Thieves Get Rich, Saints Get Shot

by Jodi Compton

  “I can’t leave without my lap,” I pointed out.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to try those stairs in my condition.”

  Constantine gave him a surprised look. “You kidding? I’ve seen you drink twice that amount and not be impaired.”

  CJ sighed irritably. “I just want to stay out here a minute and sober up and enjoy the night. Is that a problem?”

  But Virgil said, “He wants to be alone with Haaaai-leeeeeey,” drawing my name out in a schoolyard tease. “Aren’t you guys getting old for the kissing-cousins act?”

  “Virgil, you’re drunk.” That was Moira again. “Leave your brother alone. We’re going.”

  Chastised, Virgil said, “I didn’t mean anything by it.” He looked at the two of us, hangdog.

  “S’okay,” CJ said.

  “Is it, Hailey?” Virgil pursued, like a child.

  “Yes,” I said, “we’re good. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  But as they disappeared through the stairwell door, I wondered if I would stay that long, or when I’d see my cousins again. Ford had flickered on the edge of my consciousness like heat lightning all night.

  “That feels good,” CJ said, his eyes closed.

  I realized I was stroking his hair, like I’d been wanting to, grooming it gently. That hadn’t taken long. His siblings had been gone all of a minute.

  I said, “You’re not really drunk, are you?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice,” CJ said.

  Virgil had been right: CJ had stayed because he wanted us to be alone. We hadn’t been able to talk, not really, in front of his siblings. Except now we were alone, and I couldn’t think of a start. Maybe nothing needed saying. Maybe “I missed you” and “I’m sorry” had covered it.

  CJ said, “This last week I was in Haiti, visiting a friend of mine who went down there to volunteer.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We were hanging out with some international aid workers in the country. They listened to BBC Radio on the shortwave, and that was about it. Not a lot of American news. So I didn’t know anything about you getting accused of murder,” he said. “The first I heard about it was today, trying to get home. At Hartsfield I was in the Delta lounge, watching their TV. The news was replaying the aerial footage of you running that woman to the ground, and I watched it and thought, ‘When did I stop knowing what Hailey’s life was about? Or did I just never know?’ ”

  “You know me better than anyone,” I reassured him. “You know the real me. That person on TV, she’s just some crazy chick who grew up from the wreckage when I got kicked out of West Point.”

  “That was really hard on you, getting sent home.”

  “Sure.”

  “I never really got that, I guess,” he said. “You came back and said you were okay. You moved out of my place after just a couple of weeks and found your own apartment. You acted like West Point was behind you. I should have known better.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “There were some heavy things that happened last year, weren’t there, though?” he persisted. “You’ve never really talked about what happened down in Mexico.”

  It didn’t sound like a question, but it was. I was silent a moment. I’d tried so hard to keep my messy life from spilling over onto CJ’s clean, golden one, but maybe I’d been trying too hard. Maybe I didn’t need to see myself as having a double life, but rather one big, expansive one, with CJ part of it.

  “Listen,” I said. “Whatever you want to know about my life, just ask me, but do it tomorrow. Tonight you’re tired.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No you’re not. Come on. The hotel’s right across the—” I stopped.

  “Street?” CJ supplied. “I know.”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “I just remembered that they’re booked up. Never mind. I’m sleeping in Moira’s room. You can probably crash with one of your brothers. Unless they’re sharing a room already. That might be a little too crowded.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” CJ said. “I’ll get a cab into town. There are other hotels. With Dad out of the woods, it’s not like I need to be right across the way.”

  “Okay.”

  “Come with me?”

  “What?”

  “You walk in on Moira now, you’ll wake her up. Come with me. You can sleep in my room.”

  “CJ, I think—”

  “We’ve done it before. Nothing ever happens.” Then, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

  “Are you still worried about your dad? I thought the doctors said he was going to be fine.”

  “I know. That’s not what I meant. I just don’t like sleeping alone. It’s lonely.”

  “You mean you don’t do it very often.” I hated the jealousy that immediately rose up inside me.

  CJ sat up and faced me, sensing the new seriousness in the conversation. “I do it a lot more than I’d like.” He looked down at our interlaced fingers. “You?”

  “Almost all the time.”

  He seemed sure that nothing would happen, as it never had before. I wasn’t sure he was right. I didn’t want to be having the thoughts I was having: about being in a dim hotel room with him, the unaccustomed feel of the crisp material of a dress shirt against my cheek. I’d had only a few guys in the past half year, and none of them, to say the least, had been junior-executive types. I was thinking of how it would feel to help CJ take off those formal clothes and touch the smooth, warm skin underneath.

  I said, “CJ, I’m not sure how long I can stay up here. And even back in L.A.… my life there is unsettled, to say the least.”

