He could still see the Bruins scout, the guy in the Bear Bryant hat and fingerless wool gloves sitting in the last spot on the fifth riser, center ice, making frantic marks in his spiral notebook as the Martin sisters next to him kept screaming Doug's name. His summary report, showed to Doug after the draft, described MacRay as "a thug player with a touch of class," a high-scoring, high-potential defenseman blending the goon tradition of the seventies with the new eighties finesse.
But it was all just echoes now. He found himself touching his split eyebrow and pulled his hand away, angry. This was why he didn't like being out on this ice anymore.
"There were no obvious problems on the job," Jem continued, "least none nobody admits to. So how come we each spent half our morning making sure we were clean of the G, getting here? How come all of a sudden we're earning so much heat?"
No cops were waiting for Doug when he carried his tea out of Lori-Ann's that morning-- yet everything seemed changed. It was like a protective seal on the Town had been broken, and now there could be cops waiting for him anywhere: his car, his home, his mother's house.
"Simple," said Doug, coming back around for another slice, spraying some shavings against the stacked crates with a sharp stop. "They were onto us from before. And we went ahead and rushed it anyway."
"Rushed, nothing," said Jem. "But we didn't sit around neither, let 'em shut us down."
"No," said Doug. "No, that would have been foolhardy."
"Aha, a little attitude from the mastermind here. Okay, genius. Tell us, then. Where and when did all this shit go wrong?"
"For that I'd have to take us all back to a bitter-cold day in early December 1963."
Jem frowned off the reference to his birthday. He turned to Dez, the only one of them who hadn't been at the movie theater. "Duggy's pissed 'cause I went and had a little fun."
"That what that was?" said Doug. "That was fun?"
Jem smiled his angry smile. "That job was the driest fucking job. It was
nothing
."
"Nothing," said Doug.
"Truth be told, Douglas-- it was pansy-ass. It was pussy. Hadda be said."
Doug slowed and drifted back toward the crates. "So let me get this straight. The job went
too
smooth for you. Not enough fucking up, far as you're concerned, your usual quotient."
"It wasn't no heist. It was a friggin' lemonade stand we knocked over. We could of been three
girls
in there, pulling that off."
"It was a sweet score, and it fell like a feather."
"Awright, assholes, enough," said Gloansy, looking to douse the flames.
But Jem wasn't interested. "It's not the paycheck, kid," he said, gliding away from the pizza podium to engage Doug. "It's how you bring it home."
"It's
that
you bring it home--
period,
" said Doug. "You're too old to die young, Jemmer. That time is passed."
"Fuckin' Johnny Philosopher here. What've you got to lose all of a sudden?"
The leer in Jem's face was for Claire Keesey, but Doug was in no mood. "This is about being a pro and acting like one. About doing it good and right. That's the thing."
"No, Duggy, see, that's
your
thing.
You
plan it, no one else. And then what-- I gotta follow your rules and regulations? I'm your employee here?" Jem's slow trajectory brought him closer to Doug, his hands resting on his hips. "See, my thing is getting into it on the job, mixing it up. 'Cause I'm a motherfucking
outlaw
."
Doug let Jem drift past, the smell of beer trailing him like a cloud of flies.
Dez and Gloansy had stopped chewing, waiting on opposite sides of the pizza pedestal like kids watching their parents fight. Doug said to them, "You guys on board with that? You want me keeping you
out
of danger, or putting you
in
some?"
Jem circled back, speedy but measured, lifting skate over skate. "And what is this with playing it safe? We are
bank robbers,
man. Stickup men, we go in packing, balls to the wall. It's a gun in our hand, not a fuckin' briefcase. There is nothing
safe
about this." He spun around so he could face them all, gliding backward. "The hell happened to you, Duggy?"
Gloansy said, "Can we all fucking forget this, please?"
Dez said, "Yeah. Frigging boring."
Gloansy put down his beer. "Give us our magic number and let's call it a day."
Jem started back at a decent clip, looking to do a breeze-by. "Like your trick there with the guards. Holding their families over them, immobilizing them with that. So
safe
. So fucking
clever
. Know what?" He zipped past Doug, spinning, heavy-legged but clean. "I fucking
hate
safe and clever."
Doug said, "This is why you beat on the assistant manager at the Kenmore thing. Why you had to go and grab the bank manager. Stealing's not enough for you anymore. That won't get you caught fast enough."
"This is what I'm talking about," Jem said, talking to Doug but playing to the jury. "Since when did you let the people in our way
get
in our way?"
"You tuned up that guy for no reason. Other than to bring the heat down on us, which we are now enjoying this very fucking day."
"Did you forget that that motherfucking brown hound hit the bell?"
"No, he didn't."
"No, he didn't,"
scoffed Jem. "Yes, he very well fucking-- "
"He didn't," said Doug. "She did."
Jem just drifted past, staring.
Gloansy checked Dez, then Doug. "How do you know, Duggy?"
"How do I know?" Doug watched Jem curling around them, Doug saying,
Shall I?
You don't have the onions,
said Jem's white-eyed challenge.
Doug said, "I know this because she told me."
Jem still stared, trying to figure Doug out, Doug saying,
You got nothing on me now.
Dez said, "What do you mean, she told you?"
"Checking her out after the job-- I met her. We talked a couple of times."
Jem said, "He's fucking going steady with her."
