by J. J. Howard
She stared at him for a few seconds. “I bought a lottery ticket the other day,” she said, trying to smile.
He smiled back, in spite of himself. “Maybe we should hit Atlantic City instead. How are you at counting cards, math whiz?”
“I’ll Google it,” she promised. Then she kissed him on the cheek and snuggled against him.
They dozed for a little while. Cam was awakened by the sensation of Nikki tracing his infinity tattoo with her fingers. Her voice was sleepy as she asked him, “I heard once that tattoos are scars you give yourself, to show people the pain that’s on the inside. Is that true?”
Cam opened his eyes and looked at her. Her hair was a wild, adorable mess. “I don’t know. How come you don’t have any?”
“’Cause I don’t want anybody to know.” Her eyes slid away from his.
Cam looked at her. She was always doing that: opening the door, just a crack, then slamming it shut.
“What’s this one?” Nikki was searching through his ink and found an image that was almost always hidden. “Is this a flower?”
“It’s a rose, yes.”
“Roses are flowers, smart guy,” she shot back, though her voice was playful. “Isn’t that kind of girly?”
He sat up, glaring at her. “If you must know, I got that one to impress a girl.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Do tell.”
“You sure you want to hear this story?”
She nodded, but her voice was less certain. “Yeah, tell me.”
“She was my first serious girlfriend. Her name was Mel—”
“No names!” Nikki broke in.
“You’re the one who wanted to hear the story.”
“Yeah, okay, keep going.”
“Well . . . her favorite movie was Romeo and Juliet. You know the one with Leonardo what’s-his-name?”
“DiCaprio, yeah.”
“Yeah. Anyway, there’s this line in Romeo and Juliet about how a rose would smell as sweet as Romeo’s name or something. So she talked me into getting it.”
Nikki started laughing. “A rose would smell as sweet as his name!” She lay back against the bed, her hand on her stomach. “That’s not how it goes. It’s ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ It’s because their families are enemies, and Juliet’s saying that if he were named something else—if he wasn’t part of this rival family—he’d still be the guy she loves.”
“Oh, well, that’s actually sort of romantic,” Cam said, nuzzling her neck.
Nikki jumped as the wail of a siren pierced the air just outside the open window.
“Ah, the lovely sounds of summer in the city,” she said, clearly trying to steer the conversation back to lighter topics.
“It’s the worst,” Cam agreed.
“Yeah. But only if you’re like us. For people with money, this city’s cake, right? They get picked up in a black car—air-con, heat, probably soundproof windows. They get dropped off and picked up, door to door. It’s like they float above the surface of the city, you know?”
“You mean guys like Miller? Jax told me he’s got a penthouse in the Village.”
A strange expression crossed her face, and she rolled away from him. “Miller’s not floating. He gets his hands dirty.”
Cam closed his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right—he doesn’t float. I’d say it’s more like he slithers.” When Nikki didn’t respond, he opened his eyes. “You know, like a snake.”
“I know what slither means. I just don’t get why you’d say that.”
“I don’t trust the guy. Why—do you?”
“He’s done a lot for us.”
“Guess we’ll see. But I get what you mean about this city. Someday, I’m gonna live in a place where you don’t need a limo and driver. Somewhere less crowded. My mom’s from this little town in Southern California—Lone Pine. I’ve seen pictures. There’s, like, open spaces. Mountains. Trees.”
“There are trees in Central Park.”
“Not the same thing, Nik.”
“What would you do there? In this little town?”
He felt his eyes closing again. “Something with cars, probably. I’d like to be my own boss for once. You know? Maybe sales,” he added sleepily. “I can be charming when I want to be.”
Nikki rolled her eyes, but she nestled in close to him. “Much too charming,” she agreed.
The light was streaming in through the curtainless windows, and neither of them drifted back to sleep. Nikki sat up first. “I have to get back.”
Cam sat up too. “Will he know? That you were out all night?”
Nikki shook her head. “He had to go to Philly for a deal last night. But he’ll be back this afternoon.” She pulled the tangled sheet against her chest like she was suddenly feeling shy.
Cam balled up his own corner of the sheet in his fist. It was suddenly hard to speak. “You want me to go back with you? Just back downtown, I mean . . .” His voice trailed off.
She shook her head. “No, Cam. It’s not a good idea.”
She kissed him quickly—a good-bye.
Without saying anything more, Nikki grabbed her clothes, dressed quickly, then slipped back downstairs.
As Cam lay there, trying not to think about the place she was headed to, her words echoed in his head.
It’s not a good idea.
• • •
Nikki had been right about Miller being back in town; a few hours after she left, he called Cam about a job, giving him just half an hour before he had to meet the others. Cam pushed everything except the job to the back of his mind. He had to focus; he and Dylan were taking the lead on this one.
Six hours later, Cam and Dylan landed on the roof of the van as it pulled away from the scene of the crime. The job had gone perfectly—apparently Cam was better than he thought at clearing his mind. Moving one after the other, the friends swung through the van’s open cargo doors. They each grabbed a door and slammed it shut.
