Free Hush Money by Max Allan Collins

detail for me? Could you explain why you didn’t just knock instead of breaking in and scaring the piss out of me?”
    “Listen, I came to talk to Nolan, not some fuck- ass punk kid.”
    “You should’ve thought of that before you let the fuck-ass punk kid take your gun away from you. Now why do you want to see Nolan? What do you want him for?”
    “I don’t even know who the fuck you are, kid. What’s Nolan to you, anyway?”
    “I’m a friend of his. What’s he to you?”
    The guy shrugged. “He ain’t jack-shit to me, kid. I never met the guy.”
    “So why do you want him?”
    “Somebody sent me to get him.”
    “Get him?”
    “Fetch him, I mean. Jesus. Hey, give me some more Kleenex. This fuckin’ nose is still bleedin’.”
    Jon did, then said, “So who sent you?”
    The guy hesitated, thought a moment; his mouth puckered under the mousy mustache, like an asshole.
    “Who?” Jon repeated, giving emphasis with a motion of the .38.
    “Take it easy with that fuckin’ thing! You wanna kill somebody? Felix sent me.”
    “Felix,” Jon said. “Felix, that lawyer for the Family?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Then we’re back around to my first question: Why the hell didn’t you just knock?”
    “I knocked but you didn’t fuckin’ answer, that’s why! I saw the light upstairs and used a credit card to trip the lock and get in, and all of a sudden you’re hitting me in the fuckin’ nose with your fuckin’ head! Jesus.”
    “Well, Nolan’s not here right now.”
    “I got to see him. Felix’s got to see him.”
    “Something urgent? You want Nolan to go to Chicago right away, then?”
    “More urgent than that, kid. Felix came himself. He’s waitin’ out at the Howard Johnson’s. Something’s come up that can’t fuckin’ wait, kid, so shake it, will you?”
    “I know where Nolan is. I can call him.”
    “Then call him, for Christ’s sake.”
    “Okay. You can get up now, if you want. If you can.”
    “Don’t worry about me. I can get up, all right. You ain’t that fuckin’ tough, you little punk.”
    “I thought we were on friendly terms now. I thought you weren’t looking for trouble.”
    “Friendly terms, my fuckin’ ass. You best keep your balls covered when you see me comin’, kid. I like to even my scores.”
    “Then you better not forget to give me a nose bleed, too, while you’re at it.”
    “Fuck you. Give me my gun, why don’t you, before you shoot your dick off or something?”
    “When Nolan gets here. Let’s go out and call him. Come on, get up. This time I’ll be following you, remember.”
    And Jon, gun in hand, followed the guy into the living room, deposited him on the couch. Jon pulled a chair up opposite the guy so he could face him, keep an eye on him, and used the phone on the coffee table between them. Jon’s hand trembled around the receiver. He was acting tough, as Nolan would’ve wanted him to. He’d handled himself well, he knew that. But he was trembling just the same.
     
     
    7
     
     
    NOLAN PULLED the Eldorado in next to a Lincoln Continental and got out, confused.
    The Eldorado, which was gold, and the Continental, which was dark blue, took up all three of the slantwise spaces alongside the antique shop. Nolan’s Eldorado was actually the Tropical’s. His ever owning a Cadillac was unlikely, because he saw them as the automotive equivalent of an alcoholic, swilling gas with no thought of tomorrow. As far as he was concerned, a Cadillac was just a Pontiac with gland trouble. Still, being behind the wheel of one for the past couple of months had given him a feeling of—what?—prestige he guessed, and seeing the Lincoln Continental was somehow a sobering experience.
    Neither car made much sense in the context of the old antique shop, which was a two-story white clapboard structure bordering on the rundown, whose junk-filled showcase windows wouldn’t seem likely to attract even the most eccentric of wealthy collectors. In fact the shop