Cash Burn (41 page)

Federal reserve notes. On the front of the five was the portrait of the man who had abolished one kind of slavery. Offset from center in their own special shade of green, serial numbers were printed. He’d learned the meaning of the numbers a decade later when he went through his bank training—the code duplicated on the bill, surrounded by other letters and numbers equally mystifying to him as a boy, along with the inscription that these notes were legal for all debts. On their reverse sides, the bills portrayed buildings in the nation’s capital, or on the single, the great seal of the United States, whose inscrutability added to his fascination: a pyramid with a glowing eye at its peak.

And more improbable than all those symbols and notations, contrary to every other impression on the bills, across the top in bold letters blazed words like a carryover or some kind of concession:
IN GOD WE TRUST
.

“Jason.”

He looked up. The man’s shirt was green and red with pictures of surfboards and island girls leaning against palm trees. That was supposed to be Jason’s life. On a beach, on a small island with the fragrance of the sea and mangoes blended in the air. His island girl was supposed to be a blonde.

Hathaway chewed at his gum.

Coach stood next to him, looking like he’d just lost a game against his cross-town rival.

Behind the parole officers, in crisp black uniforms, stood three LAPD officers.

The crowd stayed well back.

Tom Cole said, “Your girl told us we’d find you here. Where is she?”

Jason pointed to the island scene on Hathaway’s shirt. “There.”

The parole officers looked at one another.

Tom Cole said to Hathaway, “I hate it when you’re right.”

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