Yes, and you’ve done sooo much since then.
“Your father and I both had jobs and we both graduated on the Honor Roll.”
And you both bring it up every chance you get.
“You can bet that his father never got a letter from the school saying that his son was failing two classes.”
Just two? I was doing better than I thought.
Then it was my father’s turn again. “It’s time for you to buckle down, mister. Start acting your age. As long as you’re living under my roof . . .”
You’ll follow my rules.
“. . . you’ll follow my rules.”
I nodded.
As long as I’m living under your roof.
I CAME IN from moving the cars around. It was tight, but I managed to fit all three vehicles side by side in the driveway. Now no one was behind anybody else. I knew my sister wasn’t going anywhere, but this way she’d have one less thing to bitch about.
My father was alone in the kitchen, staring at his watch when the phone rang. He snapped it up and said hello like normal, then, in a voice loud enough to be heard anywhere in the house, he said, “A problem with the main assembly line? Uh-huh. What do the gauges read? Yeah, ha-ha-ha, that sounds serious. Oh, I know how to fix it. Ha-ha-ha.” He hung up the phone, then walked over to the sink and lit a cigarette. After a long, dramatic sigh, he announced, “Looks like I have to go in to work tonight.”
“Again?” my mother said, still in front of the TV in the family room. “Can’t somebody else do it?”
“Not like me,” my father said, taking a drag of his Marlboro, letting it out slow, the dirty grin on his face reflected in the dark kitchen window.
His house, his rules.
Another reason I needed to get the hell out.
AN HOUR LATER I was in the basement, lying on my cot, trying to convince myself we could make it to Florida, that it was even a good idea to try, when the phone rang. My sister answered it, then stomped on the floor, signaling it was for me.
“I hope you don’t mind me calling you like this,” Dawn said.
“No, it’s cool,” I said. “I just didn’t know you had my number.”
There was a pause, then Dawn said, “I found it on Reg’s dresser.”
“I didn’t think he had it, either.”
Another pause. “I guess he got it from Steve.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said.
“Can you meet me someplace?”
“What’s up?”
“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone,” she said.
“When?”
“Now. Tomorrow will be too late.”
I glanced over at the clock, as if I had something else to do. “Okay. Where?”
She told me. And just like that, the things I’d been lying in my bed thinking about—the questions I was going to ask, the coincidences I needed her to explain—no longer seemed important, that part of my brain shutting down, other parts taking over.
I said, “I’ll be right there.”
IT WAS SNOWING again, the fat, fluffy kind of flakes that glowed in the headlights and raced into the windshield like the Millennium Falcon jumping into hyperspace. It was the kind of snow that made the night darker, and when it covered the road, it could hide long patches of black ice. I drove slower than normal, with the stereo off and both hands on the wheel. There were enough distractions already.
The lot hadn’t been plowed yet, but the snow wasn’t deep, so I pulled in, parked, and walked up to the door. There was a light on and it was quiet inside. I knocked twice and waited. The curtain moved. I heard the lock turn, then the door opened and Dawn stepped back to let me in.
It was the same room as before, except this time there were no balloons or champagne, no HAPPY NEW YEAR! sign above the TV, just faded wallpaper, mismatched furniture, a couple of lumpy pillows, and tissue-thin sheets on a king-size bed that sagged in the middle. It was small and shabby, and smelled of cigarettes and cheap perfume. There was no pretending what went on in the room. It’s what the Wishing Well Motel was there for. I hadn’t noticed any of it last time. Not that it would have made a difference. But I noticed it all now. And it still didn’t matter, not with Dawn pressing her mouth against mine, her arms wrapped around my neck. A moment later, she said, “Listen. Did Reg give you any new runs?”
“I got one tomorrow. Up to Watertown. We’re supposed to get hit with some snow, but it’ll all be okay.”
“What about next week? Tuesday? Did he say anything about that?”
“No, why?”
