Stick by Elmore Leonard Page B

question?”
    Stick wondered why he’d asked it. He gave Barry a nod. Barry was looking at him, staring.
    â€œWhat do you do? When you’re not hot-wiring cars.”
    â€œSame as you,” Stick said. “Nothing. Only when I’m doing it I’m not investing, trading or speculating. When I do nothing, I believe in doing nothing.”
    â€œHow many cars you steal in your career?”
    â€œSomewhere between three and four hundred.”
    â€œThere any money in it?”
    â€œI don’t know, I don’t do it anymore,” Stick said. “That was a long time ago.”
    â€œYou just happen to have the jump-wire in your bag.”
    Stick didn’t say anything to that. Why bother.
    â€œLemme try an easy one,” Barry said. “You live here? In Florida?”
    â€œI used to.”
    â€œYou do any time?”
    Stick kept his eyes on the road. “Some.”
    â€œRaiford?”
    â€œNo. Up north. You ever hear of Jackson?”
    â€œNo shit,” Barry said, impressed. “That’s heavy duty.”
    Stick glanced over at him.
    â€œFor car theft?”
    â€œRobbery.”
    â€œWhat kind? From a building? Little B and E?”
    â€œArmed.”
    â€œNo shit. Don’t tell me a bank . . .”
    â€œNo banks,” Stick said, beginning to warm up, not caring what he told the guy, or maybe wanting to impress him. “Banks are for thrill-seekers.”
    â€œHow many convictions?”
    â€œI did a bit in Milan before. Wasn’t much, ten months.”
    â€œWhat’s Milan?”
    â€œFederal. It’s up near Detroit.”
    â€œUDAA?”
    â€œNo, but I got probation on one of those. The next one I went to Milan on. You go, normally, from joy-riding to unlawfully driving away; then you go big-time, transporting across a state line and you get the feds after you. Familiar?”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œWell, before you started not doing anything while you’re playing the stock market,” Stick said, “I think you were a lawyer.”
    â€œThat’s very perceptive of you,” Barry said. “I practiced a couple years, picked up on contracts, all that corporate bullshit, how to avoid paying taxes . . .  So you had two raps up in Michigan, you come down to where the action is . . .  You going for three?”
    â€œI came here to visit my little girl.”
    â€œReally? I love it—an early Robert Mitchum. Nice guy gets fucked over . . .  ‘It’s a bum rap, I didn’t do it, I swear.’ “
    â€œI did it,” Stick said.
    â€œAnd now you’re sorry for all your past sins?”
    â€œMost of ’em.”
    â€œMost of ’em,” Barry said, “the ones you got nailed for. I love it. How’d you make out in the joint?”
    Stick looked over. “How’d I make out?”
    â€œYou have to take a lot of shit?”
    â€œThere isn’t anything else they offer.”
    â€œBut you made it okay? Got rehabilitated?”
    â€œYes sir, I’ve learned my lesson.”
    Barry said, “You want a job?”
    Stick glanced at him. “Doing what?”
    â€œWhat you’re doing. Driving.”
    â€œYou mean be a chauffeur? I’ve never done it.”
    â€œWell, if you’ve driven three, four-hundred different cars, right, that’s what you said? You must have a pretty good feel for it.”
    Stick was watching the green freeway signs. “Bal Harbour, where do we get off?”
    â€œHundred and twenty-fifth. It’s the next one. Goes over to Broad Causeway.”
    â€œWhat happens when we get there?”
    â€œWhat do you want to happen?”
    â€œI mean if I don’t take your offer? You going to give me bus fare or what?”
    â€œJesus, you’re already into me for a hundred bucks.”
    â€œYou owe me a hundred, but I haven’t seen it