“He didn’t believe me.”
“Of course he didn’t believe you. I didn’t expect him to.”
“Then what was I trying to do?”
“It’s about working the percentages, increasing the likelihood that the counter guy will pretend to believe you. That’s how shady merchandise moves. You did good. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
6
Working the Plan
The rest of the day went without incident. They made almost $3,000 before the credit cards were cancelled. Sitting at the kitchen table back at their apartment, Roy counted out the money into two piles. “You did some nice work today.”
“Thanks.”
“You ready to take the next step?”
“Fill me in.”
“One of my ex-partners lives here. You’re going to make friends with him and find out where their next job is so that we can be there to steal their score. Can you do that?”
“Do I have to fuck him?”
“Would that be a problem?”
“Well, I—”
“You tell me. If you can’t do whatever it takes, we need to know what your limits are now, not when we’re in the middle of the con. I pulled a gun in the pawnshop. That wasn’t for show. If I had to, I would have shot that guy. No hesitation. Once I pulled the gun, I was committed to going as far as I had to go. If you want success, that’s the way it’s got to be.”
“I can do it.”
“You sure? You can back out now. No harm, no foul.” He pointed to one of the piles of money. “You’d take eleven hundred dollars with you. That’s fifteen hundred minus the three hundred for your clothes and one hundred for overhead. Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to have you with me. You’re a lot of fun to work with. And if you leave, I’ve got to find someone new.”
“Why do you have to get even with these guys? Why can’t we just do some other job?”
“We were partners. They could have just cut me loose. Instead, they set me up, stole from me, tried to get me killed. I’m not letting that go. Are you in?”
“Yes.”
“You can do whatever it takes?”
She nodded. “I will.”
* * *
After dark they were sitting in the Cadillac among the work trucks and old cars at the far end of the potholed asphalt parking lot of a biker bar located next to a boarded-up factory. Honky-tonk music blasted out of the open windows. A row of motorcycles was parked along the side of the building. A knot of men near the door—long hair, beards, and heavy boots—were smoking marijuana.
“You ready?” Roy asked.
“Do you think I’m dressed right?” She was wearing one of her tiny summer dresses.
“For Pooch? Relax. He’s just another mark. He doesn’t stand a chance. You sure you can spot him?”
“I’ve got his picture in my bag.”
He squeezed her hand. “Good hunting. And don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Things go sideways, I’ll step in.”
Carol crossed the parking lot, taking care to avoid the potholes in her high heels. The guys near the door gave her a hard looking over—one of them whistled—but she didn’t pay any attention. This was a game she knew, and she was completely at ease. She had her fake ID handy, but the bouncer just nodded. Once inside, she stood for a moment to get her bearings. The waitress moving among the tables was wearing a black leather vest without a shirt under it, tight jeans, and cowgirl boots. The two bearded bartenders were covered in tattoos. The clientele were mainly men and women in jeans and boots, although there were a few women in dresses.
She found a spot at the bar. The man she was looking for was an older guy, bald with a beer belly, probably hanging out with a group of guys just like himself. She ordered a beer. A guy sidled up to her, carefully cut blond hair with an Old Testament beard. He smiled. “How about I pay for that?”
“I’m waiting for someone.”
“If you change your mind.” He moved down the bar.
She picked up her beer and turned from the bar to look around the room. Back near the pool tables she spotted him. Bald guy, red T-shirt and old jeans, belly hanging over his belt. She checked the picture in her shoulder bag to be sure. Definitely him. What was he doing? He wasn’t holding a pool cue. He stepped back to a table where two guys were sitting, picked up a shot glass, and downed its contents. The waitress walked by. It looked like he was flirting her up, and she was ignoring him. She smiled to herself. Getting him out of here shouldn’t be too hard.
She took her beer and walked back to the pool table where he was standing. She acted as if she were watching the game. He eyed her, gave a glance around to see if she seemed to be with someone, and then said. “Hey, Sugar, you play?”
“A little bit.”
“I bet. I’m up next. You want to be my partner?”
“You going to be mad at me if you lose?”
“I’d never do that.”
“I think I’ll pass. I’m not really dressed for leaning over a table.”
He leered at her. “That is a mighty fine dress. You want a shot of whiskey to go with that beer?”
She smiled. This was going to be way easier than she thought. “You could twist my arm.”
* * *
Roy watched Pooch stagger out into the dark parking lot with his arm around Carol. Pooch had more heart than Jacob or Stevie. He wouldn’t screw over a partner—at least not on his own—but his ability for self-deception boggled the mind. At this moment, he actually believed that a beautiful young woman would want to have sex with him. Believed it with absolute certainty. Pooch and Carol got into a red Ford pickup truck. Roy started his Cadillac and followed them out of the lot. They drove past the factory and into a neighborhood of small houses with one-car garages. Lights were on behind the drawn curtains, but the streets were dark and quiet. Pooch pulled into the driveway of a tan clapboard ranch. The garage door went up. He drove inside. Roy parked on the street and turned off his headlights.
