Free Two for the Money by Max Allan Collins

left of their friendship a little too hard, but any argument he had ready died when the .38 barrel began to swing his way.
    After Werner had tied Charlie, Nolan kept gun in hand as he secured Werner’s hands in back, then bent down and strapped the belts around their ankles.
    Charlie said, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Nolan. Turning me down like this leaves you with nowhere to go.”
    Nolan said, “I’m not turning you down, Charlie. It’s just I’m getting edgy in my old age. How do I know this summit meeting of ours hasn’t been just so much bull to set me up for an easy kill? I figure this’ll keep you boys away from the phone till I’m out of the hotel and gone.”
    Werner let out some pent-up venom. “Damn you, Nolan! Don’t you know yet that we don’t handle things that way anymore? This was a business meeting until you started to . . .”
    Charlie said, “Shut up.”
    “Charlie,” Nolan said, “I’m going to play your game. I’ll dig up a job somewhere and you’ll get paid . . . but back out, or cross me in any way, and you’re going to die. A promise. You’ll just die.”
    Charlie started to say something, but Nolan whippedopen the nightstand drawer and grabbed the two wadded handkerchiefs and shoved one into Charlie’s open mouth. Werner started to say something, and since Charlie wasn’t in a condition to shut him up, Nolan did it for him with the other wad of cloth.
    Nolan holstered the .38, plucked the Colt from behind the pillow, and shoved the gun in his belt. He looked over at Charlie and thought about what a melodramatic sonofabitch Charlie was. Then he remembered his words to Charlie before stuffing the gag in his mouth, and glanced over at the lamp where he’d hidden the .38, and he had to laugh.
    A couple of melodramatic sons-of-bitches, he thought, and headed for the door.

9
    Downstairs in his suite Nolan unlocked the closet and got out the .38 he’d stowed there, jamming it in his belt. Tillis’s Luger he left in the closet, leaving the door open. Next he removed the other revolver from this room’s nightstand lamp and dropped the gun in his coat pocket.
    No matter how silly precautions seemed in retrospect, Nolan knew only a dead man could afford not to take any.
    He went into the bathroom and found Tillis, who was nodding off to sleep.
    “Hey Tillis.”
    The big black shook his head and said, “Uh, what, uh, hey man . . . must’ve dozed off. What’s happening? You kill Mr. Charlie or what?”
    “No. Just fixed him and Werner so they’d stay quiet a while. When I get to where I’m going, I’ll call the desk over here and have them send somebody up to untie you. Then you can go up and let Charlie and Werner loose. They’re in room 714.”
    “Oh. Okay.”
    “You tell Charlie I’m going through with his offer. But tell him don’t underestimate me.”
    “I’ll tell him, Nolan. He can take my word for it.”
    “Your Luger’s in the front closet. That’s about it, Tillis. See you.”
    “See you.”
    Nolan walked out of the suite and took the elevator back up to the other room. He got one of the guns out before going in, though it was hardly necessary. Charlie and Werner were quite secure on the bed, hadn’t budged: Charlie’s eyes were bored, Werner’s indignant.
    Grabbing up his bag and dumping all guns into it save the one in his shoulder holster, Nolan went for the window and the fire escape beyond. He climbed down into the alley and started walking.
    It was twelve blocks to the Y and that third room he’d rented.

Two

1
    Planner sat behind the counter in his antique shop, puffing away at a Garcia y Vega and waiting for Nolan.
    Planner liked cigars, liked them a lot, and always kept a box of Garcias under the counter and handy. Yes, he realized that smoking cigars hurt business—the air in a dust-trap antique shop did damage enough to customers’ sinuses without the proprietor further polluting the atmosphere. And he supposed the image he