Stick by Elmore Leonard Page A

What? . . .  I know it isn’t, for Christ sake, it’s a municipal. Listen, I may help you out, Arthur. Gimme a minute to ponder, I’ll get back to you.”
    Stick kept his gaze straight ahead in the traffic, down the length of that pearl-gray hood, squinting a little against the afternoon glare. It was cool and quiet inside, nice feel to the leather seat.
    â€œYou got to keep it working,” Barry said, punching a number on the phone system. “We sleep, you and I, right? But money never sleeps, man. Play golf on the weekend, the money’s still working its ass off. Work work work . . .”
    Stick said, “You talking about it earning interest?”
    But Barry was on the phone again. “Hi, babe. Me again . . .  No, the boat’s in Lauderdale, I’m on my way home.” Relaxed now, comfortable, a warmth to his tone that wasn’t there with the broker. “I just talked to Art. I mean Arthur please, what’s the matter with me. He’s got a tax anticipation note, million and a half at eight point seven due in July . . . Parkview public schools.” A police car screamed past them, lights flashing. “What? The fuzz’re after some poor asshole . . .  No, not me, for Christ sake. You know I’m an ex -cellent driver.”
    Stick looked over and Barry was waiting, gave him a wink. With his thick dark young-movie-star hair down over his ears and forehead the guy looked like he was acting into the phone.
    â€œYeah, due in July, the fifteenth.” He paused, listening. “Why June?” Writing something on the legal pad now. “Yeah, okay, I’ll see what he says. Hey, Kyle? . . .  Love you, babe.” He listened for a moment, a grin forming. “Hey, come on. Don’t say it less you mean it.” He listened again. “Wait. When do you get back? . . .  Then why don’t you come into Miami? Save some time. I’ll pick you up . . .  Sure, no problem . . .  Okay, babe, have a nice trip. I’ll see you.”
    He rang off and punched another phone number. “Lemme have Arthur.” Waited and said, “Arthur? Gimme a June fifteen come-due on the Parkview note I’ll do you a special favor, take the whole load.” He waited, but not long. “End of June I’m into”—he searched over the yellow pad with his pen—”housing or some goddamn thing. Or is it soybean futures? I don’t know, I can’t find the . . .  What?” He listened and then said patiently, “ ’cause the funds’re promised, Arthur, earmarked. Out of this into that. It never sleeps, man. It doesn’t even stop to fucking catch itsbreath. Don’t you know your business, for Christ sake?” Glancing at Stick, but getting no reaction. “Yeah, all right. Lemme know.” Near the end now, trailing off. “No, call me at home . . .  Hey, Arthur? No more government securities. Keep that shit to yourself for a while . . . 
Yeah, all right.”
    Stick let him make a few notes and put the yellow pad in the case before he glanced over.
    â€œYou do a lot of investing, uh?”
    â€œYou want a simple yes or no or an in-depth answer?” Barry said, reaching around to drop the case and the newspaper on the backseat. He crossed his legs then, got comfortable. “What you should ask is what I do when I’m not investing, trading or speculating in this and that. And the answer is, nothing. ’cause whatever I’m doing, I’m also at the same time investing, trading or speculating. It’s like it’s my life force. You understand what I mean? Like you’re breathing while you’re doing other things, but if you weren’t breathing, man, you wouldn’t be doing anything .” He seemed mildly pleased with himself. “That answer your