The Amateurs

by Marcus Sakey

  “My shirt?”

  “Yeah. I hear swimming is good exercise. Want to check out your muscle definition.”

  “Listen, I did what you wanted, but this is getting ridiculous.” The man trying to take control back.

  Bennett smiled, shrugged. “OK. Well, nice seeing you.” He reached for the door handle.

  “No! Wait.” The man grimaced, then untucked his shirt and pulled it up to show his bare skin. “I told you, I didn’t go to the police.”

  “Can’t be too careful.” Bennett gestured at the road. “Let’s go.”

  It was after seven o’clock, and traffic was just beginning to thin. Bennett directed the doctor one street at a time, having him get on and off the highway, make sudden turns. He watched the mirrors. No one.

  God, he loved predictable people.

  “OK. You know how to get to O’Hare from here?” Bennett leaned forward, turned on the radio. Scanned the dial—crap, crap, car commercial, crap, the Beatles. He put a foot on the dash, lowered his window, and reclined the seat a notch.

  As they neared the airport, the doctor said, “About those pictures. I never did anything like that before. It was . . . I don’t even know why I did. I was just . . . curious. Wasn’t thinking. I swear to God, though, I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m begging you.”

  “You do what I wanted?”

  “Yes.”

  “And didn’t fool around? Try to make something a little different, figure I won’t be able to tell?”

  “No, I swear.”

  “Long-term parking.”

  “Huh?”

  “Head for long-term parking.”

  The man nodded. “I love my wife. My daughter. More than anything.”

  Bennett cocked an eyebrow.

  “I know. I know. It was stupid. I just. It’s a weakness. A compulsion. It’s not my fault, something I would choose.”

  “Go up to the top level.”

  “If I have to pay for what I did, that’s fine. I just don’t want anyone to know.”

  “Park over there, in the empty part.”

  The doctor pulled in, killed the engine. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

  “I believe you, Doc. And if you did what I wanted, everything will be fine. You’ve got my word. So”—Bennett jerked his thumb toward the backseat—“I’m going to ask one last time. Did you get clever with me? Admit it now, I’ll give you an opportunity to make good. But if it turns out that you messed with me . . .”

  The man was shell-shocked, eyes red and nose swollen. “I made what you asked for.”

  “Then your worries are over.”

  Even with one window down, the shot was deafening in the closed confines of the car. The bullet took him right in the temple, passed straight through, and shattered the driver’s-side glass, spattering the car door with gore. Bennett didn’t waste time looking around, just wiped the gun off, wrapped the man’s dead hand around it, then dropped both to the seat. The gun bounced and slid to the floorboards. Bennett set three photos in the doctor’s lap, then wiped off the radio dial, took the duffel from the back, and started for the terminal. Kept an easy pace, just a businessman on his way to a flight. He opened his cell phone, dialed.

  “Yello?”

  “Crooch. It’s me. We’re on. Be ready Tuesday night.”

  “Yeah, listen, about this. I don’t know, man. I’m having second thoughts.”

  “What’s not to know? It’s simple.”

  “If it’s so simple, why don’t you do it?”

  “Ahh, Croochy, you’re looking at it the wrong way.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’re missing the opportunity. This is a painless way for you to settle up with me. Just run an errand, drop off one bag, pick up another. That’s it. And in return, think of the weight off your shoulders. Do right Tuesday night, come Wednesday morning, your worries are over.”

  “And we’ll be square? Clean?”

  “Absolutely, brother.” Bennett smiled. “You got my word.”

  CHAPTER 6

  COMING OFF A DOUBLE, bone freaking tired, the first thing Alex noticed when he came home was that the light on his answering machine was blinking again.

  Not much sleep the last couple nights, and that filled with dreams of Cassie handing him stacks of hundred-dollar bills, of strange dark rivers and the sound of waterfalls, of flying that turned to falling. All he wanted was a big vodka, a shower if he could summon the will, and bed, where if he was lucky the pillows might still smell like Jenn.

