The Amateurs (8 page)

The foursome was a perfect example. He, Jenn, Ian, and Mitch had started as a lark, a random evening that had been a surprising amount of fun. That evening led to another, and another. And after a while, he’d realized that the friends you saw every week were your best friends, and that the people you were in the habit of considering your best friends actually belonged to a past life.

We’re all living in our own globe of light. Seeing just so far and thinking that’s all there is.
The vodka shivered through his chest. He took another gulp and pressed Play.

“Alex, it’s me.” A pause. “Are you there? Pick up.” A sigh. “I know you’re dodging my calls . . .” Her voice was more trickling out than sounding pissed, and that hit him, put him in mind of old conversations, late at night, her head on the pillow next to his. There had been times when they made sense, the two of them.

“OK.” Her voice firmer, her get-things-done tone. “I have something to tell you. I was going to when you picked Cassie up, but she interrupted . . .” She paused again. “Damn it, Alex, why are you making me do it this way? Can’t we be grown-ups for once?”

Standing in the dark of the apartment he lived in alone, Alex felt something tangle sticky fingers in his stomach. He leaned over the desk, head right above the answering machine, like he could talk to her through it, convince her not to say whatever she was about to.

“If this is the way we have to do it, fine. Scott got offered a job. It’s a big promotion, he’ll be leading his team, and . . . well. It’s in Phoenix.”

The spectral fingers clenched tighter.

“He’s going to take it. It’s too good an opportunity. We’re still working out the details, but it looks like we’ll be moving there.” She cleared her throat. “That’s not true. It doesn’t look like it. We’re moving, the three of us.”

Alex clenched the edge of the desk so hard the wood bit into his skin.

“I know it’s far, but it’s not like you won’t see Cassie anymore. We’ll figure something out. You can come anytime you want, and maybe part of the summer she can stay with you. Thanksgiving. Something.”

No
, he thought and was surprised to realize he’d spoken aloud.

“I know that’s not what you want to hear,” she said, like she’d heard him. “And I’m sorry. But I”—she paused—“I spoke to my father’s lawyer, and he said that because you’ve been having trouble with the child support, we’re in the clear. Not that I want to get legal, but he said that if it came to that, given the money you’ve missed, and because Scott and I are married and providing a home to Cassie . . .” She stopped. “I hate this. You knew I wanted to talk to you. But you’ve been doing that thing you do, sticking your head in the sand hoping that will keep things from happening. Just like still working at that stupid bar, all these years later.” She hesitated, spoke with a gentler tone. “Anyway. We’ll be heading out in a couple of weeks. They need Scott right away, and he doesn’t want to be away from us. Of course, you can see Cassie before then, a couple of times maybe.” There was a long pause, and she said, “I’m sorry. Call if you want to talk. I’m sorry.”

Then the fumbling sound of her hanging up, and the machine beeped.

Alex stared. The fingers in his gut had tightened into a fist. His hands were shaking. Phoenix. Phoenix! They couldn’t do that. Take his baby girl and move halfway across the country, they couldn’t. Yeah, OK, he’d missed a couple of payments, been late on some others. But he wasn’t a deadbeat. He’d been working his ass off, hadn’t made one forward step in his own life because half of what he made went to Cassie. That lawyer of Trish’s—not hers, her father’s. Alex remembered the lawyer, a bland man with glasses and a shirt so white it shone, working the system so the child support was staggeringly high, telling him he was lucky that Trish still cared, that she was being so generous with custody, that—

He grabbed the answering machine in both hands and yanked, feeling the tension and then the delicious snap of the cords as he hurled it at the wall. It flew like a discus, hard and straight, and cracked a jagged hole in his drywall before falling to the ground, the cover breaking off. He wanted to go over and jump on it, stomp on the thing until it was just parts, until he ground the parts into his carpet. He stood flexing and opening his fists, a man alone in the dark of a lousy apartment.

This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t.

Leaving the vodka glass sweating on his desk, he opened the door and stepped outside.

JENN WAS ON A MOTORCYCLE, not a Harley, but one of those low Japanese numbers, what her brother had called a crotch rocket. Leaning into it, the pulse of the thing thrumming in warm vibrations through her body. Zooming on an open road, so fast the striped line turned solid as she raced toward an indigo horizon. There was a pounding sound, a thumping, maybe something from the bike, but she just leaned harder, went faster, the wind streaking her hair behind. The thumping came again, and she fought it, cranked the throttle harder—

And woke up curled sideways in her bed, a pillow squeezed between her thighs. Blinked at the green light of the clock: 4:11. The pounding came again, a real sound. The door. Someone was at the door.

It was enough to make her sit up straight, the sheet slipping from her shoulders. The hammering came again, loud and insistent. She sat frozen for a moment, an animal reaction, part of her wanting to bolt and scurry.

Rela
x. She swung her legs off the side of the bed, reached underneath for the Louisville Slugger. The heft of it made her feel better. She padded barefoot out of the bedroom, her thoughts straightening as she moved, and by the time she looked out the peephole, she already knew who it was. Jenn lowered the bat, then unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door halfway.

Alex loomed in the hallway, seeming bigger than normal. The yellow lighting gave his skin a sallow tone, but his eyes were furiously alive, bright and wide and bloodshot. He stared at her. She was suddenly conscious of how she looked, worn cotton pajamas and a baseball bat, hair tangled with sleep.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

She crossed her arms over her breasts. “That’s romantic.”

“Not that.” He took a step forward. “The money.”

“What?”

“Let’s screw Johnny Love.”

She rubbed at her eyes. Thoughts quick with adrenaline moments before now seemed sluggish. “It’s four in the morning.”

“They’re taking Cassie.”

