Two for the Money Read Online Free PDF

with red swirls. An open door in the middle of the paneled wall at the left revealed hints of a bedroom decorated in deep blues, and the other wall bore a large framed print of one of Dali’s studies in soft washes. There wasn’t much furniture, just a 26-inch Sony TV in the corner to the left of the door and console stereo stretched across a side wall. The only other furniture in the room, outside of a couple of stools at the bar, was a sofa, long, and fat and white, looking very soft and very comfortable, and reclining on it was a lovely young girl of twenty or so, dressed in blue lace panties, also looking very soft and comfortable. Her skin was the color of dark butterscotch, her legs long, breasts small but nicely formed. The breasts Nolan couldn’t actually see that well, as her long black hair came down around both shoulders and partially covered them.
    “Maria,” Irish said, “wait in the bedroom, will you? This is a friend come to talk with me.”
    She got up. She was quite tall, five-nine at least. It figured, Nolan thought; Irish always did go in for big girls: his wife was practically six feet. Now that the girl was on herfeet, her breasts didn’t look so small, Nolan noticed. Her nipples were very pink against her dark skin.
    She walked over to the door, flashing an ivory smile at Nolan.
    “Go on, now, Maria, shoo,” Irish said.
    “Yes, Herman,” she answered, bouncing attractively into the adjoining bedroom, closing the door after her.
    “She makes friends easily,” Irish said. “Maybe you’ll want to take her out while you’re in town.”
    Nolan laughed, softly. “Herman. Can’t get over it. Herman.”
    Irish flashed a Cheshire cat grin as he slipped out of his sportcoat and tossed it on the stereo. “I knew you’d have something to say about that . . . you’re lucky you got even ‘Irish’ out of me, I never got a first name out of you, you know.” He went over to the sofa and sat down, gestured for Nolan to join him. “A well-kept secret, that name of mine, while I was still in the trade. But when I became a more or less legitimate businessman, I could hardly hang out a shingle saying ‘Irish Cavazos.’ž”
    “Suppose not.”
    “How about a drink?”
    “No thanks. Haven’t had breakfast yet.”
    “Nolan turning down free booze? Not changing in your old age, are you, for Chrissake?”
    “The old age part’s right, anyway. To be honest, Irish, my stomach gives me hell when I drink in the morning.”
    “Whatever happened to that cast-iron sonofabitch I used to know, name of Nolan? The one that hit that armored car with me ten years ago?”
    “He’s the same sonofabitch, Irish. Just ten years older, and pounded to tin foil. Are you forgetting who it was talked you into quitting the business?”
    “I’m not forgetting it, Nolan. I owe you a hell of a lot for that. . . . If you hadn’t sent me and my savings to your old buddy Werner eight years ago, chances are I’d be either in stir or under the ground.”
    “You were a clumsy bastard, Irish. Great with machines, but clumsy with everything else. It scared me when you worked a job without me.”
    “Yeah, well, you gave me discipline, Nolan, and when I was on a job with you, I was okay, you could make me feel at ease. But the biggest favor you or anybody else ever did me was you telling me to get out while I had my ass in one piece.”
    “So I did both you and Werner a favor.”
    “You know the way I owe you, Nolan . . . just like Werner owes you for a hundred times . . . and that’s why I know I can ask you this and you won’t take it wrong: what in the name of Jesus and Mary and any remaining Saints are you doing around here? You know what’ll happen if anybody who knows you or that face of yours sees you? And reports to Charlie, who’s minutes away from the Cities?” Irish stopped and half his mouth smiled, the other frowned. “Incidentally, Nolan, that mustache of yours won’t fool anybody. You got a face worse