She held me tight against her. I could feel her warm body tremble through my winter coat. “You gotta quit. Right now. No more runs. Promise me.”
“We don’t have enough money yet,” I said. “A few more weeks—”
“No! You gotta quit. And we’ve gotta leave. Now.”
“Just tell me why, and we’ll—”
“Because I finally figured it out.” She took a choppy breath. “I know what Steve’s up to.”
At that name, you’d think my brain would flick on and take control, dropping out of arousal mode. But no, the focus stayed on the basics—the princess in my arms and the sleazy motel room we were standing in.
Then I saw the look in her eyes. “All right,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What’s going on?”
She double-checked the lock on the door as I took off my coat and boots, then she sat next to me, rubbing her hands on her thighs as she spoke. “Steve’s setting you up.”
That got my attention.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” she said. “But now I’m positive.”
“Setting me up for what? To get busted?”
“By the cops? God, no. He’s gonna make it look like it was you.”
“What was me?”
She swallowed, wet her lips. “Steve is planning to rip off Reg, but he’s gonna make it look like you did it.”
“Did he tell you this?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I heard him talking, that’s all.”
“When?”
“Today.” She shrugged. “Some of it before. I don’t know. I’m just putting it—”
“What’d you mean you don’t know?” I stood and started pacing in the cramped space. “What did he say?”
“Please, Nick, don’t shout,” she said. “I’m a wreck as it is.”
I forced myself to sit, a little distance between us this time.
She looked away. “I gotta have a smoke.” She pulled her purse off the nightstand and started rummaging through it, tossing a hairbrush, lip gloss, car keys onto the bed, then digging out a bent cigarette from a deep pocket. She straightened it as best she could, lit it, took a long pull. “It was around noon. I was alone in the house. It’s rare, so when it happens I like to turn off the TV and read.” Eyes closed, she exhaled. “You know that main hallway that goes down to the kitchen? There’s a little room off to the side they store stuff in. Boxes, milk crates with car parts. A motorcycle frame. Anyway, behind all that stuff there’s this old wingback chair. It faces straight out the window. The sun was coming in, and it was warm. I must have dozed off because the next thing I can hear Steve talking on the phone in the kitchen, right across the hall. The back of the chair is to the door, so he didn’t know I was in the room. He thinks nobody’s home, so he’s talking normal, but the way he’s talking—his voice—I could tell something was up.”
“Who was he talking to?”
“I don’t know. But he described your car, what you look like, the route you’d be on . . .”
“Shit.”
“And Steve’s saying how he’s gonna play it cool, then head to L.A. in June.”
“That’s stupid. Reg will know he was in on it.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But Steve’s a lot smarter than Reg, which ain’t saying much. And Reg is so coked-up all the time anyway. No, he’ll convince Reg it was you. He’s good like that. Six months from now, Steve will be on his way to
California.”
“What about the other guys?”
“Lester and Cory? Reg’s been sliding. Once this hits, they’ll disappear.”
“What about me? Won’t Reg come looking?”
“He won’t find you.” Dawn flicked her ash onto the carpet, her hand shaking worse than mine. “No one will. Steve will make sure of that.”
The room was too warm, and my head was starting to pound. I was thirsty and sweating, my guts squirming. There was a way out of this, there had to be, but I couldn’t get my mind to stop racing to figure out what it was. Dawn finished the cigarette, grinding it into the glass ashtray by the TV, then, feet on the floor, she flopped backwards onto the bed. I joined her, both of us staring up at the mildew stains on the ceiling. We lay there like that for a while, neither of us moving, then I asked, “How’s he gonna do it?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna quit. We’ll leave tomorrow, pick up my sister, and get out of here.” She turned her head and looked at me. “Okay?”
I tried to think it through, but nothing would stay still in my head, my fight-or-flight brain taking charge, telling me to get the hell outta there. “All right,” I heard myself say, “we go tomorrow.”
She reached over and squeezed my hand. Still curious, I said, “How was he gonna do it?”