Doug kept talking. "And now Jem has her as an undercover FBI agent or something. All sorts of conspiracy theories, probably. When she's just someone trying to put her life back together, simple as that. There. Now everybody's caught up."
Jem said, "You're still seeing her."
"Am I? What, you gonna follow me some more? Follow the G following me? We'll do the motherfucking parade down Bunker Hill Street, how about that? Streamers, silly hats, everything." Doug kicked away then, rounding the three of them in a tight, slow circle.
Gloansy turned, tracking Doug. "Who's following
who
? Fuck's going on?"
Jem said, "What is it you're not getting? Our Duggy here's been dating that cooze from the Kenmore job. The one who rode with us. Oh, wait-- but
I'm
the one that wants to get caught."
Dez said, stunned, "How long, Duggy?"
"Not long."
"Well-- you still seeing her?"
Jem said, "How about it, Romeo? When you gonna bring her around, meet your buds?"
Doug said, "She doesn't know anything."
Gloansy said, "Well, Duggy, for Christ-- she
better
not."
"She doesn't."
Jem said, "And I bet he hasn't even lit her lamp yet." He mimed a slap-shot goal. "Hasn't slipped one in between the pads."
Doug threw Jem a look saying,
Enough.
"You know," said Jem, blowing through that stop sign, "me and the assistant manager, we danced that one time. Whyn't I call him up, we'll double-date? Go out for milk shakes or something. Can he drink through a straw yet? Or wait-- what kind of milk shake did I mean?"
"All right, Jem," said Doug, throwing down the gloves. "Here's the deal. And this is as un
safe
and as un
clever
as I can make it. Okay? You ready?"
Jem's waiting smile was full of dragon steam.
Doug said, "I am not with your sister anymore. And I won't be, and I never will be, and that's the end of that. Krista and me-- we are not getting married. Never. We are not all going to live in your house, the three of us and Shyne, happily ever after. Not gonna happen."
Jem's wild smile became a hot, dark slice in his face. A Jem-o'-lantern with the candle blown out, smoking. He stood perfectly still on the ice. "She's got you wrapped so motherfucking tight."
"That's right," said Doug.
"You fucking whip-ass pussy."
"Man,"
said Doug, swinging at the chilled air, amazed that it had gone this far, and at the same time not surprised. They were grappling on the edge of a cliff here, this close to going over together for good.
"You're turning into fucking tapioca right in front of me. What's she got on you, man? Or are you so fucking blind you can't see?"
"What is it I can't see, Jem?"
"You can't see what she's doing."
"Tell me, Jem. Tell me what she's doing."
Jem's head shook in disgust. "If we can't trust her, kid-- how we gonna trust you?"
Doug smiled. So much coming out of him, a riot of pent-up thought and anger. "You are so fucked in the head, Jem boy. You don't trust me? No? Then find yourself someone else to set your scores. No-- better than that,
you
do it. Yourself.
You
map it out. And I'll sit back until game time, then show up and shoot the place up from under you, just for fucking
fun
."
"There's always Fergie, man."
Doug's head jerked back like Jem had taken a jab at him. "Don't fucking even."
Jem's eyes were bright and daring. "He's got some real scores lined up. Big hits for big hitters. He's said as much."
"Excellent. Then you're all set, kid. You don't even need me here. 'Cause I will
never
work for that psycho piece of shit." Doug glided backward on the strength of his own outburst. He looked to Dez. "How about you, Monsignor? Wanna go work for the guy who gunned down your dad?"
Dez exhaled a stream of determination and shook his head.
Doug shrugged back at Jem. They were paired off now, Doug and Dez versus Jem and Gloansy. A lot of silence, everyone's breath billowing out fast.
Doug said finally, "So is this how it ends?"
Gloansy put out his hands as though elevator doors were closing. "Hey, okay, hold on, just hold on."
Jem shook his little head. "Nothing's ending, man."
"No?" said Doug. "Only because you don't have the
sense
. Gloansy too, the both of you-- you're gonna keep taking jobs until you get grabbed."
Fury twisted at Jem, his frown warping, jumping. "I ain't never getting grabbed."
"Always, I knew this, but I never saw it as clear as right now. The movie theater score-- that was our biggest ever. Not enough. Nothing ever will be."
Jem looked at him in white-eyed amazement, slow-drifting toward him. "You talking about money? When's it ever been about money? This has always been about
us
. The four musketeers here, taking on the fucking world. About being outlaws, man. I don't know when you forgot that, Duggy. I don't know when you forgot that."
"All right then. For kicks, since no one here really cares-- what's our split?"
Jem still drifting forward, eyes locked on Doug, a collision course. "One-fourteen, three oh two. Per."
Dez said, next to Doug, "Holy shit."
Gloansy laughed out a tension-breaking gasp. "And that's all clean? Spendable, like right fucking
now
?"
Dez said, "Holy fucking
shit
."
Jem remained staring at Doug, Doug at him.
Gloansy said, "Lemonade stand, whatever-- that's fucking
genius
!" Cackling now, shouting at the ceiling.
"Aaawooo!"
Doug said evenly, "The split is light."
Jem stopped drifting.
Doug angled his blades on the ice, setting himself. "Even with your ten percent ass-kiss to Uncle Fergus, it's light. That's a soft split."
Gloansy stopped his celebrating. Dez looked at Jem. No breath came from anyone's mouth now.
"I saw the receipts," said Doug. "But, hey, right? I mean-- it's not about the
money
