes, it certainly is nice.”

“It’s all right,” Ryan said. “The bed’s comfortable. The walls could use some paint. I don’t know as I’ll bother, though.”

“Just hang some pictures.”

“I could do that, hang some pictures. Cover up where it’s peeling.”

“Get some of those nice old master prints at the dime store.”

“They have them there?”

“God, you probably would.”

“Well, to cover up the bad spots.”

“What else do you want to show me?”

“That’s all. I just wanted to show you where I live.”

“Great,” Nancy said. She turned to the door.

“I thought we might just sit around here,” Ryan said.

“Or lie around.”

Ryan smiled.

“Show me the rest first,” Nancy said.

Outside again she stood looking toward the swimming pool and the trees and the lights showing in the windows of the cabanas.

“The place really jumps, doesn’t it?”

“A lot of families are here. With kids.”

“Oh,” Nancy said, “with kids. That should be fun.”

She walked out to the pool, Ryan following. She stood at the edge looking into the water. A few steps behind her, watching her, Ryan thought: Boot her in the ass and go get a beer.

And what would that prove?

Well, it might not prove anything, but it was a thought. He could hear sounds now from No. 11, the beer drinkers, their wall of cans showing faintly in the darkness. He looked around. There was a light on in No. 5 behind the closed drapes. No. 5, the broad with the window. Or whatever her game was. He could go over right now and knock on the door and say, “Let’s see the window, honey,” catching her off-guard, and she’d probably say, “What window?”

“I’m sorry,” Nancy said.

He could feel her close behind him and could picture her waiting for him to turn around, the good little dark-haired girl waiting patiently, throwing it at him softly and getting him off-stride again, like a goddamn change-up.

“What’re you sorry about?” He half turned as he said it.

“I don’t know. I have the feeling you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I just didn’t feel like staying inside.”

“Well, you said you’re not the outdoor type.”

“Outdoorsy, I said. I’m just not in the mood.” She edged a little to the side to work around in front of him. “I think I’ll be in the mood later. All right?”

“I sure appreciate it.”

“Don’t be mad. Let’s do something.”

“Yeah, well, if you bust any windows around here, you know who has to fix them.”

“That’s better.” She was smiling at him. “No-let’s just look around.”

“At the dumb families and the dumb kids?”

She reached up, taking his face between her hands, stretching up against him and pulling his face down; she kissed his mouth lightly and quietly, moving around a little but staying right in there and applying pressure when his arms went around her and his hands spread over her back.

She took his hand. “Come on, show me the Bay Villa.”

“Vista.”

“All right, then show me the Bay Vista.”

They were walking toward the beach now, holding hands, Ryan standing off from them watching them and glad it was dark.

“This is all there is to it. Fourteen cabanas-”

“Cabanas?”

“That’s what he calls them. And the motel.”

“Who’s he?”

“Mr. Majestyk.”

“Oh, the one you were with at the Pier?”

“That’s right.”

“Where does he live?”

“In a house. Around the other side of Number One.”

“Show me.”

“It’s just a house.”

A beam of light spread out from the bole of a fir tree to flood Mr. Majestyk’s garden, illuminating the neatly trimmed shrubbery and border of white-painted rocks, the pale clean trunks of birch trees, the pair of flamingoes feeding beneath the birdhouse.

“Beautiful,” Nancy whispered. They were crossing the lawn in the darkness beyond the spotlight.

“He’s home,” Ryan said. “He’s probably watching television.”

“I’m sure he is,” Nancy said. “I love the lamp in the window.”

“His daughter decorated the place for him.”

“I want to see it.”

They were nearing the far edge of the lawn and now Nancy started toward the house, approaching the dark side that faced the empty field. A window was open, showing a square of rose-colored light through the screen.

Ryan caught her arm. “The door’s on the other side.”

“I don’t want to go in.”

She pulled away from him and there was nothing he could do but follow her to the window. He stood next to her, against the wall, as she looked in.

Mr. Majestyk was in his reclining chair facing the television set. He was watching a Western movie, watching intently, with a can of beer and a cigar. He would lean forward to take a sip of beer, his eyes holding on the screen, and the back of the Recline-O-Rama chair would rise with him, following him to an upright position. Dragging on the cigar, he would lean back again, pushing, bumping hard against the chair, and both Mr. Majestyk and the chair would settle back again.

“Wow,” Nancy said.

Ryan could hear the movie dialogue, a familiar voice, a quiet, Western drawl, then a woman’s voice. He recognized the drawl; he knew it right away. He edged close to the window and looked in, across the room, past Mr. Majestyk to Randolph Scott in the good hat that was curled just right in front. He couldn’t remember who the woman was, not bad-looking but sort of old. She sounded tired, like she had given up, saying she didn’t care what happened to her. Then Randolph Scott saying, “When you get done feeling sorry for yourself, I’ll tell you something… you’re alive and he’s dead and that makes the difference.”