  He walked to the machine, almost hit Play, picked up the phone instead. Pressed the Caller ID button, then the back arrow.

  Trish.

  Alex stomped into the kitchen. Glass, ice, vodka. He took a long sip, felt the muscles in his back unclench. Took another, then refilled the glass, tucked the bottle back next to the frozen pizzas.

  Over the past few days, she’d left a couple of messages. He’d checked them just to make sure Cassie hadn’t been hurt, but hadn’t otherwise responded. They’d all been terse little things, and the tone had scared him.

  The streetlight outside his front window brought a globe of tree limbs into brilliant relief, the leaves bright green near the light, then fading to brown and gray and finally black as they moved outside the circle. He had this theory that life was kind of like that. A circle of now that could be seen clearly, and then a past and future fading out, growing disconnected. When he thought back to earlier versions of himself, he could remember things, moments, some of them crystal clear. Birthdays in the backyard. Shooting hoops in his driveway, the smell of tangled forsythia bushes that backed the hoop, the warmth of the sun, the clean ease of stretching for a rebound. But it felt so far away that it wasn’t even just like it hadn’t happened to him, it was like it had happened to someone that a friend had told him about. Two degrees removed.

  The foursome was a perfect example. He, Jenn, Ian, and Mitch had started as a lark, a random evening that had been a surprising amount of fun. That evening led to another, and another. And after a while, he’d realized that the friends you saw every week were your best friends, and that the people you were in the habit of considering your best friends actually belonged to a past life.

  We’re all living in our own globe of light. Seeing just so far and thinking that’s all there is. The vodka shivered through his chest. He took another gulp and pressed Play.

  “Alex, it’s me.” A pause. “Are you there? Pick up.” A sigh. “I know you’re dodging my calls . . .” Her voice was more trickling out than sounding pissed, and that hit him, put him in mind of old conversations, late at night, her head on the pillow next to his. There had been times when they made sense, the two of them.

  “OK.” Her voice firmer, her get-things-done tone. “I have something to tell you. I was going to when you picked Cassie up, but she interrupted . . .” She paused again. “Damn it, Alex, why are you making me do it this way? Can’t we be grown-ups for once?”

  Standing in the dark of the apartment he lived in alone, Alex felt something tangle sticky fingers in his stomach. He leaned over the desk, head right above the answering machine, like he could talk to her through it, convince her not to say whatever she was about to.

  “If this is the way we have to do it, fine. Scott got offered a job. It’s a big promotion, he’ll be leading his team, and . . . well. It’s in Phoenix.”

  The spectral fingers clenched tighter.

  “He’s going to take it. It’s too good an opportunity. We’re still working out the details, but it looks like we’ll be moving there.” She cleared her throat. “That’s not true. It doesn’t look like it. We’re moving, the three of us.”

  Alex clenched the edge of the desk so hard the wood bit into his skin.

  “I know it’s far, but it’s not like you won’t see Cassie anymore. We’ll figure something out. You can come anytime you want, and maybe part of the summer she can stay with you. Thanksgiving. Something.”

&n
bsp; No, he thought and was surprised to realize he’d spoken aloud.

  “I know that’s not what you want to hear,” she said, like she’d heard him. “And I’m sorry. But I”—she paused—“I spoke to my father’s lawyer, and he said that because you’ve been having trouble with the child support, we’re in the clear. Not that I want to get legal, but he said that if it came to that, given the money you’ve missed, and because Scott and I are married and providing a home to Cassie . . .” She stopped. “I hate this. You knew I wanted to talk to you. But you’ve been doing that thing you do, sticking your head in the sand hoping that will keep things from happening. Just like still working at that stupid bar, all these years later.” She hesitated, spoke with a gentler tone. “Anyway. We’ll be heading out in a couple of weeks. They need Scott right away, and he doesn’t want to be away from us. Of course, you can see Cassie before then, a couple of times maybe.” There was a long pause, and she said, “I’m sorry. Call if you want to talk. I’m sorry.”