* * *
The light was on in the garage. A workbench and several shelves of tools stood at the back of the space. “Home, sweet home,” Pooch said. “Let’s get inside, and I’ll get you a drink.”
He pushed open the door to the kitchen and held the screen door open for her. The kitchen was dark. She stepped inside. He was right behind her. “I hope you’re not expecting money.”
He pushed her up to the kitchen table. “Hey,” she said. “Take it easy.”
She tried to turn, but he held her tight with one arm, pulled her panties to one side with his other hand, and took her from behind. She gasped. He was wheezing and banging her against the table with each thrust. She gripped the edge of the table and pushed back to keep her hips from being bruised. She wanted to cry, but instead she thought about beating him with a tire iron and made a couple of fake pleasure noises. In a few minutes he moaned and let go of her. “Sorry, I just couldn’t wait. You still want that beer?”
His pants were unzipped. He opened the refrigerator in the dark and handed her a can of beer. He opened his own. “You okay?”
She tried to sound happy. “I’m fine.”
He took a drink. “If you need to clean up, the bathroom’s just down the hall.”
She went into the tiny bathroom, sat down on the toilet in the dark, and pressed the cold can of beer against her forehead. She was going to have to fuck him again. She could smell his breath in her hair and hear his grunting in her ear. Her stomach churned. She swallowed. It was so different when she was in charge, choreographing what was going to happen. Right now she didn’t know if he would be gentle or if he was waiting to knock her down and climb on her again. She looked up at the bathroom window. She could climb out and run. Tell Roy she couldn’t go through with it. He probably wouldn’t hit her. He’d probably still give her the eleven hundred dollars. He seemed like a good guy. But then she would have let that asshole fuck her for nothing. It had to matter. And the only way it would matter was if she got the info
rmation. They had to know where the new job was. Talking up marks—that’s what she was good at. She needed to get past her emotions and get it done. You can do this, Carol. Use your magic. Take him into the bedroom and put him on his back. Ride him. Then at least you won’t have his weight on you.
She came out of the bathroom and looked into the dark kitchen. Pooch wasn’t there. She walked down the hall to the first bedroom. Empty. She went to the second bedroom. Pooch was sprawled out on the bed, snoring. She stood watching him for a few minutes, just in case he wasn’t really asleep, but he was definitely out. How could she find out what she needed to know? She didn’t want to be here in the morning. She went over to where his clothes were lying on the floor and went through his pockets. Nothing unusual. She took his wallet, closed the bedroom door, went back to the kitchen, and turned on the light. She took the paper money without counting it and put it in her handbag. There was a credit card, a gas card, and a couple of scraps of paper. Nothing of interest. She left the wallet on the kitchen table and looked around the kitchen. The red light on the answering machine was blinking. She flipped up the lid to read the directions for listening to messages. She pressed play. “You have won—” Next. “Your prescription—” Next. “Pooch. Vacation’s over. Meet me in Roosevelt Heights, Ohio, at the Holiday Inn on Sunday at noon.”
She turned off the kitchen light and slipped out the front door. Roy flashed his headlights. She ran across the yard and climbed into the Cadillac. “Good news?”
“Yeah. They’re meeting in Roosevelt Heights, Ohio.” She slumped back in the seat. She should have felt elated, but instead she felt numb.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
He reached over and patted her arm. “You okay?”
She didn’t say anything. She tried to empty her mind, but all she could think about was Pooch grunting and thrusting as he gripped her hips.
* * *
Back at the apartment, after Carol had showered and gone to Roy’s room, they were lying in bed, the lamp on the night table still on. “So what do we do now?” she asked.
“We go to Roosevelt Heights and shadow them until we figure out what they’re up to.”
“Won’t that be hard to do?”
“If it’s just the three of them—if they don’t have a grifter—it has to be a smash and grab of some sort. If they’ve got a new guy, then it gets more complicated. But the hardest part is making sure they don’t spot us until it’s too late.”
She turned away from him. He looked at the back of her head. There was something going on with her—something that wasn’t manipulative, something that made her vulnerable. “You’ve been quiet ever since we got back. What’s up?”
“It wasn’t what I expected.”
“So tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know if I want to.”
“Carol, we’re partners. I need to know everything. No judgment, okay? Every little detail might be important to our plan.”
She went over what happened, speaking in a neutral voice as if she was talking about someone else’s experience.
He sucked on his lip. “So he manhandled you. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect that from Pooch. Was that the first time you actually had sex with a man to get him to do what you want? Except for Terry, of course.”
She rolled over to face him.
“That is how you keep him wrapped around your finger?”
“That’s different. He’s my boyfriend. Keeping him happy is just part of the deal.”
“And he’s always jumped in for the shakedown before you had to do the deed with a mark?”
“Sort of.”
“But you kiss the marks, right? You let them feel you up?”
“But I’m in control then.”
“Tonight, with Pooch, you were advancing our plan, weren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were using Pooch to advance our plan. It doesn’t matter that he thought he was using you. You were in charge. I slept with Penny to steal her credit cards. She thought she was satisfying herself. Did you have a problem with that?”