“I love purple and silver,” Nancy whispered. “And lavender.”

He had seen the picture before. He remembered it now, a good one. Richard Boone was the bad guy. He and a couple of others hold up the stage and take Randolph and the woman and her husband prisoner, holding them for ransom because the woman’s dad was rich. The husband’s a coward and gets shot and you know they’re going to shoot Randolph and the woman once they get the dough, unless Randolph does something.

“The pictures,” Nancy said. “Those are the authentic dime store reproductions I was telling you about.”

“Shhh.”

“With white imitation antiqued frames. Beautiful.”

Mr. Majestyk and his chair sat up. He twisted around, looking over his shoulder, listening, and they ducked away from the window.

There was silence. Ryan stood in the dark with his back to the wall. He heard horses inside, the sound of their hooves fading away. There was no music or dialogue now. Something was about to happen. Maybe the part where Randolph goes in the cave after the guy named Billy Jack-that was a good part-the guy in there after the woman while his buddies are away. Randolph sneaks up behind Billy Jack and is about to belt him when Billy Jack turns and you think right away there’s going to be a fight; but, no, Randolph jams the sawed-off shotgun under Billy Jack’s chin and wham the guy’s face disappears quick, the way it would happen, without one of those fakey fights.

Nancy was looking in the window again. “Beautiful,” she whispered and giggled.

“Let’s go,” Ryan said.

“Just a minute.”

“He’s going to hear you.”

Wham, the shotgun went off and Ryan looked in. Yeah, that was the part. Randolph had the sawed-off shotgun now and the babe was holding her hands over her mouth, probably wetting her pants.

“God, where do you suppose he buys his furniture?”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“You have to see it to believe it. The lamp in the picture window-”

“Come on.”

“-with the cellophane on the shade. Hey, did you hear the one-do you know who won the Polish beauty contest?”

Ryan shook his head, pretending to be patient, letting her talk.

“Nobody,” Nancy said.

She laughed out loud and Mr. Majestyk twisted around in the chair, rolling out of it as the back popped straight up. He started for the window but turned abruptly and hurried across the room and through the double doors to the porch.

“He’s coming,” Ryan said. On the other side of the house the screen door slammed.

Nancy was looking in the window again. “You’re right. I think it’s time to cut.”

“Wait a minute-”

Before he could reach out for her, she was across the narrow space of lawn and into the field, into the darkness of the heavy brush, out of sight. For a moment he could follow her sound. He wanted to get out of there quick, go after her. But he hesitated. He waited. When he moved off, it was around to the front of the house. Mr. Majestyk was coming through the illuminated garden, past the two flamingoes.

“Hey, was that you?”

“What?”

“Somebody laughing.”

“What do you mean?” Ryan said.

“I mean, somebody laughing. What do you think I mean?”

“Maybe somebody on the beach.”

“Christ, it was like right outside the window.”

“I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”

Mr. Majestyk was staring at him. “You come around from that side, you didn’t hear anything?”

“I was taking a walk.”

“You can’t hear when you’re walking?”

“I didn’t hear anything. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“You didn’t see a girl? It sounded like a broad laughing.”

“I didn’t see any girl or anybody.”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Majestyk said. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe I should get my goddamn ears checked.” That seemed to end it. Mr. Majestyk paused, about to turn and go back inside. He looked at Ryan again. “Hey, you want to see a good movie?”

“I saw it,” Ryan said.

As he heard himself and saw Mr. Majestyk frown he wanted to keep talking, but there wasn’t anything to say and a little silence hung there between them.

“How do you know you saw it?”

“I was walking by, I heard the TV. I remembered, you know, it sounded familiar. What they were saying. It’s a Western, isn’t it? Randolph Scott?”

“You hear a TV inside somebody’s house,” Mr. Majestyk said, “but you don’t hear somebody laughing outside, right where you’re at?”

“I didn’t hear anybody. You want me to write it down and sign it, for Christ sake?”

“Take it easy.”

“Your ass, take it easy. You believe me or not?”

“Forget it.”

“I don’t forget it, you’re calling me a liar and I don’t like it.”

“Hey, come on-I haven’t called you anything.”

Ryan stood facing him. “You believe me or not?”

“Okay, I believe you,” Mr. Majestyk said. “You want me to write it down and sign it?”

“Forget it,” Ryan said. He walked past Mr. Majestyk, out of the light into darkness.

