“I’ll be right back,” the manager said. He walked across the room and let himself through a door with his key. He took the deposit slip and check to a teller, who stamped the receipt and handed it back, then he walked out of sight behind a wall. He was gone for perhaps five minutes and returned, holding a canvas envelope, which he handed to Al. “There are fifteen stacks of one hundred hundred-dollar bills there, totaling one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash. Count them, if you wish.” Al shook his head. The manager stood up and offered his hand. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” he said.

Al shook the hand and walked out of the bank. He hailed a cab. “There’s a Mercedes dealer in midtown somewhere. You know it?”

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Take me there.”

—

A couple of hours later, Al walked into the bar downtown where he and Gene hung out sometimes. Gene was already at the bar. Al sat down next to him. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said.

“Okay, gimme the bad news first.”

“We’ve been fired.”

“Well, shit, I guess I knew that would happen when the old man got offed. What’s the good news?”

Al took the thick envelope from his pocket and handed it to Gene. “That’s five thousand bucks. It’s your severance pay.”

Gene looked at him suspiciously, then opened the envelope. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“I ’spect so,” Al said. “Make it last, there won’t be any more.”

“I’m still gonna kill Barrington,” Gene said. “You want some of that?”

“Nope, I’m out of the Gene Ryan business,” Al said. He tossed off the drink that had been set down for him. “You’re on your own now, Gene, I don’t wanna know you no more.” He turned and walked out of the bar and back to his new Mercedes. He headed to the Lincoln Tunnel and New Jersey, where there was a girl he wanted to see.

Chapter 27

Ryan looked into the envelope again; he had never seen that much money all at once—not that was his. “Arnie,” he said to the bartender, “what’s my tab?”

Arnie picked up a small ledger and ran a finger down a page. “Two sixty-one,” he said. “Call it two-fifty.”

Ryan retrieved three hundreds from the envelope and handed them to Arnie. “The rest is yours,” he said.

“Hey, thanks, Gene. How about one on the house?”

Ryan shook his head. “I gotta get sober,” he said. He hopped off the bar stool and walked out of the bar and into the sunshine. If he was going to kill Barrington, he’d have to be sober.

—