38.
Safe house post game. A bushel of cash. Bills shuffled in automatic cash counters. Whitey worked the table smoking a fat cigar. Tapping a calculator, penciling catch on a note pad.
"Looks like that new account is working out after all," Bones said.
"Count it again, Whitey," said a gleaming Bones.
"Bones--I don't believe it," Shorty, in between swigs.
"Three times. It still comes out the same. Six point six million", claimed Whitey. One point three a head.
They started goading on the spending plans. Vegas called Shorty, he was leaving tomorrow night. Rocky was heading to California. A daughter and grand kids in L.A. Tony, Florida. Whitey and wifey, a global cruise. Bones, bee-lining it back to the tropics.
"Hey Bones, was it worth it?" Whitey asked.
"To pull one more job wit' you guys, what the fuck."
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