  “Look,” he said, “all I want is to sleep about ten hours with you somewhere near me. Doesn’t have to be in the bed, maybe just the next bed over. Then I want a long, hot shower. Then, probably, a blueberry waffle. Maybe two. That’s as far ahead as I’m thinking.”

  I played with a strand of hair. “That sounds …”

  “What?”

  “Like heaven.”

  We took the stairs down one flight and the elevator the rest of the way. I emerged into the lobby slightly in front of CJ, holding his hand, and stopped so abruptly he stepped on my heel.

  Magnus Ford stood to greet us. He’d probably been down here awhile. My cousins had walked right past him, unaware.

  What had been about to happen between CJ and me in the hotel room was going to stay a matter of conjecture, as was my stupid fantasy of a bigger, more whole life with CJ an integrated part of it.

  “It was a family emergency,” I said to Ford. “I was coming right back.”

  “Hailey?” CJ said, meaning, Who’s this guy?

  “You thought I wouldn’t let you come?” Ford addressed me, ignoring CJ. “You should have talked to me first. I would let you come.”

  CJ said, “What’s going on?”

  “He’s a cop,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m a little more than that,” Ford said dryly. “Time to go, Hailey.”

  When Ford stepped forward, CJ put his arms around me from behind and stared him down. He still didn’t understand the situation; it was simply a hardwired response to a challenge from another male.

  “I have to go with him,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  CJ didn’t move. “Where’s your arrest warrant?”

  “Don’t need one,” Ford said. “I’m not arresting your cousin. But we had an agreement, which she violated the terms of by coming here.”

  CJ said, “If she’s not under arrest—”

  “It’s complicated, but I have to do this,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” I rose up on my toes and kissed his cheek. “You know I’m bulletproof, right?”

  What I’d wanted to say was, I love you, but I couldn’t say it in front of Ford.

  “I know,” CJ said softly.

  And then he gave me to Magnus Ford.

  Ten minutes later Ford and I were sitting outside a mini-mart in his powerful but nondescript black SUV. There were two cups of hot c
offee in the cup holders. He’d drunk a little of his. I hadn’t touched mine. I was crying. Not with any energy, just a steady drip of tears that, maddeningly, I couldn’t stem.

  “Come on, Hailey,” he said. “You know better. You know better. You think what’s back at that hospital is for you?” His voice was soft, gentle, gravelly. “Does he know about the brain tumor?”

  I shook my head.

  “When were you planning on telling him?”

  I was silent.

  “You think that’s what he deserves, to stand next to your grave at twenty-eight, twenty-nine years old?” He let that sink in. “Some guys, they’d bounce back fast from burying a wife, be remarried in a year. Not a guy like that. You know how long he’d be waking up at night and reaching over to your side of the bed?”

  I just don’t like sleeping alone. CJ had said it himself.

  “Hailey,” Ford said, “we got off to a bad start last week. That’s my fault. I’ve learned to be a tough negotiator. Sometimes I can’t throttle back when I should.”

  He picked up my cup of coffee, pried off the lid. “You want some sugar in this?”

  I nodded. At least my tears had dried up. For good, I hoped, wiping under my eyes with the caution of someone checking a wound for signs of bleeding.

  He tore open a sugar packet, poured it in, and stirred it with a red plastic stick. Then he handed it to me, directly, instead of returning it to the cup holder.

  “I don’t think I gave you a clear picture of what it is I was offering you in the interrogation room, other than freedom from prosecution for you and your friend,” he went on.

  “Which is?”

  “What you were seeking at West Point,” he said. “The development of your gifts to their fullest and an opportunity to be of some value to the world. You need that. It’s not really optional for someone like you.”

  “Tell me,” I said. “Where’d you get your psychology degree?”

  “Harvard.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say, Are you kidding? but his face was completely serious. He wasn’t kidding. I was speechless.

  “I can make you do this, Hailey,” Ford said. “But if you go into this with the attitude of a child forced to serve an after-school detention, you will be of limited use to me. It’s better if you want it. Do you? Want it?”

  The thing was, everything Magnus Ford had said was true. About what CJ deserved out of life and about why I’d gone to West Point. More than that, the man sitting next to me was interesting. Here was a man whose career in government work I probably hadn’t heard the half of, who had a personal fortune yet wore generic cop clothes, and who held an Ivy League degree he didn’t feel the need to tell people about unless asked point-blank. This had the potential to be interesting.

  “Yes,” I said. “I want it.”

  “Good,” Ford said. He switched on the ignition. “Let’s go.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JODI COMPTON is a graduate of UC Berkeley and has lived in various parts of California, as well as Minneapolis, Minnesota. She currently makes her home outside San Luis Obispo, California.