She grimaced. “Baby, you’re my guy. Only you. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. I said no.”
“Okay, then.” He let go of her hand.
She rubbed her wrist. “So what’s it going to be?”
“Let’s try for another one.”
“Okay.” She stepped to the curb and put out her thumb.
* * *
Over the next few days, Roy shadowed them. Their MO remained the same. In the afternoon they’d flag down a car. Sometimes they’d steal it; sometimes they’d just rob the driver. For happy hour, they’d work a bar frequented by tourists or businessmen. The girl would lure the mark outside, and her boy would rob him. Afterward, they partied, which explained why they were living in a dump. It was a simple, effective program that was bound to land them in jail sooner rather than later. But the more Roy watched her work, the more convinced he was that she would make an excellent partner if he could win her over.
At 7:00 p.m., Roy stood at a pay phone on the street a few storefronts down from Casper’s Bar and Grill. The girl was inside, and her boy was sitting in the Spirit in the parking lot. The door to the bar opened. The girl, clad in her usual tiny dress, and a big guy in a tan suit spilled out onto the street holding hands and turned into the parking lot. It looked as if suit guy was trying to guide her to his car while she was kissing him and stumbling along. Roy dialed 911. “There’s a fight in the parking lot at Casper’s Bar and Grill. Hurry.”
Roy kept his head down as he crossed the street to his Cadillac. Her boy rushed across the parking lot, pushed suit guy away from her, and punched him. But this guy didn’t fold up. He slipped into a boxer’s stance, chin down, one leg forward, and jabbed her boy twice in the face. The girl squealed. Her boy shook off the blows, and the fight was on.
Roy smiled. What a lucky break. This time the cops were certain to get here in time. Suit guy and her boy were banging off the parked cars like the main event on All Star Wrestling when two police cruisers rolled up. The girl ran. One of the cops ordered them to stop fighting. Suit guy stepped back and lowered his arms, but her boy kept swinging. The nearest cop Tased him. He crumpled to the pavement. Then the cop handcuffed him behind his back. The other cop took a statement from suit guy. A few bystanders started watching from the sidewalk. Her boy struggled and yelled while the cops loaded him into the back of one of the cruisers. Suit guy got in his car and left. Roy sat in his Cadillac watching the parking lot until the girl finally came back for the Spirit. Then he followed her back to the trailer park. So far, so good.
* * *
Carol tossed the car keys onto the kitchen table in the trailer and sat on the worn-out sofa. Was Terry going to blame her? That guy hadn’t seemed like a tough guy. He was wearing a suit, for Christ’s sake. And he drank as much as any of them. But now the cops had Terry. She walked back through the kitchen, where dirty dishes were piled in the sink, to the bedroom, where Terry’s side of the unmade bed looked just as it had when he rolled out this morning. What would she do without him? She’d never actually fucked anyone for money. Flirting with guys, kissing them and letting them feel her up, manipulating them, knowing that she was safe, that no one was going to hurt her—sure, she’d been smacked a couple of times, but then Terry paid them back. She sat down on Terry’s side of the bed, held his pillow to her chest, and smelled it. What was she going to do?
She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when the phone rang. She ran through to the living room to pick it up.
“Hey, Carol.”
She smiled. “Terry, are you okay?”
“I’m at the jail. I’ll see the judge in the morning. Maybe I’ll be able to get this misunderstanding cleared up. As soon as I know what’s going on, I’ll call. So stay near the phone.”
“I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry.”
“Not now. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“I’ll be waiting. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She hung up the phone. The trailer seemed too quiet. She double-checked the front and back doors to make sure they were locked, and then turned on all the lights. She felt empty and afraid. Whenever she slept alone, nightmares plagued her. She didn’t know how she was going to go to sleep without Terry there beside her. She turned on the TV, just for the background noise, and walked back through to the bedroom. There was half a fifth of Early Times whiskey on the dresser. She took a slug, felt the heat explode in her belly, and took another slug. Then she lay down in her clothes. She felt under the bed to make sure she could reach the claw hammer she kept there. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. It was going to be a long night.
She tossed and turned until she finally fell asleep at 3:00 a.m. The neighbor’s door slamming at 7:30 woke her. She lay in bed for another hour, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. She showered, put on Daisy Dukes and a pink T-shirt, and peeked out the window. It looked like it was going to be a pretty day, but she felt foggy, as if she were in a bizarre dream. She looked in the refrigerator, found a can of iced tea, and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast. It was 9:15. The phone hadn’t rung. There was some morning talk show on the TV. The hosts seemed way too happy.
She took all the dirty dishes out of the sink, ran the sink full of soapy water, washed all the dishes, and wiped down the counters. Ten a.m. Finally, the phone rang.
“Hey, Carol.”
“Terry. How did it go? When do I come get you?”
“Listen. They charged me with assault and battery.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means six months in jail.”