If Jackie didn’t follow her the beach way, Nancy decided, he would come over in the car, race over to arrive before she did, and be waiting with some nifty remark like, “Where you been?” From then on all his moves would be toward the bedroom. Naturally. If a girl asked you to steal $50,000 with her, she wasn’t going to say no to falling into bed, for God sake. Ryan would think that way and there was no reason he shouldn’t. Nancy looked at it as part of the plot, the romantic portion of The Great Cucumber Payroll Robbery. Or, Nancy and Jack at the Seashore. Though it was really a lake. Or, Two Mixed-Up Kids Trying to Make Out. They would make out. Nancy was reasonably sure of that. But if anything did happen, Ryan would be left with the bag and she would deny, if she had to, ever having seen him before. That part, if it ever happened, would be called Tough Bananas, Charlie. Or, Some You Win and Some You Lose.

It would be too bad if it happened, because she liked Jack Ryan. She liked his looks. She liked his face and his eyes and the smooth, tan leanness of him. She liked the way he stood with his hands on his hips, a little phony but not too phony. She liked the quiet way he talked and some of the dry things he said. It was too bad Jack wasn’t Ray. If Jack Ryan were Ray Ritchie, the whole view of her situation would be different. It didn’t mean she would stay with Ryan forever, she would have to think about the future; but at least the present would be more fun. It really was too bad Jack wasn’t Ray. It was too bad all the Ryans and the Ritchies in the world couldn’t trade places.

When she got home, she would turn on one lamp and the record player and watch Jackie lead up to it. He would probably be very quiet and move slowly but not waste much time, either. Maybe they should go for a swim first, with nothing on: the ultimate test of how poised he really was.

Nancy climbed the stairs to the front lawn. The pool did look sexy with the underwater lights turning the water green. If she knew for sure he was here watching, she could give him a little preview before the main feature. There were no lights on in the living room. Of course not, he’d be sitting on the couch in the dark, with a good view of the front lawn and the pool, going over his nifty remark and the way he’d say it. He could be watching her right now.

He was watching her; she could feel it.

Nancy walked to the edge of the pool. She took off her sneakers and dipped one foot into the water. She peeled off the tan sweater and shook her hair. She unbuttoned her blouse and felt the water again with her toes, taking her time. He would be on the edge of the couch now. As she took the blouse off he would see she wasn’t wearing a bra and that would bring him out of his seat. Okay, Jackie, Nancy thought, get ready. She unbuttoned her shorts and peeled to bare hips. Give him a little, Nancy thought. She turned slowly toward the house with her hands on her hips. She turned back, just as slowly, and dove in.

She swam across the pool underwater, came up, went down again, and pushed off against the side. In the middle of the pool she came to the surface and swam to the deep end with slow, easy strokes. To the shallow end and back would give him time to come down to the pool. She made her turn and stroked leisurely toward the diving board and now saw the figure coming out from the house, out of the deep shadow of the patio. She dove underwater, giving him time to reach the edge, and came up breaking the water smoothly, seeing the beer case he was carrying at his side, wondering why he had brought out a whole case of beer and realizing in the same moment that it wasn’t Jack Ryan, that it was a man she had never seen before, a dark figure standing now at the edge of darkness, the lights of the swimming pool reflecting on his sunglasses.

“Hey, come out of there.” Frank Pizarro grinned. “I got something for you.”

Nancy stared up at him, one hand on the pool edge. “Get out,” she said.

“Listen, don’t yell or scream or nothing, okay?”

“Mr. Ritchie has private police who come by here and I think it’s just about time-”

“They come see you swimming like that, uh? Goddamn,” Pizarro said. “I don’t blame them.”

“Tell me what you want,” Nancy said. “And then leave.”

“I got something to sell you.”

“You’re trespassing,” Nancy said. “You’re wasting your time and mine and if you’re still here when the police come, you’re going to have a very hard time explaining it. They’ll arrest you and put you in jail without asking questions. Just your being here will be enough to convict you.”

Pizarro waited patiently. “It’s wallets,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s wallets. I got some wallets I sell you for five hunnert dollar.”

Nancy hesitated. He could be high on something or he could be psycho. She said quietly, “I don’t need a wallet, so will you go, please?”

Pizarro shrugged. “It’s okay. You don’t want these wallets, then I got to take them to the goddamn police.” He set the beer case close to the edge and kneeled on it, hunching down closer to her. “These wallets come from a place that was robbed. You understand?”

She had decided there was no sense in trying to understand him; but she wasn’t sure what to say to threaten him, to make him leave. She said, “Yes, you should take them to the police. They’ll appreciate your help.”

“Sure,” Pizarro said, “I can tell them who stole the wallets. Or I can leave the case somewhere the police will find it. With the name of the person written down inside.” Pizarro watched her. “You know what I mean?”

“I know the private police should be here any minute-”

“Hey,” Pizarro said. “No more bullshit about the private police, all right? I been here three hours waiting and this private police you got never come by.” Pizarro grinned, trying to see her clearly through the distortion of the water. “Come out of there, okay,” he said. “So I can tell you something.”