  Then the fumbling sound of her hanging up, and the machine beeped.

  Alex stared. The fingers in his gut had tightened into a fist. His hands were shaking. Phoenix. Phoenix! They couldn’t do that. Take his baby girl and move halfway across the country, they couldn’t. Yeah, OK, he’d missed a couple of payments, been late on some others. But he wasn’t a deadbeat. He’d been working his ass off, hadn’t made one forward step in his own life because half of what he made went to Cassie. That lawyer of Trish’s—not hers, her father’s. Alex remembered the lawyer, a bland man with glasses and a shirt so white it shone, working the system so the child support was staggeringly high, telling him he was lucky that Trish still cared, that she was being so generous with custody, that—

  He grabbed the answering machine in both hands and yanked, feeling the tension and then the delicious snap of the cords as he hurled it at the wall. It flew like a discus, hard and straight, and cracked a jagged hole in his drywall before falling to the ground, the cover breaking off. He wanted to go over and jump on it, stomp on the thing until it was just parts, until he ground the parts into his carpet. He stood flexing and opening his fists, a man alone in the dark of a lousy apartment.

  This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t.

  Leaving the vodka glass sweating on his desk, he opened the door and stepped outside.

  JENN WAS ON A MOTORCYCLE, not a Harley, but one of those low Japanese numbers, what her brother had called a crotch rocket. Leaning into it, the pulse of the thing thrumming in warm vibrations through her body. Zooming on an open road, so fast the striped line turned solid as she raced toward an indigo horizon. There was a pounding sound, a thumping, maybe something from the bike, but she just leaned harder, went faster, the wind streaking her hair behind. The thumping came again, and she fought it, cranked the throttle harder—

  And woke up curled sideways in her bed, a pillow squeezed between her thighs. Blinked at the green light of the clock: 4:11. The pounding came again, a real sound. The door. Someone was at the door.

  It was enough to make her sit up straight, the sheet slipping from her shoulders. The hammering came again, loud and insistent. She sat frozen for a moment, an animal reaction, part of her wanting to bolt and scurry.

  Relax. She swung her legs off the side of the bed, reached underneath for the Louisville Slugger. The heft of it made her feel better. She padded barefoot out of the bedroom, her thoughts straightening as she moved, and by the time she looked out the peephole, she already knew who it was. Jenn lowered the bat, then unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door halfway.

  Alex loomed in the hallway, seeming bigger than normal. The yellow lighting gave his skin a sallow tone, but his eyes were furiously alive, bright and wide and bloodshot. He stared at her. She was suddenly conscious of how she looked, worn cotton pajamas and a baseball bat, hair tangled with sleep.

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  She crossed her arms over her breasts. “That’s romantic.”

  “Not that.” He took a step forward. “The money.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s screw Johnny Love.”

  She rubbed at her eyes. Thoughts quick with adrenaline moments before now seemed sluggish. “It’s four in the morning.”

  “They’re taking Cassie.”

  “Who is?”

  “My ex and her new husband.”

  “Alex—”

  “Can I come in? Just to talk.”

  She stared at him, thinking of the evening she’d already endured. The blind date that was nice enough but smelled like an aquarium; three hours of talk that got smaller by the minute. She thought of her bed, a cocoon of warm blankets, and the dream of the motorcycle, flying fast over smooth blacktop. Imagined spending the remainder of the night fighting yawns while Alex babbled about another woman.

  “Please?”

  She sighed, leaned the bat in the corner. “Come on. I’ll make coffee.”

  The kitchen lights seemed particularly brilliant with night pressing against the windows. She gestured to a stool, pulled filters from a drawer, poured coffee from the bag in the freezer.

  “Trish called tonight. Her new husband got a job in Phoenix. They’re moving there, and taking Cassie.”

  “Can they do that?” She held the pot under the faucet.

  “Apparently. I’ve missed some child support payments, and I guess that gives them the right.” He paced behind her, stalking the cage of her kitchen. “I miss a couple of bills, and they take my girl from me.”