Now, that was a getaway, Cam thought, grinning, lying on the floor of the van. He sat up and saw that Nikki was driving. Miller was in the passenger seat, holding a police scanner; he winked at Cam. Everyone was peeling off their ski masks.
Miller held up the scanner. “All clear. Good job, boys and girls.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Tate was high-fiving everyone.
In the driver’s seat, Nikki was quiet. She glanced back toward Cam in the rearview. Miller was regarding her in that watchful way of his. The van rolled on through the dark and quiet streets.
A few minutes later, Nikki steered the van into a deserted garage; Miller led the group out onto the street and pulled the garage doors shut, securing them with a padlock.
“Talk later,” he said, patting Dylan on the back and nodding to the rest of them.
Cam called out, “What do you mean? What about our money?”
Miller stopped walking. “Payday’s next week, Cam. Same as usual.”
Cam pressed on. He couldn’t stop himself. With Miller standing in front of him, it felt like someone’s fist had closed around his heart, and it was squeezing tight. “When’s the next gig?”
“Soon.” Miller spat the word out. Then he seemed to change his mind and patted Cam on the back, an almost fatherly gesture. “You did a good job. Now get some rest.” He turned to get on his bike.
Cam took a step forward. “You don’t understand. I need that money.”
In a flash, Miller had him on the ground. He’d grabbed Cam’s arm, bent it back, and pinned him. It was a practiced move, but not from parkour. Cam knew the move himself, but he hadn’t had a chance to practice it in a long time: it was jujitsu. And, judging from the way his arm felt like it was about to snap off, Miller was very good at it.
Great—add hand-to-hand fighting to the long list of skills
on James’s résumé.
“Is there a problem?” Miller asked, his voice low in Cam’s ear.
“No. No problem.” Cam had done time. He knew when to swallow his pride and wait for a better opening.
Miller paused for a beat, then let go. Cam sat up, rubbing the feeling back into his hand. Stepping back to address the group, Miller announced, “We’ve got a big score coming next week. We pull it off, it’s bonus time. Fifteen—maybe twenty grand each. That work for you guys?”
Miller was asking everyone, but his eyes were on Cam.
“Hell yeah!” Jax cheered, and Cam remembered his conversation with him the other night. He wondered if Jax would use the bonus to go legit.
Cam found himself seriously hoping that he would.
“Sounds good. Hell, sounds great,” Tate exclaimed.
Miller was still staring at Cam. “How about it, Cam? That work for you?”
He nodded. “Yeah. That works.” He might be up on his feet, but it was still time to keep his head down.
Miller nodded and got on his bike. Nikki followed.
Cam stood staring after them, not noticing or caring that Dylan was staring at him.
He nearly jumped when Dylan touched his shoulder a moment later. “Come on, man. Let’s get some breakfast.” It was almost nine o’clock at night, but Cam was getting used to the group’s fondness for breakfast at any hour.
Cam followed Dylan like a zombie. It was tough to wrap his head around the fact that he and Nikki had been together only a few short hours ago. As hard as it had been to let her go then, watching her climb on the back of Miller’s bike just now was even worse.
Dylan led them down into the subway, and Cam let Jax and Tate—mostly Jax—fill in the silence as they rode a few stops to the diner near Union Square. “This place has the best pancakes,” Dylan promised.
The others kept talking about nothing as they ordered (pancakes all around, except for Jax’s waffle), and they ate in companionable silence. The food was good—Cam had to admit. He’d been afraid that the scene playing on continuous loop in his head—Nikki going home to Miller’s place (and bed)—would prevent him from being able to chew and swallow. But hunger got the best of him, and he put the scene on pause. Compartmentalizing to the rescue, once again. Cam figured his brain probably looked like that Suffolk County evidence locker they’d broken into: a series of locked cages, keeping all the evidence cataloged and separated.
When they finished eating, Tate spent some time flirting with the waitress at the diner’s front counter, and Jax curled up in his seat and started to snore.
“Guy can sleep anywhere,” Dylan observed. “He’s like a giant baby.”
“So how did you guys hook up with Miller?” Cam asked. He knew Nikki’s version of the story, but he wanted to hear it from her brother.
“Niks and I were living on the streets when we found parkour. We got hooked—I mean, you understand. We were kids with the whole city as our playground. Miller taught us everything we know. Got us off the streets. We’d be nowhere without him.” Dylan’s voice was fierce.
It seemed pretty clear that Dylan really did feel like they owed the guy their lives.
“Nikki said he took care of some trouble for you.”
Dylan gave him a sharp look, then tried to play it cool by taking a sip of soda. But his hand on the cup shook a little, betraying him. “She told you that?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“What exactly did she tell you?”
“Just that you got in some trouble and Miller took care of it.”
Dylan was staring at him. He looked upset, so Cam tried to smooth things over. “She really cares about you—doesn’t want to see you get hurt.”
Dylan still hadn’t looked away. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Cam? Because if you are, and Miller finds out, it’s not just your problem. It’s trouble for all of us. You get that, right?”
Cam nodded.
“And, Cam? Miller always finds out.”
Cam met Dylan’s gaze. “I’m good.”
Dylan stood up from the booth. “Great.” He picked the check up from his end of the table and put it down in front of Cam. “This one’s on you.” He walked out, pulling Tate along with him.