“There’s a run next Tuesday. Reg’s been planning it since Thanksgiving. Close to a quarter million dollars.”
“Damn.”
“It’s his comeback deal, him trying to prove that he hasn’t lost it yet, that he’s still a player. I guess when Steve learned about the money, he started doing some planning, too. He got you in as the runner because he knows you’re honest and won’t try anything on your own. Then he waited. Tuesday, Reg sends you out to get the money. And you don’t come back. Steve would take some heat, and it might get violent, but he’d get away with it.”
I counted back the weeks in my head to that day in the Pizza Hut parking lot when Karla said Steve was looking for me. It took him years, but he found a way to get even. “I hate to admit it,” I said, “but it’s a good plan.”
“Yeah, it is.” She sighed. “Too bad we didn’t think of it.”
She said something after that, something about packing light and this brace she had to get for her sister, but the wheels in my head had started turning, so I didn’t catch it all.
It took me less than five minutes to get the basic idea down, another five to smooth out the rough spots, then the rest of the night to get Dawn to agree.
Thursday, January 5
IT WAS STILL DARK WHEN I LEFT THE NEXT MORNING. A lot was going to happen that day, and I needed to start early.
It had snowed a couple inches overnight, the snow falling straight down, so the side windows on my Pinto were clear, but there was enough on the front and back to brush off, so I got to work. It was cold, but the fresh air felt good on my face. I smiled as I thought about the things Dawn and I had gotten around to doing. Then I thought about the things we planned to do today and my smile changed.
My first plan was that we would ride together to Watertown, drop off the coke, pick up the cash, and disappear from there, but Dawn had a better idea. I’d make the run alone, just in case Reg had spotters on the road. She’d go back to Reg’s like normal, keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t suspect anything. We’d meet back at the motel room around seven. If it looked good, we’d go, pick up her sister, and head south right then. If not, I’d drop off the cash to Reg, get paid, and we’d leave the next morning.
It was a stupid plan—we agreed on that—but it was the kind of stupid plan that could work.
I brushed off the back window. There’d be no snow to worry about in Florida. I wondered what Karla would say when she saw her old car pull up in front of the Del Mar Hotel. Probably some smartass comment about the way I drove. There’d be questions, too—about Dawn, Terri, the money—and she’d probably be pissed for a few days, but she’d get over it.
I was chipping the ice out from under the wiper blades when I saw the car at the other end of the parking lot. It was ten motel room doors away and covered with snow, but even in the half-light, I knew what it was.
A full-size, luggage-rack-on-the-top, wood-on-the-side, impossible-to-miss 1975 Chevy Caprice Estate station wagon.
I dropped the snow brush and started walking. The closer I got, the more I noticed.
The dent I’d put in the back fender when I was learning to parallel park.
The yellow and black factory parking permit in the side window.
The TAKE THIS JOB AND SHOVE IT! coffee mug sitting on the dash.
On the back seat, the Sports Illustrated that had been there since June. On the front, a pair of women’s gloves I’d never seen before.
My eyes moved past the windshield, down the long, snow-covered hood of the station wagon, over the guardrail and the walkway to the motel room door.
One kick, and it would fly off its hinges.
One knock, and I’d have my answer.
If I wanted it.
I stood there as long as I could stomach, then I turned and walked away.
I got a dozen steps before I stopped and went back.
I could hear myself breathing, could feel the blood pumping in my fists, my face flushed and hot. I used my hand to brush away the snow, then took the letter from the school district out of my back pocket and wedged it under the driver’s side windshield wiper. Even in the darkness, my father’s blocky, handwritten words were easy to read.
SHAPE UP, MISTER.
It wasn’t enough.
Not even close.
But it would have to do.
I went to my car, started it up, and drove off, no looking back.
BUG-EYED, REG STARED at me across the table. “You ever been to Watertown?”
I shook my head.
