Whiskeytown
At half-past one Reno turned from answering a phone call to say:
“Let’s take a ride.”
He went upstairs. When he came down he carried a black valise. Most of the men had gone out the kitchen door by then.
Reno gave me the black valise, saying:
“Don’t wrastle it around too much.”
It was heavy.
The seven of us left in the house went out the front door and got into a curtained touring car that O’Marra had just driven up to the curb. Reno sat beside O’Marra. I was squeezed in between men in the back seat, with the valise squeezed between my legs.