Chapter 3

HE WAS GETTING ready to do the kidnapping that night, the sooner the better. George stopped him.

“What are you up to, dinkleballs?”

Blaze had been getting ready to go start the Ford. Now he stopped. “Gettin ready to do it, George.”

“Do what?”

“Snatch the kid.”

George laughed.

“What you laughin at, George?” As if I don’t know, he thought.

“You.”

“Why?”

“How are you gonna snatch him? Tell me that.”

Blaze frowned. It turned his face, already ugly, into the face of a troll. “The way we planned it, I guess. Out’n his room.”

“Which room?”

“Well —”

“How are you gonna get in?”

He remembered that part. “One of the upstairs windows. They got those simple catches on em. You saw that, George. When we was bein the lectric company. Remember?”

“Got a ladder?”

“Well —”

“When you get the kid, where you gonna put him?”

“In the car, George.”

“Oh my fuckin word.” George only said this when he had bottomed out and was at a loss for all other expression.

“George —”

“I know you’re gonna put him in the fuckin car, I never thought you were gonna carry him home pigga-back. I meant when you get him back here. What are you gonna do then? Where you gonna put him?”

Blaze thought about the shack. He looked around. “Well —”

“What about didies? What about bottles? And baby food! Or did you think he was gonna have a hamburger and a bottle of beer for his fuckin dinner?”

“Well —”

“Shut up! You say that one more time and I’m gonna puke!”

Blaze sat down in a kitchen chair with his head down. His face was hot.

“And turn off the shit-kicking music! That woman sounds like she’s about to fly up her own cunt!”

“Okay, George.”

Blaze turned off the radio. The TV, an old Jap thing George picked up at a yard sale, was busted.

“George?”

No answer.

“George, come on, don’t go away. I’m sorry.” He could hear how scared he was. Almost blubbing.

“Okay,” George said, just when Blaze was about to give up. “Here’s what you have to do. You have to pull a little score. Not a big one. Just a little one. That mom-n-pop where we used to stop for suds off Route 1 would probably be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“You still got the Colt?”

“Under the bed, in a shoebox.”

“Use that. And wear a stocking over your face. Otherwise the guy who works nights will recognize you.”

“Yeah.”

“Go in Saturday night, at closing. Say, ten minutes of one. They don’t take checks, so you ought to get two, three hundred bucks.”

“Sure! That’s great!”

“Blaze, there’s one more thing.”

“What, George?”

“Take the bullets out of the gun, okay?”

“Sure, George, I know that, it’s how we roll.”

“It’s how we roll, right. Hit the guy if you have to, but make sure it doesn’t get to no more than page three in State and Local when it makes the paper.”

“Right.”

“You’re an asshole, Blaze. You know that, right? You’re never gonna bring this off. Maybe it’d be better if you got caught on the little one.”

“I won’t, George.”

No answer.

“George?”

No answer. Blaze got up and turned on the radio. At supper he forgot and set two places.