Cam stared at the check for a few minutes, listening to Jax’s snores. Eventually it hit him: he could pay the check, or he could get up and walk out. Jax might be on the hook for the money, or he might not be, but it didn’t have to matter to Cam. He sighed and threw a pair of twenties down on the table, even though there was no reason to pay . . . no reason to do the right thing or care.
He walked out of the diner and onto the street, one anonymous face among millions. Ever since his mom died, Cam had drifted through this city, rootless, not tethered to anyone or anything. His jobs were all under the table—real jobs that called for a Social Security number and a W-2, those weren’t for ex-cons. And it’s not like things were getting any better for him. In the past couple of weeks, he’d lost his (rented) home, his (legal) job, his bike—two of them—and his car.
That was why parkour was perfect, he thought, not for the first time. It required nothing but his own body and breath and nerve. Cam didn’t have anything else, nothing to care about.
Except now there was her.
It would be so much easier if he didn’t care. If he’d been able to be with her last night, satisfy the urge that had been growing inside him since the day they’d first met, then just walk away.
It would be easier if she didn’t make him want things: a place to belong, a future.
He heard a crack of thunder, and it started to rain, but still Cam kept walking. If she lived alone, or with her brother, or some random roommates, he’d have a destination right now. He’d walk over to her place and stand out in the rain if he had to, waiting for her. Like the lovesick fool he was.
His arm still stung where Miller had twisted it a few hours ago. Standing on the street in front of the place Miller shared with Nikki could definitely lead to a lot worse.
Suddenly, Cam didn’t care. After all, as he’d just been realizing, he didn’t actually have anything left to lose.
• • •
A little over an hour later, she found him sitting on the curb outside Miller’s swank apartment; he was soaked and shivering. Though it had been a hot day, the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees. Nikki put her hand in his—she felt so warm after his long wait in the rain.
“Where is he?” Cam didn’t let go of her hand, but he didn’t move either.
Nikki gave him a small, sad smile. “He’s not here, thank God. Told me he’d see me tomorrow night. But, Cam . . . what were you thinking?”
He sighed. “I wasn’t.” He let her help him to his feet.
She led him up the street to the bus stop. He figured she was going to put him on a bus and wave good-bye, but she paid two fares, not letting go of his hand. She sat in the seat beside him, her head on his shoulder, not seeming to mind that he was soaked. Between the motion of the bus and Nikki’s body warm beside him, Cam let himself be rocked gently to sleep.
In the dream, everything was dry and warm—and safe. Nikki was bustling around a kitchen, setting a table, pulling something out of an oven. He smelled roasted chicken, and he sat down at the table. “What’s for dinner?” Cam asked dream-Nikki, and she pulled off the lid of the pan.
She smiled down at him, but when he looked in the pan, it wasn’t a roast chicken. It was one of the fish from Chinatown—head and all. Cam looked up to ask her why the fish smelled like chicken, but, instead of Nikki, he was staring into the cold, dark eyes of the Chinese woman from the fish store. He woke with a jolt, almost knocking Nikki off the bus seat.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded, feeling embarrassed.
“Hell of a dream,” she observed. “You w
ere talking.”
Cam was too wet, cold, and tired to pretend to be cool. “What did I say?” he asked warily.
She was grinning at him. “You said, ‘I hope it’s chicken.’”
He closed his eyes. “I’m just really hungry,” he said.
The bus lurched to a stop, and Nikki stood up, pulling him along. “Come on. Let’s find you some chicken.”
• • •
One bucket of chicken and a set of dry clothes later, they sat on Cam’s rooftop and looked out over the city. He was still shivering a little. He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt down to cover his hands, like he remembered doing when he was a kid.
A pigeon landed on the ledge, moving close to Nikki’s arm as she lay sprawled with her head on Cam’s lap.
“Stupid bird,” she said.
“What did he do to you?” Cam asked.
“He’s just stupid is all. It offends me.”
Cam laughed. “The pigeon offends you?”
“His stupidity,” Nikki clarified. “I mean, the thing can fly. What the hell is it doing here?”
“Is this a dis on my neighborhood? I know it’s not as fashionable as the West Village,” Cam said, referring to Miller’s fancy address.
Nikki sat up, rolling her eyes. “I mean the city, loser. He’s a bird. Maybe there are reasons to live here if you’re a human—like if you have a great job, or if you’re obsessed with Broadway shows or museums or something.”
“I didn’t know you were so anti-bird when I got you that necklace,” Cam observed.
“No! I’m not anti . . . I mean, I love the necklace!” Nikki was blushing.
Cam smiled. “Well, as for your pigeon theory, remember: there are also tons of people here, all dropping lots of crumbs and scraps. Perfect for birds.”
“Yeah. Living on scraps. What a life.”
“Well, somehow I make it work,” Cam said, but even though he’d meant his voice to be light, the words came out sounding pretty grim. He looked down at the alley below, his mouth set in a line.
Nikki tugged on his arm, trying to get him to face her. “Hey. It’s not forever, you know.”
He stared into her huge blue eyes. “It’s not?” he asked, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper.