“Six months? You couldn’t get out of it?”
“The cops claimed it was attempted robbery to begin with—they had that guy’s statement. I didn’t have a record, so the judge said assault and battery—two thousand dollars or six months. We don’t have the money. It sucks, but that’s the way it is. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll probably get out earlier.”
“When can I see you?”
“You don’t want to come around here for a while. The cop said I had a woman accomplice. Maybe there was a surveillance camera in that parking lot. I don’t know. I didn’t see one. So give it a few days.”
“Call me.”
“I will.”
“I’m going to get that money.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Don’t be mad at me.”
He didn’t reply.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.”
Carol hung up the phone. What could she do? She had about $150 in her wallet, and there was another $600 in the shoebox where they kept their savings. Seven-fifty total. Rent and bills at the first of the month would empty the shoebox. Every day she needed food money and gas for the car. She couldn’t shoplift every meal. And she’d never actually done the shoplifting. She’d provided the distraction so that Terry could do it. Her skills were useless without him. She couldn’t work their scam by herself. She couldn’t lure a man to a quiet location and force him to give her his money. The force was Terry’s job. And even if she offered sex for money—even if her situation were that desperate—she wouldn’t make half of what they made robbing Johns. She’d still need a waitress job. And she’d be no closer to raising the two thousand than she was now.
She went back into the bedroom, pulled her T-shirt off over her head, and kicked off her Daisy Dukes. The man in the blue Cadillac—the Traveling Man—had said they could make three or four thousand dollars partnering with him. She put on sexy underwear and a clean summer dress. Maybe that guy was still around. Maybe he still needed help. Maybe she could charm him into fronting her the money to get Terry out of jail. Maybe if she could get Terry out of jail quickly enough, he wouldn’t be too angry with her.
4
Carol
Roy was sitting in a window booth at the Cup-N-Sup diner at the strip mall in front of the girl’s trailer park. His car was par
ked right in front of the building. He’d eaten the Iron Man breakfast—three eggs, pancakes, sausage, and hash browns—and was sipping his third cup of coffee while he read the newspaper. He was fairly certain that her boy was locked up, which meant that the girl needed his help. As soon as she figured that out, she would be looking for him, so all he had to do was make sure that he would be in her way.
After he finished the metro section, he glanced out the window. And there she was, in her waif persona, walking across the parking lot toward his car. He left a tip on the table and took his check up to the counter. She was posing against his car like a model in a magazine when he came out of the diner.
“Hey,” he said.
She smiled. “How are you?”
“I’m good. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I’ve had some time to think about your offer.”
“Really?” He glanced around. “Where’s your boy?”
“Is the offer still open?”
He nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“Then we’re in. But I need a favor.”
“I’m listening.”
“We’re going to make three or four thousand for our end on this job.”
“Absolutely. At least.”
“I need two thousand to get Terry out of jail.”
“So Terry is your boy’s real name?”
She nodded.
“Let me guess. Terry got picked up on an assault charge.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not going to front you that kind of money.”
“He can’t help if he’s in jail.”
“I don’t need his help that bad.”
“I need him out of jail.”
“Look, I don’t know you that well. You help me with the job, you get paid. You can hire a lawyer to try to get your boy out if he hasn’t been released. Everybody wins.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I do understand. He’s your man. You need him. But he’s not my man.”
She started to walk away.
He called after her. “Think about it. It’s the best offer you’re going to get.”
She turned back toward him. “I can’t run my game without him. How do I get money to live on until we pull your job?”
“Are you in my crew? ’Cause if you’re in my crew, I take care of you.”
“You take care of me?” She put her hand on her hip. “In exchange for what?”
“In exchange for your expertise. Get in the car. We’ll talk about it.”
She stood there looking at him.
“Really. Get in the car.”
They sat down in the Cadillac. He turned toward her and put his arm up on the back of the seat. “Right now, you live hand-to-mouth. Am I right?”
She shrugged.
“That’s over with. You don’t have bills to pay anymore. We collect your gear, and you come stay at my apartment. This is strictly business. When we make the score, all the expenses come off the top then we split what’s left. I take fifty percent. If it’s just the two of us, you take the other half. Then we decide if we continue together. You can hook back up with Terry when he gets out. That’s your business. Does that seem fair?”
“If you keep your word.”
“And that’s what you need Terry for? For protection?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“You know my name.”
“I mean your real name, not the nom de guerre that goes with the tiny dress and the carefully played innocence.”
“Carol.”
“Okay, Carol. It’s a pretty good act you got going, but you’re not fooling me. So you can cut the bullshit when it’s just us. When you work with me, I won’t hit you or threaten you or lie to you. If I yell at you, it’s not personal. It’s to get a reaction from someone else. What I need from you is to always tell me the truth. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes.”
“So we’re partners?” He stuck out his right hand.
“What’s your name?”
“Roy Stevens.”
