Dirty Snow by Georges Simenon

long. He had been all right until he got into the car. Until then he had kept his nerves under control.
    He went to pieces suddenly. Not badly. The others didn’t notice. It was inside him, a sort of trembling, a spasm. He had to make an effort to keep his hands from shaking, and it seemed like there was a bubble of air trying to escape from his chest.
    He rolled down the window. The cold air on his forehead made him feel better. He breathed greedily.
    Only the appearance of lights when they neared town began to calm him. And he hadn’t touched the flask of brandy Kromer had slipped into his pocket.
    It was almost over. It had been purely physical. He had almost felt the same thing with the Eunuch, but not as strongly.
    He was satisfied. He had had to go through it once and for all, and now it was done. With the Eunuch it didn’t count. It hadn’t meant anything. Just practice, you could say.
    And it was odd, but it seemed to him now that what he had just done was an act whose necessity he had felt for a very long time.
    â€œWhere do I drop you off?”
    Did Adler suspect what had happened? He couldn’t have heard the shot. He hadn’t asked any questions. He had just pushed the sack at their feet aside so he could drive.
    Frank was about to say, “My place.”
    Then prudence got the upper hand again.
    â€œTimo’s. But not too near.”
    He thought about it and decided not to go to Timo’s first. It would be better not to give Kromer all the watches at once. His haul would be safer in the house behind Timo’s, where the bar girls lived.
    Just before they reached town, he thrust his hand into the sack, groped around for some of the cases he’d recognized, pulled one out, and slipped it into his pocket.
    He was feeling fine. He would be glad to see Kromer. He would be glad to have a drink.
    The car barely stopped, then pulled away again without him. He walked down the alley, went into the room of one of the girls who would be away at Timo’s. He pushed the sack under the bed after slipping his gun in. He hadn’t had time to clean it.
    The moment was almost solemn. He recognized the lights, the faces, the smell of wine and brandy, Timo waving to him from the bar.
    He walked slowly, looking short and squat in his big, thick overcoat, his face relaxed, a subdued light in his eyes. Kromer wasn’t alone. He was never alone. Frank knew his two companions and preferred not to talk in front of them.
    He leaned over Kromer.
    â€œCan I see you for a moment?”
    They went into the bathroom, and without a word Frank put the case with the watch in it into Kromer’s hand. In spite of the darkness in the car, he had chosen the right one. It was the big blue case containing a watch with a porcelain face and a shepherd and a shepherdess engraved on the back.
    â€œJust one?”
    â€œI have at least fifty, but you’ll have to talk to him first and find out where we stand.”
    Had the evening left its mark on him? In the car on the way back, Adler had avoided looking at him, and their shoulders hadn’t brushed even once.
    Kromer too seemed different, embarrassed. He was afraid to ask questions and avoided Frank’s eyes, glancing at him surreptitiously.
    The other times they had discussed a job, he had been the boss. He had been careful to let Frank know it.
    But now he didn’t argue. He was in a hurry to get back to the main room. He said tamely, “I’ll try to see him tomorrow.”
    Then, as he was sitting down again, “You want a drink?”
    As a matter of fact, Frank had forgotten to return his flask of brandy. He hadn’t touched it, and now, handing it over, he looked him straight in the eye.
    Did Kromer understand?
    Then he went home to Minna’s bed and made love so furiously that she was frightened.
    She understood, too. They all did.

5
    H E SPENT the day in the kitchen with his feet on the oven, unshaved, unwashed,