“Who is?”

“My ex and her new husband.”

“Alex—”

“Can I come in? Just to talk.”

She stared at him, thinking of the evening she’d already endured. The blind date that was nice enough but smelled like an aquarium; three hours of talk that got smaller by the minute. She thought of her bed, a cocoon of warm blankets, and the dream of the motorcycle, flying fast over smooth blacktop. Imagined spending the remainder of the night fighting yawns while Alex babbled about another woman.

“Please?”

She sighed, leaned the bat in the corner. “Come on. I’ll make coffee.”

The kitchen lights seemed particularly brilliant with night pressing against the windows. She gestured to a stool, pulled filters from a drawer, poured coffee from the bag in the freezer.

“Trish called tonight. Her new husband got a job in Phoenix. They’re moving there, and taking Cassie.”

“Can they do that?” She held the pot under the faucet.

“Apparently. I’ve missed some child support payments, and I guess that gives them the right.” He paced behind her, stalking the cage of her kitchen. “I miss a couple of bills, and they take my girl from me.”

She set the pot on the base and flicked the machine on. It gurgled and hissed. “You want a drink, something else?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been drinking all night. Since I got the message. Can you believe that? She left it on my answering machine. I’d just got home from working a double”—he made a sound in his throat, blew air through his nostrils—“Anyway, I’ve been trying to figure how to stop her. Thinking all kinds of crazy things.” His motion fast, hands running across his shaven head. “Like going over right now, grabbing Cassie, taking off.”

“Alex, no—”

“I know. I
know.
But she’s my daughter. All I’ve got. Anyway, I figured a better way. The child support. All I have to do is pay, and they can’t do this. Her husband wants to move, let him, and Trish too. Cassie can move in with me.”

“Does it work that way?”

“What?”

“Can you just pay the late child support and then—”

“Of course. That’s the only thing they’ve got. I pay that, she can’t just move away.”

Jenn gave a noncommittal sort of nod. That didn’t sound right, didn’t make a lot of sense, but she didn’t see any point in saying so. She wasn’t a lawyer, it wasn’t her business, and she didn’t particularly like talking about his wife. Ex.

“So all we have to do is get the money—”

“Alex.” She spoke firmly.

“What?”

“Sit down.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, and moved to perch on the stool. “Sorry. I must sound crazy.”

“Little bit.”

“I’m just . . . I love that girl, Jenn. I love her more than anything. They can’t take her from me.” His expression so earnest it had sharp edges.

“One step at a time. How much money are we talking?”

“I don’t know. Enough. If they added everything over the years, too much. Her lawyer is slick, probably got it figured to the penny with interest.” He laid his hands on the counter, palms down, fingers spread. “More than I can come up with, even borrowing. Unless.”

“Unless you rob your boss.” She said it as flatly as possible.

“I’ve been thinking ever since Ian suggested it. Because he’s right, you know? Johnny
is
a bad guy. He’s exactly what’s wrong with the world. He breaks the rules—the ones that are really supposed to matter—and gets away with it. And people like you and me, we end up drinking in his bar. Calling him Mr. Loverin.”

“Think about what you’re saying. You’re talking about robbing a drug dealer.”

“Ex-drug dealer. He’s not a tough guy now. A middleman, maybe, but so what?”

“What if you get caught?”

“We won’t.”

“It’s still stealing.”

“So what?”

“You’re not making any sense, Alex.”

“Come on,” he said, and leaned across the counter. “I know you were thinking about it. I could tell. You were excited.”

She shrugged. “It was a game. Thinking about it was fun.”

“It was more than that. Remember what you said? How you’d been looking for adventure? Well, here’s your chance.” He wore his cowboy smile. That smile was probably the reason she’d first decided to sleep with him. She’d cloaked it in rationality: They were friends, consenting adults, and there was nothing wrong with finding a little pleasure in each other. But truth was, it had been the smile. That and his wrists, which were at once thick and graceful, like a gymnast’s.

The coffeemaker hissed. She took a couple of mugs from the cabinet, poured carefully, surprised to realize that she was a little turned on. Not in a wanting-to-do-it kind of way. Something subtler. She’d read a novel once where a lonely woman took off her panties and drove a convertible too fast through the desert, wearing a sundress and no underwear and chasing the sensation of being alive. It was that kind of feeling.

“Think about it. We do this one thing, a real-life adventure. We all get not rich, but ahead. A chance to do the things we said we wanted to. You could go on that trip, spend a month in the islands. Maybe we’ll go together.”

“Maybe I’ll go alone.”

He smiled again, said, “Everybody wins. I get what I need to keep my daughter. Ian gets his money, Mitch gets his revenge, and you, you get—”

“I look like a windup toy?”

“Huh?”

She blew steam off her coffee, then sipped at it. “You want to rob your boss, rob your boss. Why come here at four in the morning and try to manipulate me?”

“I’m not trying to manipulate—”

“Don’t.” She set the mug down, brushed her hair back behind her ears. “Don’t.”

“All right.” He ran his tongue around the inside of his lip, making the skin bulge. “I need you.”

“We’re not doing this.” She straightened.

“No,” he said. “Not like that. I mean I need you to pull it off. If I try it alone, Johnny’s going to figure it was someone who works for him. But if all four of us do it . . .”

“Why four?”

“One keeping watch, two to do the robbery, and me on duty, looking perfectly aboveboard. But you’re the key. I know Ian is up for it. I think he’s got some sort of money trouble. That shiner, things he’s said. But Mitch.”

“You think he’ll do it if I do.”

“I know he will.”

“Even if you’re right, and I don’t know that you are, and even if I’d be willing to exploit that, which I’m not, why should I?”