“Okay, Roy.” She shook his hand.
“Let’s go get your stuff.”
She started to give him directions, but he waved her off. “I know where you live.”
“How?”
“I’ve been following you. How do you think I knew about the carjacking and Juanita’s?” He shrugged. “I told you I wouldn’t lie.”
He drove to the trailer park and parked in front of her trailer behind the Spirit. She sat in the Cadillac for a moment looking out the windshield; then she gave him a significant look.
“Yeah,” he said, “I know. It’s the point of no return. You’ve got to trust me or run me off.”
“If you hurt me, I’ll get even.”
“I believe you. But I’m not going to hurt you. I need you on my team. I’ve got to trust you, and you’ve got to trust me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She got out of the car. He followed her into the trailer. The sofa, TV, and kitchen table were the kind of worn-out you only ever saw in a place that came fully furnished. “What do you need to pack?”
“Our clothes, some odds and ends.”
He sat on the sofa. She got a box of garbage bags from under the kitchen sink, took it into the bedroom, and folded their clothes into the garbage bags, hers and Terry’s. Then she stripped the bed, shoving the sheets, blankets, and pillows into more bags. She brought five bags to the front door. “Should I bring any stuff out of the refrigerator?”
“No need.”
She went back into the bedroom, found a cardboard box in the closet, put the Early Times whiskey in it, and went into the bathroom for the toiletries and her makeup. She put their savings shoebox on top, covered everything with the bath towels, and carried the box out to the living room. “I think that’s it. Help me carry this stuff out to my car.”
They put the bags and the box into the trunk of the Spirit.
“We done here?” he asked.
“Let me take one more look around.”
She walked through the trailer, looking everything over. It was their home—hers and Terry’s. It was the place they had set up house when they’d quit living in his car, after she’d found him and found out that he’d do whatever she wanted as long as he thought it was his idea. He was a good boyfriend. Rarely hit her, even when she deserved it. Always shared any food, or drink, or cash. Always took her side in a fight. If they had to run, he always let her run first. He did have a jealous streak, but he was her man, and she was going to do whatever it took to get him out of jail. She owed him that.
* * *
Roy’s apartment was a two-bedroom in a lower-middle-class apartment complex near a shopping mall that was on its last legs. Older cars filled the parking lot. Children, many unsupervised, rushed around in the fenced-off playground. Roy and Carol pulled into the two spots in front of Roy’s door. He helped her carry her bags in.
“Up the stairs,” he said.
They went up the stairs and down the hall to an empty room with a stripped bed in it. Roy set down the bags he was carrying. “This is your room. I’m next door. The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Make yourself at home.”
Carol hung up her clothes, but she left Terry’s in the bags. Then she made the bed and took her toiletries and towel down to the bathroom. Roy’s towel and shaving kit hung from one of the towel racks. She put her makeup bag on top of the toilet tank, her shampoo on the shower shelf, and her towel on the other towel rack. She brought the box back to her room, set it upside down next to the bed for a night table, and put the Early Times bottle on it.
When she got downstairs, Roy was standing in the living room, looking out the window. “All set?”
She nodded.
“Here’s a door key.”
She took the key and put it in her handbag.
He looked her over. “Is that the way you always dress?”
“More or less.”
She looked at his dress pants and sports coat. “You mean so that I sort of match you?”
He nodded.
She shook her head.
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Let’s get some lunch. Then we’ll go shopping.”
“Are you serious?”
“We’ve got to get in some practice together—get a feel for each other’s rhythm so that we don’t trip each other up. Every job requires the right clothes.”
“Okay, it’s your game.”
“What kind of food do you like?”
* * *
By happy hour, they were sitting in a booth in the dimly lit Summertown Grill, a bar and grill located near an office complex. Instead of her tiny sundress, Carol was now wearing a shirtdress that a clerical worker might wear. The area along the stainless steel bar was crowded with men and women dressed as if they’d come from the office. The conversation competed with the contemporary pop music wafting in through the speaker system.
“Okay,” Roy said. “In a place like this, you’re used to charming a guy for Terry to mug, so I’m going to guess that you don’t pickpocket.”
“What’s the point?”
“It’s the same money as a mugging, only you don’t need somebody waiting in the parking lot.”
“Unless something goes wrong.”
“Nothing goes wrong if you know how. The next hour is prime time. It’s more difficult when the crowd thins out. Look around the room. Where are the best spots?”
She glanced around for a moment. “Over by the servers’ station at the bar. There’s a knot of people pushing into one another whenever the server shows up.”
“Good. Where else?”
“Where people are leaving the restrooms, if someone is standing behind a person on a barstool, trying to flag the bartender, they jostle into them.”
“A little tougher, but still good.” Roy smiled. “Open handbags and wallets in jacket pockets are the easiest. In this room, you’ve got the advantage.”
The Double Cross Page 4
