Free Black Friday by David Goodis Page B

don't make good it's all options dropped, everything dropped, everything finished. Well now, here we are upstairs in the hail and there's the bedroom. Let's stop here just a moment or so and hold her a little tighter, let's give it some preliminary action, a blazing kiss deep to her mouth to let her know what's coming later. Well, that wasn't bad. Looks as though she liked that.
Frieda was taking off her clothes as they entered the room.

8
It was a few hours later and Hart sat on the couch in the living room, reading a comic magazine. There was nothing else to read. Soon Charley came in with Mattone and Rizzio.
Their overcoats were flecked with snow. They took off the coats, doing it slowly, somewhat tiredly. Hart guessed they'd had a busy afternoon. Rizzio said, "I'm gonna take a nap before dinner," and he went upstairs. Mattone waited a few moments, then said, "I'll get some shut-eye, too," and moved toward the couch. Hart got up and took a chair on the other side of the room. Charley stood in the middle of the floor, pulling a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his suit. He unfolded the paper and stood there reading some penciled notations and a roughly drawn diagram. From where Hart was sitting it was possible to see the diagram. It showed the exterior of a large mansion and the surrounding estate, with tennis courts and a stable and a four-car garage.
Some moments passed, and then without saying a word Charley came toward him and handed him the sheet of paper. Hart leaned back in the chair, puffing gently at the cigarette, seeing what was on the paper but not getting anything from it, getting only the soft but steady pressure from Charley's eyes aiming at his face. He knew that Charley was looking for a reaction and he told himself the best reaction was no reaction at all.
For the better part of a minute he continued to focus on the diagram and the notes. Then, looking up at Charley, making it quiet and technical, "This looks very juicy."
Charley nodded. "The Kenniston estate. Ever hear of the Kennistons?"
Hart made a negative gesture.
"Society people," Charley said. "They really have it. Let's say around thirty, forty million. They got a lot of it invested in art treasures. Mostly oriental stuff, like jade and rose quartz and ivory. You familiar with that material?"
"A little," Hart said. "When'd you pick up on this?"
"Couple months ago. They loaned the collection to the Parkway Museum for a three-week exhibit. I went down and had a look at it. Mostly small items, about the size of your thumb. In terms of antique value it amounts to a big haul. Some of them things go back two, three thousand years."
Hart looked at the sheet of paper. He didn't say anything.
Charley went on, "As it stands now, it's around a million dollars' worth of goods. If we get it, I figure it'll bring around three fifty."
"That's high," Hart said. He wondered if it sounded professional.
"Yeah, I know it sounds high," Charley said. "But there's a hungry market for this kind of merchandise. They lost it ages ago and now they want it back."
"China?"
"Red China."
"Through what channel?"
"They got some people working here," Charley said. "They got other people in South America. And some in the islands. It goes from one place to another until it gets to China."
Hart glanced again at the sheet of paper. He said softly, very softly, "Three hundred and fifty grand."
"At least that," Charley murmured. He gestured toward the paper. "You like the layout?"
"I don't know yet," Hart said carefully, but with the feeling he was saying the wrong thing. And then, to himself, What else could you say?
Charley was saying, "We do it Friday. It's gonna be Friday night."
Without sound Hart said: Today is Wednesday. It's Wednesday and then comes Thursday and then Friday.
His eyes hit the diagram on the paper and stayed there and then it seemed the penciled drawing of the mansion was rising from the paper and moving toward his face. Then it was really the