The Cold Millions: A Novel, стр. 85

He wasn’t sure he needed permission, but Early nodded and Rye went through the kitchen to his bedroom. There was a bread knife out on the counter, and for a moment, Rye thought about grabbing it. In the bedroom, he hung his new clothes in the closet. He’d used Lem Brand’s envelope as a bookmark, and it was sticking out from a page early in the second volume of Constance Garnett’s translation of War and Peace, which Rye had recently checked out, after returning the first. He walked back with the book and handed the envelope to Early, who sat back down on Gig’s cot.

“Aw, I didn’t get you anything,” Early said. He opened the envelope, and thumbed through the bills. “You believe this son of a bitch, acting like nothing happened, like he didn’t try to have me killed? I almost admire him.”

“I borrowed some, but I paid it back,” Rye said.

“Of course you did,” Early said. He unfolded Lem Brand’s note and read it, occasionally shaking his head. “He’d like to stick to our original agreement. I’ll bet he would. The original agreement where I don’t come find him, cut out his fucking liver, and feed it to his kids.” He held up the note. “Tell me, Rye, did he seem scared?”

“Yeah,” Rye said. “He did.”

“Good,” Early said. “Armed men?”

Rye tried to remember. “Two at the gate. One above his carriage house. Another at the door. And his man, Willard.”

Early read the note again.

Rye watched Early’s face. “Who are you?” he asked quietly.

Early looked up. His eyes were cold. “Who are you?”

“No, I mean which side—” But Rye didn’t finish the thought, for he knew Early could turn that one on him, too.

Early took a deep breath. “I’m on my side, Rye. Always have been. Like any man, if he’s being honest.”

Early stood, folded the money, and shoved it into his pocket. Then he folded the note and put it in his small suit-coat pocket, the ticket pocket, Rye remembered, although that detail felt wrong now.

Early looked around the sleeping porch. “Cold out here. I can’t believe this is where you boys lived.”

“I sleep inside now,” Rye said.

“Do you?” Early looked around the room and landed on Rye again. “And tell me, now that you’re a man of means, with his own suit and a good job and an indoor bedroom, what side are you on, Rye?”

Rye said nothing.

“Come on. What stuff are you made of?”

Something about the question reminded him of a line he’d read in War and Peace the day before—Pierre contemplating his life. Rye opened to the page and handed the book over, pointing to a paragraph.

Early cleared his throat and read, “ ‘Sometimes he consoled himself by the reflection that it did not count, that he was only temporarily leading this life. But later on, he was horrified by another reflection, that numbers of other men, with the same idea of being temporary, had entered that life with all their teeth and a thick head of hair, only to leave it when they were toothless and bald.’ ”

Early looked up and smiled with what Rye thought might be amusement or condescension. “You surprise me, Rye,” he said. “Every time. You really are the smart one, you know that?” He flipped through the book, considered its spine. Then he held it to his chest. “And are you ready to stop being temporary?”

Rye shrugged.

“Because I need you to do something.”

Rye opened his mouth to say no.

“It’s for your brother and me,” Early said.

“You’ve seen Gig?”

“I have,” Early said.

“How is he?”

“He’s fine,” Early said. “He’s gotten his strength back.”

“Is he here? Can I see him?”

“After you do this favor for me.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to deliver a message back to Brand.”

“What’s the message?” Rye asked.

“Tell him I said yes. I will abide by our original agreement. But I want five thousand dollars, not five hundred. After that, he’ll never hear from me again.”

Rye felt sick, pulled back into this.

“Tell him to give you the money Monday morning. I’ll meet you in front of the courthouse at noon. You give me the money and I’ll give you all the evidence of my deal with Brand, the paperwork, his idiotic dossiers. But tell him that if anyone follows you, the deal is off. And he can spend the rest of his life waiting for a visit from me.”

“And then I can see Gig?”

“We’ll all go for a beer afterward.” Early smiled. “First round’s on me.”

Rye could do nothing but nod.

“Look at that.” Early handed War and Peace back. “The old gang rides again.”