“It’s three hours in good weather,” he said. “It’ll be more in this crap. But you leave here, you better get your ass up there and back to-day. Understand?”
I nodded.
“I’m dead serious, shithead. I don’t care if you have to walk. You make the delivery, and you bring me my money.” There was a cigarette burning in the ashtray in front of him, but Reg knocked another from the pack of Kools on the table and lit it, the flame from the lighter flickering with his shaking hand. It took three tries, but he was too coked-up to notice. “I’ve done the trip in a blizzard. Ten times worse than this. I still made it there and back before midnight.”
Steve pulled the tab off a can of Budweiser. “I can go with him.”
Reg glared. “Why?”
“Keep him company.”
“You’re the one who’s always telling me how good he is,” Reg said, pointing his cigarette at me. “Now you saying he can’t do it by himself?”
“He can do it,” Steve said. “Just thought he might like the company.”
Reg narrowed his eyes. “He don’t need company. Do you, shithead?”
“No,” I said. “I got this.”
“Damn straight you do,” Reg said. He took a drag and stared at Steve. Steve held the stare for moment, then suddenly got interested in the top of his beer can. Reg turned to me. “This run here today? Eighty grand.”
I felt my eyes go wide, and that made Reg smile.
“You ever seen that much money?”
I shook my head.
“Chump change,” he said. “I’m done with these small-time, nickel-dime deals. Next run you make will be for real money.”
Steve’s lip twitched. A tiny nothing move that sent a chill down my neck.
“Don’t make any plans for Tuesday,” Reg said, then over his shoulder, he yelled, “Hey, babe. Get your ass in here. And bring the bag.”
I heard Dawn shout something back, but the words were lost under a car commercial on the TV. A moment later, a door opened and I caught a glimpse of her coming down the hall. We had agreed, no eye contact, so I kept my head down. I was hoping Reg would ignore me, but wh
en I glanced at him, his eyes were waiting.
“Remember that little talk we had last month? About keeping your mouth shut and how I’d come for you if you tried to dick me over?”
It was three days ago, but I nodded.
“That’s good,” Reg said, shifting his eyes over to Dawn as she set a gym bag on the table. It was black and gray and brand-new, with the price tag still on the zipper. “Where’d this come from?”
“Where do you think? I bought it,” Dawn said, a semi-sweet edge to her voice. “The other one wasn’t big enough, remember?”
Reg made a face. “It’s the same damn size.”
“No,” she said, “it’s bigger.”
It was the same size. There was nothing in our plan about a new bag. It didn’t come up at the motel, and if it had, I would have said no, that anything out of the ordinary would only make Reg suspicious. But there it was, out of the ordinary and making Reg suspicious. It was too late to worry about it, so I sat there with my hands in my lap to keep my knees from bouncing.
Reg spun the bag around and opened the zipper. I couldn’t see inside, but whatever it was, it made him frown. “I don’t like it,” he said.
“Well, you put enough of it up your nose,” Steve said, smirking as he downed the rest of the can.
“The bag,” Reg said. “I don’t like it.”
Dawn cocked her hips. “Why not?”
“The colors,” Reg said. “Too dark.”
She laughed.
“I don’t find it funny.”
“Whatever,” Dawn said. “I’ll put it in the old one.” She reached for the strap, but Reg jerked it away. He hooked a finger in the string loop and snapped off the price tag, zipped the bag shut, and tossed it onto my lap.
Then he did something I didn’t expect.
He laughed.
“Have a nice trip, shithead.”
I WAS AN hour out of Watertown when the car hit a patch of black ice, swerved hard to the left, whipped back to the right, then went sliding sideways down the road. I pumped the brakes and spun the wheel. Behind me, a semi was coming up quick, blasting its horn, while up ahead, a pair of headlights appeared in my lane. The steering wheel shuddered as the edge of the front wheels caught pavement, then the car spun around, slamming the passenger side into the hard-packed snowbank at the edge of the road.
Snow Job Page 17
