“That’s exactly right, friends and neighbors,” Comfort said.
Nolan said, “I don’t think we need that long. Cole, here, wants to use the Leech brothers and three semis to loot the place. I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Comfort glared at him again. “You don’t?”
“No,” Nolan said. “You got two jewelry stores — each with at least a quarter million worth in their safe. The bank has three safes — Roger is right, the main vault is out — but they have an automated cash machine, which has twenty-some thousand bucks in it at any given time. And two smaller night depository safes, which at this yuletide time of year could have anywhere from ten to fifty grand each in ’em.”
Phil said, “So you’re saying, fuck the small shit.”
“Right,” Nolan said. “Even allowing for fencing the diamonds, we can clear three hundred thousand, probably more, for a few hours’ work. And no heavy hauling. Roger just goes in, blows all five safes, and you don’t need trucks to haul away diamonds and cash.”
A Leech said, “Where does that leave us?”
“You’re in,” Cole said. Anger hung off his voice, as cold and brittle as icicles. “You’re a fool, Nolan. We got all night in this place, to do as we like, take as we like, and you want to stay for a few minutes and play it safe grabbing the easy stuff.”
Roger said, “Blowing five safes isn’t easy, Cole.”
Comfort nodded, saying, “And it takes time. During which, we’re taking advantage of the situation. We’re going the whole fucking route. This place is Disneyland for thieves, and we got all the free tickets we want. We’re all gonna pitch in and help the Leeches, here, load their three semis, which’ll be pulled up to loading docks out back, and fill ’em with refrigerators and microwave ovens and TVs and VCRs and stereo shit and computers and washing machines and furs and leather goods and cameras and designer clothes and sterling silver and china and Cuisinarts and every other goddamn thing we can lay hands on, before this place opens the next morning, at which time there’ll be tumbleweed blowing through this goddamn place, it’ll be so empty.”
“You forgot jockey shorts,” Nolan said.
“What?” Comfort said.
“You can probably get a quarter each for jockey shorts,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to leave any of them behind.”
“You just cooperate,” Comfort said, raising a lecturing finger.
That was weird, Roger thought. It was almost like Comfort had a hold over Nolan...
Fisher was taking notes; he looked up from them and said, “You have a fence lined up who can handle a load like this?”
“Burden in Omaha,” Comfort said, “for everything but the stones. We got to go to Chicago for the stones.”
“What’s the rate?” Phil asked.
“We’re getting thirty percent of wholesale on the goods; forty on the stones.”
“Not bad,” Phil admitted. “And this goes down how soon?”
“Thursday,” Comfort said.
“This Thursday?” Roger asked.
“This Thursday,” Comfort said.
“What’s the rush?” Fisher asked.
“No rush,” Comfort said. “I been working on this for weeks, now. We got all the inside dope we need. Christmas money is flowing, out there. We’re all here. Thursday’s as good a time as any.”
Roger looked at Nolan. “Nolan? Opinion?”
Nolan shrugged. “Thursday’s fine.”
Fisher looked at Nolan sharply. “Why are you doing this?”
Nolan said, “Why else? The money.”
“You have a good thing going here,” Fisher said, looking around the place like a tax assessor. “Why risk it?”
Comfort said, “You can never have too much money, right, Nolan?”
“Right,” Nolan said.
They talked till after four, and agreed to meet back here at two-thirty tomorrow night. In the meantime, Comfort instructed, they would all, on their own, walk around the mall tomorrow during business hours. Each, in his own way, casing the joint.
“We could have jerseys made up,” Jon said, “that say ‘Mall Heist’ on ’em — and maybe walk arms linked. That’d be a nice touch.”
Comfort smiled kindly at him and said, “Remember what I told you about children, son?”
Jon, still sitting backward in the chair, gave him a sullen look, then looked away.
Roger got up and went over to Nolan’s small table and asked a few questions about the bank.
“The instant-cash machine is an NCR,” Nolan said. He dug in his shirt pocket for a slip of paper and handed it to Roger. “There’s the model number and a sketch. You can walk right in the bank and look at it tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget your jersey,” Jon said.
“What’s with you guys?” Roger said.
“Nothing,” Nolan said. “The jewelry store safe is tear-gas rigged.”
“I’ll talk to Fisher,” Roger said. “He’ll know how to get around that.”
“Fine,” Nolan said, smiling tightly. “See you soon.”
Roger smiled back, glanced at the slip of paper Nolan had handed him; it did indeed include the model number of the safe — but it also had a Moline address jotted down and said: “Come to my house now. Say nothing to Comfort.”
Roger nodded, folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket; he collected Phil, said his goodbyes all around, and left with Comfort, who dropped them at their hotel. Saying nothing to Phil about where he was going, he took the car, found an all-night gas station that could direct him to the Moline address, and when he got there Nolan was waiting.
12
The light blue Ford van was hardly ideal for a stakeout, but it was all Jon had. Neither of Nolan’s cars was usable, as Comfort had seen Sherry’s red 300 ZX, and had probably ID’ed Nolan’s silver Trans Am by now as well, whereas Jon’s van had been dropped off for a tune-up at a garage near Nolan’s place the morning after Jon got there — where it had sat ever since.
And now Jon sat in it — that is, the blue Ford van (which at least no longer said “The Nodes” on the side), in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn on Brady Street, just a few blocks from Brady Eighty. He didn’t have the motor running, and it was cold today — this was Wednesday afternoon, the first Wednesday of December — but he was warm in his bulky army-navy surplus store navy coat, and fur-lined gloves, and ski mask.
The ski mask was almost too warm — it was certainly too scratchy — but it was necessary. He couldn’t afford to be recognized by Comfort, whose red Chevy pickup, parked just across from him, he was watching. They’d seen Comfort climb into the driver’s seat of this pickup, Missouri plates, last night in front of Nolan’s.
It was a little after five o’clock and getting dark already. He’d been here damn near all day — since around nine this morning. He had a Thermos of hot chocolate (he hated coffee — that was for grown-ups) and the snub-nose .38 and a science-fiction novel by Walter Tevis, Mockingbird, which he’d finished an hour ago. The book was good, but reading a couple paragraphs and then glancing up at Comfort’s parked pickup, and then reading a couple more paragraphs, and then glancing up at Comfort’s parked pickup again, was a grueling process which he repeated to the point of a stiff sore neck. He kept the van doors locked, because if Comfort spotted him, a door might be yanked open and Jon jerked out; and the Comforts, of course, were capable of anything — which was why the .38 was snugged in the side right pocket of the navy coat.
He also had a mobile cellular phone in the car, a toy Nolan usually carried in his own car (he’d gotten it at a discount from the Radio Shack at Brady Eighty). Jon checked in every hour with Nolan, who was nearby at his restaurant at the mall.