  She set the pot on the base and flicked the machine on. It gurgled and hissed. “You want a drink, something else?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been drinking all night. Since I got the message. Can you believe that? She left it on my answering machine. I’d just got home from working a double”—he made a sound in his throat, blew air through his nostrils—“Anyway, I’ve been trying to figure how to stop her. Thinking all kinds of crazy things.” His motion fast, hands running across his shaven head. “Like going over right now, grabbing Cassie, taking off.”

  “Alex, no—”

  “I know. I know. But she’s my daughter. All I’ve got. Anyway, I figured a better way. The child support. All I have to do is pay, and they can’t do this. Her husband wants to move, let him, and Trish too. Cassie can move in with me.”

  “Does it work that way?”

  “What?”

  “Can you just pay the late child support and then—”

  “Of course. That’s the only thing they’ve got. I pay that, she can’t just move away.”

  Jenn gave a noncommittal sort of nod. That didn’t sound right, didn’t make a lot of sense, but she didn’t see any point in saying so. She wasn’t a lawyer, it wasn’t her business, and she didn’t particularly like talking about his wife. Ex.

  “So all we have to do is get the money—”

  “Alex.” She spoke firmly.

  “What?”

  “Sit down.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it, and moved to perch on the stool. “Sorry. I must sound crazy.”

  “Little bit.”

  “I’m just . . . I love that girl, Jenn. I love her more than anything. They can’t take her from me.” His expression so earnest it had sharp edges.

  “One step at a time. How much money are we talking?”

  “I don’t know. Enough. If they added everything over the years, too much. Her lawyer is slick, probably got it figured to the penny with interest.” He laid his hands on the counter, palms down, fingers spread. “More than I can come up with, even borrowing. Unless.”

  “Unless you rob your boss.” She said it as flatly as possible.

  “I’ve been thinking ever since Ian suggested it. Because he’s right, you know? Johnny is a bad guy. He’s exactly what’s wrong with the world. He breaks the rules—the ones that are really supposed to matter—and gets away with it. And people like you and me, we end up drinking in his bar. Calling him Mr. Loverin.”
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br />   “Think about what you’re saying. You’re talking about robbing a drug dealer.”

  “Ex-drug dealer. He’s not a tough guy now. A middleman, maybe, but so what?”

  “What if you get caught?”

  “We won’t.”

  “It’s still stealing.”

  “So what?”

  “You’re not making any sense, Alex.”

  “Come on,” he said, and leaned across the counter. “I know you were thinking about it. I could tell. You were excited.”

  She shrugged. “It was a game. Thinking about it was fun.”

  “It was more than that. Remember what you said? How you’d been looking for adventure? Well, here’s your chance.” He wore his cowboy smile. That smile was probably the reason she’d first decided to sleep with him. She’d cloaked it in rationality: They were friends, consenting adults, and there was nothing wrong with finding a little pleasure in each other. But truth was, it had been the smile. That and his wrists, which were at once thick and graceful, like a gymnast’s.

  The coffeemaker hissed. She took a couple of mugs from the cabinet, poured carefully, surprised to realize that she was a little turned on. Not in a wanting-to-do-it kind of way. Something subtler. She’d read a novel once where a lonely woman took off her panties and drove a convertible too fast through the desert, wearing a sundress and no underwear and chasing the sensation of being alive. It was that kind of feeling.

  “Think about it. We do this one thing, a real-life adventure. We all get not rich, but ahead. A chance to do the things we said we wanted to. You could go on that trip, spend a month in the islands. Maybe we’ll go together.”

  “Maybe I’ll go alone.”

  He smiled again, said, “Everybody wins. I get what I need to keep my daughter. Ian gets his money, Mitch gets his revenge, and you, you get—”

  “I look like a windup toy?”

  “Huh?”

  She blew steam off her coffee, then sipped at it. “You want to rob your boss, rob your boss. Why come here at four in the morning and try to manipulate me?”