Have a Nice Night Read Online Free

the money, damn it! I could give you a couple of grand.'
    'I'd need at least fifty thousand,' Mike said.
    Art gaped at him.
    'You crazy? What the hell do you want all that for?'
    'It's to take care of Chrissy. I've talked to the doctor who runs the home. He's a good guy. He tells me she has a malformation of her heart. It's the usual thing with Mongols. She won't live for more than a few years if we give her the best attention, and I know she'll get the best attention at this home. It's going to cost big dollars, and that will take care of her for the rest of her short life.'
    'But Mike! You're earning! I'll chip in. You don't have to have all this money at once. You can pay month by month.'
    Mike nodded. 'That's what I thought, but I'll be dead in six months or so.'
    Art stiffened. Looking at his brother, seeing the drawn face and the sunken eyes, he felt a chill crawl up his spine.
    'What are you talking about? Dead? Don't talk crap! You're good for a long time.'
    Mike stared at the whisky in his glass for a moment, then looked straight at his brother.
    'I have terminal cancer,' he said quietly.
    Art closed his eyes. He felt the blood drain out of his face.
    There was a long silence, then Mike said, 'The last two years I have had odd pains. They'd come and go. I didn't tell Mary. I thought it was nothing. People have pains, and it is nothing, but these didn't go away. When I lost Mary and the pains got worse, I got worried about Chrissy, so I talked to a specialist at Northport, Long Island. That's why I'm here. I saw him a couple of days ago. He told me I had around six months to live. I'll have to stay in the hospital in a couple of months, and I won't be coming out.'
    'God! I'm sorry!' Art said. 'This quack could be wrong.'
    'He isn't. Forget it. Let's talk business, Art.' Mike said.
    Mike looked straight at his brother. 'Now, you told me what your racket is: finding men to pull a crime. There is no way that I can raise fifty thousand dollars with only a few months to live, but I've got to do it. I don't care what I have to do as long as it pays fifty grand. For Chrissy, I'll even go to murder. Can you get me a job that'll pay fifty grand?'
    Art took out his handkerchief and mopped his sweating face. 'I don't know, Mike. I see your reasoning, but fifty grand for a job is pretty scarce work. You're an amateur. You have no police record. My people wouldn't want to work with you. A job that pays that big is kept in the family, so to speak.' 
    'Skip that, Art,' Mike said, 'I'm relying on you. Whatever the job is, I'll do it, and I'll do it well. I have a month's sick leave. I'll stay here until you find something. I'm at the Mirador Hotel.'
    He got to his feet. 'Anything -- repeat anything -- that pays fifty grand. Think about it, Art. I'm relying on you. Okay?'
    Art nodded. 'I'll do what I can, but I can't promise anything.'
    Mike stared at him. 'In your bad days,' he said, 'I stayed with you. Now I expect you to stay with me. So long for now,' and he left. 
    Art had done his best, but his regulars would have nothing to do with an amateur, and this morning he sat at his desk, at his wits' end to find a job that would pay his brother fifty thousand dollars. He wondered if he should sell stock, but he knew Beth wouldn't stand for that. He had discussed the situation with her and she had been unsympathetic.
    'Dotty brats should be smothered at birth,' she had said. 'One thing you don't do, Art, you don't sell stock and give our money to Mike. Is that understood?'
    A week had passed since his brother's visit. Art had heard nothing from him, but the memory of those sunken eyes and the look of despair haunted him. Interrupting his dismal thoughts, Beth put her head around his office door.
    'Ed Haddon on the line, Art,' she said.
    Art stiffened to attention. Haddon was his most profitable client. He had supplied Haddon with many top-class thieves, and Haddon paid generously.
    Picking up the receiver, he said, 'Hi,