“No.”
“Do you think less of me because I had sex with her?”
“But you’re a guy. I give up sex I don’t have anything else.”
“That’s bullshit, Carol. All that matters is that you’re advancing our plan.”
“So should I have given the pawnshop guy a blowjob?”
“No. We’ve got a lot of tools in our toolbox. We do what we have to do to manipulate whoever we have to manipulate. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we fuck, sometimes we use a gun. The pawnshop guy was going to cheat you, so it was time to use the gun. The gun wasn’t going to work on Pooch.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m proud of you. It’s hard to do what you did. But you sucked it up, and you put us in play.”
He turned off the light. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow we go to Roosevelt Heights.”
She nestled in beside him. Then he felt her hand on his chest. “Thank you,” she said. She kissed him.
He wondered, for a split second, if this was a mistake, but he didn’t push her away. He kissed her back.
* * *
The next morning, Carol sat on the edge of the bed in her XL T-shirt looking off across the room. “I was surprised last night.”
Roy turned on his side to look at her back. “Why’s that?”
She looked over her shoulder. “You slept with me even though I’d just been with Pooch.”
“And you slept with me even though you’re still with Terry. Or am I missing something?”
“No.”
“I told you Pooch was just work. Fuck him, lie to him, hit him with a shovel—it’s got nothing to do with who you are.”
“But that’s not the same as sleeping with you.”
“I hope not. I’m not trying to manipulate you, and I hope you’re not trying to manipulate me.”
She stood up and gave him a sexy smile. “I’m not sorry about sleeping with you—it made me feel better—but I do feel a little guilty about Terry.” She twirled her braid. “Just thinking about last night. A lot of guys don’t care if a girl gets off.”
“You better go get dressed. We’ve got a lot to do today.”
“I thought we were leaving town.”
“You know how to shoot?”
“No.”
“You need to know how before we start tracking my old partners.”
He watched her glide out of the room. For a moment he’d thought she was going to come on to him again. What would he have done then? He believed her when she said she felt guilty about Terry. And yet, here she was flirting with him. It was just natural to her. Where did her feelings end and the manipulation begin? Did she even really know? As it turned out, last night had been exactly the right time to have sex with her. She had needed affirmation that she’d done the right thing letting Pooch screw her, and he’d provided it. She was starting to feel connected to him, and every positive interaction from here on out was only going to reinforce that feeling.
Still, he needed to be careful. He was becoming more certain he could trust her, but he didn’t want her to just switch her dependence from Terry to him. He needed her to be independent, capable of making her own decisions; otherwise she wouldn’t really be his partner, and he wouldn’t be able to count on her in a tough situation. And when she chose him over Terry, it had to be because she thought it was in her own best interest, not because she was afraid she couldn’t make it alone.
* * *
During breakfast at the Cup-N-Sup, Roy went through the ads in the Fredericksburg Gazette, looking for guns for sale. Only one ad indicated handguns. He called from the phone booth in front of the diner. “Good morning. I’m calling about your ad in the newspaper.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What handguns have you got?”
“I’ve only got one handgun left. Colt revolver, forty-four caliber, Sheriff’s Special.”
; “Where are you at?”
“Take Kennedy Boulevard out of town. Take a right on Cypress Hill Road. Two miles out, white farm house on the left.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be looking for you.”
Roy hung up the phone. Carol was sitting on the hood of the Cadillac, waiting for him. “Well?” she asked.
“This might be our guy. We’ll know when we get there.”
“How will we know?” she asked.
“We’re looking for a criminal or government-hating paranoid. That’s the kind of guy we want to buy from—not some law-abiding, gosh shucks suburbanite. Or even worse yet, a retired cop.”
They drove out into the country, passing fields of corn and soybeans. The white farmhouse had a picturesque front porch and a picket fence. Two large German shepherds ran toward them barking as they pulled into the gravel drive. A heavyset man who looked like a deranged grandpa, wearing overalls and a seed cap, a shotgun broken down over his left arm, came out on the porch and whistled at the dogs. The dogs ran off behind the house.
“This looks promising,” Roy said.
They got out of the Cadillac and walked up onto the porch. “Hey,” Roy said, “I just spoke to you on the phone.”
The old man eyed them suspiciously. “I figured as much. Come on in.”
He led the way into the house. In the living room, a braided rug lay in the center of the floor and an old sofa and chair covered with discount-store bedspreads faced a TV with rabbit ears. The old man motioned on. One of the bedrooms had been turned into an office. An open, roll-top desk sat in the middle of the room and shelves piled with rifles and accessories ran around the walls. On the desk sat the Colt Sheriff’s Special.
“There you go.”
Roy picked up the pistol, released the cylinder, looked down the barrel from both ends, snapped the cylinder back into place, and spun it. “What do you want for it?”
The old man snapped the shotgun closed and pointed it down. “What do you think it’s worth?”
The Double Cross Page 7
