But he didn’t see any familiar faces, and by the time Rusty paused and asked, “What do you think? Are you in?” Ledge realized that he was serious.

“Are you insane?”

“Listen.” Rusty inched closer to the edge of his bench. “The week before Easter is always a big one for the store. Huge. It runs specials and sales all week. Not counting credit card sales and personal checks, it takes in a shitload of cash.”

“Which an armored truck picks up.”

“On Monday. Ask your uncle Henry. I’ll bet his place is on the same route.”

Ledge didn’t have to ask. He knew.

“That leaves everything the store has raked in that week in a vault over Easter Sunday. Praise Jesus!” Rusty added, laughing under his breath. “And, before you ask, they don’t mark the bills or put them in bags that explode with blue paint. They band them by denomination, that’s all.”

“Where’d you get this information?”

“My inside man. His name’s Brian Foster.”

Rusty went on to describe the guy. Ledge scoffed. “The store’s second-banana bean counter? He sounds like a loser.”

“He is. He’s doing this to spite his hard-ass boss, who’s always on his case. Also to prove that he has a pair.”

Ledge again snorted skeptically, but Rusty wasn’t discouraged. “We can’t do squat without Foster. He’ll get us into the store and open the vault.”

“There is no we, Rusty. Forget it.”

“Don’t say no until you hear me out.”

“I’ve already said no.”

“Okay.” He patted the air. “You’re worried about Foster’s reliability. Understood. True, he’s scared of his own shadow. But see? That makes him easy to intimidate. To control. Do our bidding.”

“What it makes him is a screwup waiting to happen.”

“He can open the vault.”

“While you pose for the security cameras.”

“All the store cameras are dummies.” He flashed a grin. “Foster told me that old man Welch is too cheap to spring for the real thing.”

“I wouldn’t take this Foster’s word on anything.”

Rusty mimed firing a pistol at him. “Me neither. So I got verification from another source.”

“From who?”

“Someone else who’s familiar with the store. You know the Maxwells? Lisa was Miss Everything. She graduated a couple of years ago. There’s another girl. A lot younger. The mother got killed in a car wreck.”

“I know the family you’re talking about.”

“Well, the daddy, poor ol’ Joe, lost his wife like that,” he said, snapping his fingers, “and got saddled with two daughters to raise. Which would bring any man to drink. It did Joe, and now he’s a full-fledged drunk. It’s a well-kept secret that everybody knows.”

“Not me.” Ledge had been racking balls in his uncle’s place since he was tall enough to see over the pool table. To his knowledge Joe Maxwell had never darkened the door.

As though reading his mind, Rusty said, “He’s a closet drinker. Doesn’t do it publicly so his daughters won’t be disgraced. He let his insurance business slide until he had to shut it down. Since then, he’s been moving from job to job. Guess where he last worked.”

Ledge didn’t have to guess. He saw it coming. Welch’s store.

“Stocking shelves. Mopping the restrooms. Shit detail,” Rusty said. “A few months ago, he got fired for being rude to a customer and using foul language. Now, you would think Joe would be out for revenge, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know the man, and I can’t read minds.”

“Well, see, I can,” Rusty boasted, flashing his canny smile. “Joe has turned into a short-tempered drunk, but he’s not entirely without scruples. I was afraid that stealing from his former employer might be pushing the envelope.”

Rusty explained how he had gotten around Joe Maxwell’s conscience. Ledge was dismayed and disgusted by his arm-twisting tactics.

“Came down to money, as everything does,” Rusty said. “I waved around the bills he owes to everybody, from the electric company to a shabby liquor store across the state line. Those overdue invoices worked as good as a handful of magic wands. When someone’s desperate enough, they’ll agree to anything. Anyhow, as of yesterday, I got verification of everything Foster had told me about the store and its chickenshit security. We’re good to go.”

“With those two as your accomplices?” As a motive, Ledge thought desperation sucked as bad as proving you had balls. “You’re crazy.”

“More like crafty.” Rusty tapped his sidewall.

“You’ve explained why the other two are doing it. Why are you? Did your daddy cut off your allowance?”

Rusty’s father was Sheriff Mervin Dyle, the most corrupt law officer that money could buy. Taking graft was his sideline, and it was a lucrative one. He collected dirt on everybody, hoarded it, and used it on an as-needed basis to bend or break local politicians, judges, law officers, school board members, clergymen, business owners, and anyone else who, in his opinion, needed comeuppance. Being a believer in equal opportunity for all, Mervin also preyed on those who had no influence whatsoever.

His corruption was well known, but nobody did anything about it for fear of reprisal, which was Machiavellian and often medieval. Rusty, Mervin’s only child, was upholding the family tradition. Bullying came as easily to him as breathing.

Rather than taking offense at Ledge’s remark about his allowance being cut off, he grinned. “Why am I doing it? For the hell of it. Just to see if I can get away with it.”

It was such a chilling, amoral comeback that Ledge had no problem believing it. “Well, count me out. I want no part of your stupid scheme. And no part of you.”

“You would turn down a quarter share of half a million dollars?”

“I am turning down a quarter share.”

“I realize it’s small potatoes. Not like it’s five million, or something. But it’s good pocket change, right? A portable amount. Easily spent on Mickey Mouse stuff a little at a time so nobody notices you’re suddenly flush with cash.”

Into it, he leaned forward. “It’s a good-for-starters amount. A practice run. We’ll see how it goes. Then…?” He bobbed his eyebrows. “We could aim higher.”