But the big change was the presence of Lyle Comfort, who sat next to his father; Lyle was a handsome, well-groomed kid in expensive clothes — he wore a rust-colored leather jacket and a shirt with a faint yellow and gray puzzle pattern, had curly brown hair and brown eyes and a tan and a blank fashion-model expression. He looked like a city kid, on first glance, but if you looked hard, Lyle was a dumb-as-a-post country kid, who learned how to dress from TV and magazines.
The Leeches were again lined up on one side of the table, but Fisher was sitting on their side, tonight, down at the far end, still with a shirt pocket full of pens and gizmos, still with a notepad in front of him — open to a page of notes he’d already taken. Neither the slight, easygoing Winch nor the dour, basset-faced Dooley, sitting next to Lyle Comfort, gave anything away; they seemed completely at ease — what they knew about Nolan’s situation, they kept close to the vest. Nolan’s favorite kind of people: pros.
Tonight the Leeches had taken their stocking caps off, and spoiled their uniformity: one was sandy-haired, one was brown-haired, the other was brown-haired balding. They were sitting there putting the beer away pretty good. Nolan had relented and put two pitchers of beer on the table — this meet would take a while, and a nod to sociality wouldn’t hurt.
Lyle Comfort’s presence here, however, was disturbing.
If Lyle was here, who was watching Sherry?
Before the meet began, Nolan cornered Cole Comfort and put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Nice to have your son with us tonight, Cole.”
Comfort nodded, not knowing what Nolan was getting at.
“Who’s minding the store?” Nolan asked Comfort.
Now Comfort got it. “Never you mind,” he said.
Nolan whispered in Comfort’s ear. “If she’s dead, so are you.”
Comfort pulled away, shaken, nervous. “She’s fine. Don’t talk about that here.”
Nolan laughed harshly. “Here? Meeting here at all is moronic, meeting at the place we plan to hit in twenty-four hours. Less than twenty-four hours.”
“We’re here,” Comfort said. “Let’s have our meet.”
“You know, if the cops prowl the parking lot, this will make two nights in a row that pickup of yours and that pimpmobile of the Leeches’ll be out in front of my restaurant in the wee hours.”
The Leeches drove a yellow Camaro with gaudy racing stripes. Very inconspicuous — if this were Tijuana.
“You said the cops don’t prowl the mall,” Comfort said, irritably.
“My information is that they haven’t been lately, yes. But that information was casually obtained. We didn’t stake out the lot like we should have, seeing if they are prowling, and if so, what the pattern is, if any.”
“Aw shut up,” Comfort said. He prodded Nolan with a pointing finger. “And leave this negative horseshit behind, when you’re running through your plans, front of the others.”
“Don’t poke me, Cole,” Nolan said.
“I’ll do what I fuckin’ well please.”
“I’m sure you will. But I’d ask you to keep in mind, I’ve been upholding my end of the bargain. I’m helping you heist your mall — my mall — and I’m giving it my best shot.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you are. I appreciate that.”
“I expect Sherry back — unharmed — and my full share. Jon’s, too.”
“We been through all that...”
“Just so we understand each other.”
Now Nolan was talking while the seated group studied photocopies of a map he’d made of the mall.
“The stores with the X’s,” Nolan said, looking down toward Dooley, “are the ones we’ll need opened, Phil.”
“No problem,” the locksmith said.
Comfort said, “Were you out to Brady Eighty today, Phil?”
“Yeah. I walked the mall. They use those sliding glass doors that lock together; a few have metal cage doors. In either case, picking the locks is no big deal.”
Nolan asked, “How long will it take you to open each shop?”
“Five to fifteen minutes.”
A Leech said, “Fifty stores, that’s a lot of time.”
Nolan said, “We won’t be opening fifty stores.”
Comfort scowled at Nolan and slammed a fist on the table and the beer pitchers sloshed. He said, “How many times do I have to say it? We’re looting the whole motherfucker! We’re taking it all!”
“Cole,” Nolan said, smiling tightly, “as much as you may wish to take every spool of thread and Snickers bar and Slinky, we got a finite amount of time, and finite manpower. We got to pick and choose.”
Comfort thought about that, just momentarily, waved a hand at Nolan dismissively, and said, “You’re right.” Then he looked at his photocopy of the map. “These places you X’ed are the targets, then—”
“Twelve stores,” Nolan said, “not counting the three big department stores, all of which are worth hitting.”
“And not counting the bank,” Winch said.
“Right,” Nolan said. “Not counting the bank.”
“What’s this double X,” Dooley asked, “near the back entry, on the east side of the building.”
“That’s where the maintenance and security people work out of,” Nolan said. “The security guy will be off duty, and we’ll drop a Mickey Finn in the janitor’s coffee.”
“Who will?” a Leech asked.
“I’ll take care of that,” Nolan said. “Now, note the three major department stores — Petersen’s on the east end, Penney’s in the middle, and I. Magnin at the west end. I. Magnin, of course, is the most important of these. Expensive merchandise.”
Another Leech said, “And that’s where the loading docks are.”
“Right,” Nolan said. “Behind each of the major department stores. Which is perfect for us. Easy loading access to one of the semis, no matter what store you’ve been ‘shopping’ at.”
He went on to explain why he’d chosen the various stores — the leather shop, for example, carried an inventory of leather goods and furs amounting to well over a quarter mil — and indicated a priority list, which shops to hit first, and began making assignments. To best utilize manpower, the truck cabs would sit empty with the exception of the middle one, where Jon would sit, as point man.
“Why him?” Comfort said.
“Why not?” Nolan said.
“Somebody’s gotta watch,” a Leech said. “Let him do it. He’s just a little guy.”
“What about guns?” Dooley asked.
“What about them?” Nolan said.
Comfort said, “Whoever wants to carry, carry. If you need something, just ask; I got some extra pieces. I’ll be packing and my boy will and the Leeches. I assume you will too, Phil.”
Dooley nodded, but Winch said, “I don’t have shit to do with guns.”
Comfort shrugged. “Up to you.”
Fisher looked up from his note-taking to say, “I have a stun gun. I don’t like bullets. Very crude.”
A Leech said, “Why ain’t the Walgreen’s got an X?”
“Why should it?” Nolan asked. “That’s dime-store stuff.”
Another Leech said, “They got a pharmacy.”
Yet another Leech said, “Meaning drugs.”
Nolan looked at Comfort, who shook his head no, violently.
“No, sir,” he said. “That’s one thing I won’t abide. I never dirtied my hands with dope.”
The Leeches looked at each other, doing comic takes, as if to say, “The guy’s crazy, but what are you gonna do?” Nolan tended to share that sentiment; the notion of Cole Comfort drawing the line somewhere was pretty fucking absurd.
Fisher said, “I was in DeReuss Jewelry today. I spotted the tear-gas alarm. It’s a wall-mount — turns on and off with a cylindrical key.”
“I saw it too,” Dooley said, nodding. “I could pick it, like any lock.”