Free Nobody Move by Denis Johnson Page B

face to him.

    Luntz unzipped the duffel bag. He laid the shotgun on the bed.
Capra didn’t touch it. “Pistol grip’s illegal in California.”
“And smoking’s illegal. Everything.”
Capra ran one finger along its length. “Where’d you get it?”
“Won it in a poker game.”
“Do you have evil intentions?”
“I thought I might sell it, or something.”
“How much you want?”
“I don’t know. I might keep it. If I knew how to use it.”
Capra hoisted the gun. “Watch my thumb. See this button?” Luntz watched as Capra ran the slide back and forth repeatedly—klick- ack ! klick- ack ! klick- ack !—and eight red shells popped out one by one onto the mattress. “Well, don’t travel with it loaded, for one thing. Cops frown on that shit. Anyway”—as he ran the slide back and forth again, klick- ack !—“that’s all you need to do, right there. You hear sinister noises downstairs, just”—klick- ack !—“and to an intruder, that’s the ugliest sound in the world.”
“How do you get the shells back in?”
“Under here. You want to unload it, push this button like I showed you and run the action. And this one is your safety. Red side out means safety off. Push it in, and your trigger don’t pull.”
Luntz accepted the gun from his hands and slipped the shells back into the magazine one by one and made sure he had the safety on. “I think I’m considering a little move.”
“Obviously.”
“I’d be willing to accept some help.”
“Jimmy, I’m not like that. If I was like that, my ex-wife would be dead.”
Luntz replaced the gun in the duffel and zipped it shut and shoved it his whole arm’s length under the bed.
“Unload it,” Capra said. “You going to unload it?”
“No,” Luntz said.
“Don’t let Sol find out about that weapon. He’s skittish.”
“You always used to call Sally Sally like everybody else.”
“Things change.”
“If it’s love, it’s love.”
“I’m just saying things change, man.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Capra put his hand on the doorknob, but stood still. “Jimmy.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve gotten quiet. I like it.”

    Juarez called. He told Gambol, “A really funny thing happened.”
“I’m not in a mood for funny.”
“This is a really funny thing. But it’s not for this kind of phone. This is a pay-phone-to-pay-phone kind of funny thing. Call me in ten minutes.”
“I don’t have any pants on.”
“What?”
“I won’t repeat myself.”
“What are you wearing, honey?”
“Fuck you. Give me two hours. I need an hour just to get my pants on. Make it four o’clock.”
“Exactly four o’clock p.m. Get some pants. Then get ready to laugh your pants off.”
He did sound like an Arab.

    She didn’t know if she talked fast or slow. She forgot to cross her fingers. She didn’t glance once at Hank, not once, that much she knew. That was the important thing.
Afterward, outside the courthouse, Hank gave her back the key to the house. Just walked up and handed it to her like a flower. “Babylove. Come on over. You’ve got a couple things at the place.”
“A couple? My whole life is in that house.”
“We don’t have to break off contact.”
“The fuck we don’t. Last Friday in the Packard Room you didn’t have anything more for me than Cajun chicken.”
“Last Friday the last nail wasn’t in.”
“In my coffin?”
“Poor choice of words.”
He wore a tailored charcoal suit. His shirt looked like cream.
“How much did you pay for that tie?”
“Money’s no object. Not lately, Babylove.”
“Do you have some formula you’re working here? You call me Babylove X times and poof you’re not a piece of shit?”
“I am a piece of shit.” He put his hands in his pockets and smiled. He wasn’t that good-looking. He simply had this way about him that suggested it was his party, and the human race was lucky to be his guest.
“You never let me in. You ripped off two-point-three million dollars and never mentioned it. And then you