“Well…” said Mitch, trying to think of something helpful to say, “I wouldn’t go that far. But as long as we’re on the subject, why is there a dead dog-”
“I’VE GOT A DEAD DOG UNDER THE SEAT OF MY CAR AND A FERRARI IN A FOREST AND A FUCKING DRUG-DEALING DOCTOR MAKING ME SELL HIS PILLS FOR HIM!” Kevin was bellowing like a wounded animal and Mitch’s only thought was that he was glad they were in a neighborhood where the houses were fairly far apart. If he’d had an outburst like this back where they lived, neighbors would have been peering out their windows and calling the cops by now.
“Dude, keep your voice down!” yelled Doug from over by the garage, where he was dutifully digging a hole.
“Goddammit! Fuck my life! Fuck my fucking life!” Kevin kicked the front of the car again, but the burst of energy was gone, though the fading rage seemed all the more heartfelt. “Fuck, dude,” he said to Mitch, as if imparting a profound piece of wisdom. “I mean, fuck.”
Mitch nodded.
“I can’t do anything right. Not one fucking thing.” Kevin sounded like he was about to start sobbing. He was wearing a frozen half-smile, though, and Mitch wasn’t sure which of his senses he should be guided by. “I mean, I leave a goddamned dead dog in the car and let my wife and my daughter drive around with it in there for a fucking week and… and… they fucking poisoned him with antifreeze, man.” “Poisoned who?” Mitch ventured, trying to piece the rant together.
“ANTIFREEZE!” Kevin screamed and Mitch flinched, realizing the tirade wasn’t nearly over. “And the cop wouldn’t do a goddamned thing about it, and he said I could investigate myself for five hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars! Do you have five hundred dollars to investigate…”
Kevin seemed to be pausing for breath so he could bellow some more incoherent syllables, but Mitch put his hand up, almost as if he were requesting a turn to speak in class.
“Dude,” he said. “It’s OK. We’re going to rob an armored car.”
Kevin considered that for a second and Mitch thought how odd it was that robbing an armored car was the only hopeful thing he could offer. Maybe things really were that bad. “I’ll probably fuck that up too,” Kevin said, but more softly, and Mitch thought the outburst really was over. Thank god the old guy wasn’t home.
“We’re not gonna fuck it up, man. We’re gonna do it right.”
Kevin stared into the grass of the old man’s yard for a moment, then looked up, suddenly cheerful. Suddenly enough for Mitch to be a little alarmed. The switch in emotion was almost psychotic.
“OK,” Kevin said, brimming with energy. “Let’s do it.”
“You wanna have a look at the Impala?” Mitch asked cautiously.
“Yeah,” said Kevin, his eyes now insanely bright. “Let’s have a look at the Impala.”
“You OK, man?” asked Doug, who had just finished burying the dog by the garage. He tamped down the last piece of earth and put the shovel back against the woodpile.
“I’m great!” said Kevin, with an enthusiasm that made Doug and Mitch glance at each other. Mitch shrugged. They opened the hood and looked at the Impala’s engine, which was in surprisingly good condition.
There was the sound of footsteps behind them and Mitch was startled to see an old man dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt standing there.
“Hey,” Mitch said, trying to hide his surprise. “I didn’t see you there. Where did you come from?”
The old man appeared annoyed. “Came out the back door. To see what all the commotion was. You fellas wanna buy this thing? It’s three hundred dollars.”
“I’m Rick,” said Mitch, extending his hand. The old man grabbed it and then let go. This grumpy old bastard was barely looking at them, so the subterfuge was, hopefully, unnecessary.
“You wanna buy this thing? It’s three hundred dollars.”
“Does it run?” asked Kevin.
“Yeah it runs. It runs OK. What do you want, a goddamned new Cadillac? It’s three hundred dollars, for chrissake. Get it outta here.”
You had to love grumpy people, Mitch thought, because they didn’t ask questions. Foul, grumpy people were the opposite of nosy neighbors. If only there were more of them.
Doug pulled three hundreds out of his pocket and gave them to the man.
“You a dealer?” he asked Doug as he was counting the bills.
“Nah, man. I just have long hair. It doesn’t mean anything.”
The old man looked at him, confused.
“I think he means a car dealer, dude,” Mitch said. Doug burst out laughing, which only irritated the old man more.
“Get this damned thing outta here, and you go too.” He began to walk back into the house. “Making all that commotion. Disgraceful. Goddamned disgraceful.”
Well sonofabitch, Mitch thought, watching the old man climb the steps back into his house. That was easy. They had a getaway car.
THE GETAWAY CAR, it turned out, had a top speed of about fifteen miles an hour and labored mightily up even the slightest grades. As the Wilton area was nothing but steep grades, it became apparent to them that the getaway car wouldn’t get them away from very much until it had a tune-up or, at the very least, some new sparkplugs.
“I can do that,” Doug said. “But for a tune-up I’ll need to buy a timing light. That’s going to cost, like, two hundred dollars.”
“Dude, this time next week we’ll have hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“I’m just saying, man. When we count out the money, I want to get repaid for all this.”
“OK, fine,” snapped Kevin, whose glum mood returned after they left the old man’s yard. “We’ll have a million fucking dollars to split, but we’ll pay you an extra thirty-five fucking cents or whatever you want.”
“Chill out, man,” said Mitch, hoping this wasn’t going to degenerate into a full-blown fight, leaving the goal of the whole partnership, the robbery, forgotten. He had decided he was the leader here, based on the fact that he didn’t have dead dogs stuffed in his car, like Kevin, and he wasn’t prone to flights of fancy, like Doug. “Let’s all relax,” he said, trying to sound soothing.
“Dude, fuck you,” said Kevin. “We’ve got dogs to walk.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of Linda’s Toyota, indicating a desire to go.
Doug hadn’t responded, which was in keeping with his recent respect for everything Kevin said, as if he owed the guy something. Mitch thought maybe he was overdoing the leadership thing. Maybe nobody was really ready to accept him as the leader yet. So instead of trying to mediate, he suggested they all go inside and smoke a bowl. Doug accepted the offer.
“You’ve got to walk Duffy,” Kevin said. “I’ve got dogs to walk too.”
“We’ll just smoke a bowl, then I’ll walk Duffy.”
“You do what you want. I gotta go.” Kevin peeled off.
“I’m worried about him,” said Mitch.
Doug said nothing.
Inside, they went over all the necessary details as they packed the bowl. The car had to be kept in the grass lot behind their house, away from prying eyes, they agreed. All the work Doug did on it would have to be as secretive as possible, and in the event he wasn’t able to fix it, they agreed they couldn’t take it to a garage because a mechanic would remember the car. An old car like that was just too distinctive.
“I’m worried about Kevin,” Mitch said again, after he had smoked. Again Doug said nothing. Mitch was also worried about Doug for that matter. Whenever they smoked, they would trade a few bits of deep philosophy or random thoughts, and lately the thoughts Doug was having indicated an awareness of death, or at least change. In the old days, he would come up with such gems as, “Why do we only use the word recess in court and elementary school? Why don’t we take recesses at work?” Recently his pot ramblings had been more along the lines of, “It would suck to have to be identified by your dental records.”