Page 26 of Thick as Thieves

’t be noticed in the overflowing lot. You’re in and out of there all the time. Christ, you live there. So nobody will think twice about you leaving and returning an hour or so later.”

As Rusty had predicted, the theft itself had been incredibly easy to pull off. When Foster opened the vault, Rusty had exhaled a short laugh. “That’s a fucking lot of Easter bonnets and chocolate bunnies.”

They didn’t stand around congratulating one another, though. They’d hastily stuffed the banded bills into one large canvas bag provided by Foster. As they’d left with it, Ledge had halfway expected an ambush. At any given heartbeat, he’d feared spotlights hitting them, SWAT officers swarming, and a cop with a bullhorn shouting for them to drop facedown and place their hands behind their heads.

It hadn’t happened. Ledge had driven them away while the same mean-looking cat that had been eating from a pile of garbage when they’d arrived was still eating from it when they’d left. Not even he had scurried for cover behind the row of dumpsters behind the store.

But now, after having made a clean getaway with their haul, when they were halfway between Welch’s and the bar in the middle of freaking nowhere, Rusty told him to pull over.

“Pull over? What the hell for?” Ledge spoke for himself as well as for the two in the back seat, who shared his incredulity and were vocal about it.

“Just do it,” Rusty said, squelching their chorus of protests. “We need to lay some ground rules before we split up.”

The car was still rolling to a stop on the shoulder when Rusty opened the door and got out, taking the money bag into the ditch with him. The back of Ledge’s neck began prickling with apprehension, and it lasted the whole while they were huddled in that damn, stinking ditch. While pretending to be cool and unruffled, he’d kept a close eye on Rusty. Ledge wouldn’t put it past him to whip out a pistol and shoot the three of them right there.

As it turned out, he’d only wanted to assert his authority. The son of a bitch.

Strangely, though, Ledge felt even more uneasy now as they were climbing out of the ditch. Foster slipped, and Ledge had to lend him a helping hand. He didn’t like not having his hands free, and for a fleeting moment, it occurred to him that Foster’s bumbling might have been a ruse to distract him.

But all Foster did once he made it up the slope was to thank Ledge. Without further mishap, the four of them piled back into the car.

But the tension inside it was palpable. At least among three of them. Rusty appeared to be untroubled. Riding in the passenger seat, he whistled softly through his teeth and used his fingers against his knee to drum out a beat only he could hear.

They didn’t meet a single vehicle as they took the turnoff toward the lakeshore and Burnet’s. Ledge drove to the farthest, darkest edge of the parking lot where tree limbs were so low, the Spanish moss hanging from them brushed against the windshield.

He pulled to a stop but left the motor running. In an atmosphere of hostility and mistrust, he said, “Nobody followed us, but we’d better scatter quick.”

“I agree,” said Rusty. “I’ve said everything that needed saying.”

“You said more than needed saying.”

The complaint had been muttered, but Rusty heard it. “Hey, Ledge,” he said conversationally, “why do you think it is that Joe doesn’t do his drinking here? Why doesn’t he give your uncle Henry his business? Do you reckon he thinks nobody knows he’s an alky?”

The back door slammed hard enough to rock the car.

Angrily, Ledge said to Rusty, “Why not just lay off?”

“I didn’t mean any offense. Truly,” Rusty said with exaggerated earnestness. Then he looked into the back seat and changed his tone to a threatening one. “Foster, if you fuck up, we’re all fucked.”

“I won’t. I promise.” The accountant scrambled out and disappeared into the maze of vehicles.

Rusty opened the passenger door and pulled the canvas bag from the floorboard. He patted it affectionately and grinned across at Ledge. “Well, see you around, partner.”

Moving faster than Rusty could blink, Ledge’s right arm cut an arc across the console, his fingers locking around Rusty’s wrist like bands of iron. “Hear me, and hear me good, you prick. You had better hope that nothing bad happens to my uncle or this place, because if something does, I’m gonna assume you’re behind it, and I’ll come after you, and I will kill you.”

Knowing he’d made himself understood, he released Rusty as swiftly as he’d grabbed him. Rusty appeared too shocked, too afraid maybe, to move. Then he climbed out with the bag and closed the door.

Ledge put the car in gear and drove away, out of the parking lot.

Although he realized that his uncle and Don could use an extra pair of hands on such a busy night, he couldn’t face them just yet. They would know right away that something was bothering him, and when they probed him for a reason, he would have to lie, and they would detect that, too.

His getting caught smoking pot and having to go to detention had come as a disappointment to his uncle. But Henry had been unwavering in his support. They had weathered that dim chapter in Ledge’s life without Henry losing all faith in him.

So God forbid that Henry ever find out what he’d done tonight. Sick over the mere thought of that possibility, he headed back toward town and Crystal’s house. He could shelter there with her for a while. She didn’t require him to make conversation.

The squad car’s flashers didn’t come on until it was right on his tail, and the lights nearly blinded him, causing him to swerve toward the shoulder.

He braked hard and skidded to a stop in the gravel.