"Anthony Neil Smith - Push-Button Easy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Anthony Neil)

PUSH-BUTTON EASY
By
Anthony Neil Smith

Ken had heard about the two bank robberies on the Mississippi Gulf Coast that week and thought it must be easier down here. He dropped by Wiley & Oaks to make a deposit, but also to do a dry run, see if he could still do it if he wanted. The last time was ten years ago, when Ken was fifty, in Ohio before he and Jill retired to Ocean Springs. He had an unloaded .32 revolver in his windbreaker's pocket and would plead innocent if they caught him: "On my way to sell it, honest."

This branch of Wiley & Oaks was in the parking lot out front of Wal-Mart, Domino's Pizza, and the crafts store. He walked in right after they opened at nine, bummed out in shorts and fishing cap, and walked straight ahead to the island in front of the three tellers. A couple of desks were off to the left, where people begged for loans they would use to pay off other loans. Ken leaned on his elbows and scribbled out the deposit slip with the pen-on-a-chain. He thought about writing a "Give me all your money" note on back but smiled it away.

Ken picked the young blond teller with big triangle earrings. She did a plastic grin, and Ken laid four quarter rolls on top of his deposit slip. She took them and flashed her fingers over the computer keys, made out his receipt. Her nameplate: Bethany. Ken thanked her and walked out.

He drove to the mall in Biloxi to buy golf shirts and khaki pants, and sandals and sunglasses for Jill. He thought about how the new generation of bank robbers used computers to wire themselves millions. Ken didn't want a million if he couldn't hold it. Bundles of twenties and hundreds, he could touch those, flip them, smell the ink.

Back in Ocean Springs, he parked outside the front fence of his house. It was a small old wooden number a few blocks from the beach, with a thick gnarled tree on the side, small front and back yards. By the wall under a window, there was a small bricked-in garden with an open bag of fertilizer and hand spade beside it but no flowers yet. Jill turned the dirt earlier and said she'd wait until Ken got back from the bank so they could go buy some together. That was two hours ago.

Ken looked back at the car, a Buick LeSabre they'd had a few years, two-door, burgundy, boring as hell. He carried his bags into the kitchen where Jill sat on a stool in her one-piece bathing suit and orange shorts, talking on the phone and smoking a Kool.

"Here's my son of a bitch husband now," she said.

Ken shrugged. "Side trip."

"We can go now. Call you later, Mom." Jill called her mom ten times a day, at least.

She hung up, and Ken handed one of the bags to her. "Got you something."

"You did?" She opened it and looked in, put the shades on. The tag hung over one lens. "How do I look?"

"Fabulous," Ken said. There was a little gray in Jill's blonde hair. Her breasts and arms and thighs sagged. She was fifty-nine and getting old too.

"And sandals, too. Is this an apology?" Jill smashed her cigarette in the fish ashtray on the bar and tossed the sandals on the floor. She kicked off dirty Keds and slid into the new shoes, lifted each foot to admire them. Her toenails were milky pink.

"We'll call it a peace offering."

"Thank you, Kenny." She pecked his cheek. "Are you ready to go now?"

"Listen," Ken said. He gave Jill's pack of Kools a spin. "I think we ought to go look at cars."

"We need a car?"

"This one's boring. We've had it a few years, and I don't notice it like I used to. It's vanilla."

"It's comfortable. I like it." Jill knew the car was only what Ken was saying, that the real problem was he was bored with the whole town, with retirement. They had plenty of money, lots of freedom, but things were quiet. Which was fine with Jill; she had been scared before they quit robbing banks. She had ulcers then. But on the Coast she seemed better. The garden, the house, a long clean beach and nice weather most of the year. She liked eating at the casinos and shopping at America's Thrift Store. She said, "I like it here."

Ken went to the sink and washed his hands. He cupped the stream, lifted and took a sip. "We never go anywhere. The last trip was New Orleans? Last year."

"Nobody's holding you down. You got to go, take off for a while. I'll be here when you get back." Jill yanked the tag off her sunglasses.

Ken laughed. "You old bitch. As long as we're going that way, we can just look. A Black Cadillac. Shiny."

Jill went in the bedroom and put on a white shirt. She pulled the papers for the car from the shoebox under the bed. The rest needed shredding. She was worried; ten years, and they'd stopped living out of suitcases, weren't ready to grab and go in five minutes. They bought things on credit now, like the furniture and microwave and big TV. She had a charge card at J.C. Penny's.