Good People

by Marcus Sakey

  She looked up to find Tom staring at her, one side of his lips curled up in a smile. She could see a bead of sweat on his upper lip, and the weathered lines beginning to form around his eyes, and then he leaned in and kissed her, one hand going behind her head, and she went with it, her tongue sliding into his mouth, his beard stubble rough against her lips, the two of them bending across a pile of money to breathlessly neck like high school kids. When they finally parted, she put a hand against his cheek. “What was that for?”

  “Luck,” he said. “And gratitude.”

  “Gratitude?”

  “Not everybody has a partner in crime like you.”

  “We’re doing okay, aren’t we? For a couple of regular people, I mean?” She could feel the pounding of her pulse. For just a second, she had a flash of what they were up to, how crazy it was, like the moment on a roller coaster just before the plummet when it was way too late to get off.

  “We’re going to be okay,” he said. “I promise.”

  She forced a smile. “Cross your heart?”

  THE CAB REEKED OF APPLE from the air freshener hanging over the mirror. Tom wrinkled his nose, watched the blocks crawl. Anna had suggested parking the Pontiac away from the mall and taking a cab, a good idea.

  He remembered that kiss, in the cramped unit, his knees propped on three hundred thousand dollars as he tasted her. The whiff of desperation they’d both tried not to acknowledge. He looked over, squeezed her hand, got a thin-lipped smile in return.

  The rain had started, fat gentle drops that stole color, reducing the streets to a tapestry of grays. People crab-walked under umbrellas, and shopkeepers sniffed the air from the safety of their awnings. The cab passed a discount electronics store, a rug mart, a couple of artsy boutiques, a falafel joint. There was a toxic lightness in his chest. He’d gone skydiving once, back in college, and remembered most the staticky panic as the plane circled upward, the sense that he was moving closer and closer to something irrevocable.

  The driver pulled to the side and tapped the meter. Windshield wipers slip-slopped back and forth. Outside was the block-long gray bulk of Century Mall, baroque columns rising above the movie marquee, shimmering display windows and glass doors below. Tom passed the driver a twenty, waved off the change. They needed all the good karma they could get right now.

  “I know what you’re going to say, but please, would you consider letting me do this-”

  “We’re in it together.” Her face shone pale, but her shoulders were set. “Let’s just get through it.”

  He nodded, blew a breath, and they walked to the entrance, Anna stepping ahead of him to open the door. The duffel was unwieldy, kept banging against his knee, but he found himself grateful to have something to hang on to. Inside, the hum of the rain and the whir of tires was replaced by pop music and a jumble of chemical smells from the bath shop. The woman behind the information desk didn’t look up from her novel as they passed.

  Century Mall was a squared spiral rising four stories around a center courtyard. It had always reminded Tom of the Guggenheim, only instead of paintings, the walls gave way to two dozen shops: clothing and laser hair removal and lingerie and a tanning place. A ramped walkway ran all the way around, and from where he stood, he could look up at a cross section of commercialism rising to a broad glass ceiling spotted with rain. In the middle and down a level was a gourmet grocery store, one of those places that sold prepackaged sushi and elaborate salads. “Where do you think is best?”

  “We’ll want to end up around the second floor, so no matter where they are, Malachi’s people aren’t too far away.”

  “So we can’t start there. Up top, then?”

  They waited at the glass elevator. Tom rocked on his toes, looking around, trying not to seem nervous. Anna stiffened. She turned to face him, then whispered, “There’s a cop here.”

  He glanced as nonchalantly as he could. The policeman leaned against the railing above the grocery, looking down at display cases of imported meats and upscale potato salad. He seemed calm, casual, two-finger-spinning an unlit cigarette.

  “Shit,” Tom said. “I figured on a security guard, not a cop. Jack sees him, that could screw everything.” He pressed his lips tight. “Nothing we can do.”

  The elevator dinged open, and they stepped on. He thumbed the button for four, turned to look out the glass rear. It was early yet, and he wondered who all these people wandering around the mall were. Didn’t they have jobs? Brass doors slid closed, and the elevator rose slowly. He kept his eye on the cop. The motion of the elevator had apparently caught his attention, and for a moment they locked eyes. Then the officer turned away and strolled off.

  When the doors parted, Tom could smell popcorn. The air-conditioning kept the place icy, but sweat soaked his armpits anyway. They moved to the left, away from the movie theater, to a quiet corner. Anna leaned over the railing, looking in all directions. “I get why he chose this place. You can see everywhere. If we brought the police, he’d probably be able to tell.”

  “Let’s hope Malachi’s people are more subtle.”

  “Only a little.” Anna gestured with her head. “Over there, a level down. The luggage store.”

  He looked where she indicated, saw Andre standing inside, pretending to examine a matched set of suitcases. The man nodded slightly.

  “Jesus.” Tom’s stomach was watery. His head understood all the advantages to meeting in a public place, that these people around him should keep them safe, but he felt exposed, open air and shops on all sides. What were they doing? Selling out a killer to a group of drug dealers, bluffing that a bag of newspapers could pass as a fortune, a cop wandering below and Jack coming from who knew where?

  Easy. Take it easy. Just get through this. Get through this, and get her through this.

  His watch read five till ten. In fifteen minutes, they’d either be clear or dead. Tom took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

  FIVE TILL TEN. Jack laced his fingers and stretched his arms up to crack the knuckles over his head. The movement pulled at the gash on his forearm, and he winced. He’d cleaned and bandaged it, knew it wasn’t deep enough to do much more than leave a nasty scar, but still, the thing stung like a motherfucker.

  He adjusted the bandage gingerly and leaned back against the concrete of the parking deck. They’d spent three hours last night walking every inch of the mall and its surroundings. It was a good spot, plenty of escape routes, stairwells on three corners with connections to the parking deck, the grocery in the bottom, even the loading docks out back. Plus, security was a joke. Jack unzipped the navy jumpsuit, fingered the pistol slung against his T-shirt. The rain smelled good, even layered over the exhaust and oil smell of cars.

  On his belt, the cell phone vibrated once. He opened it, saw the text message from Marshall:

  theyre here

  Jack took a deep breath, then slipped through the break in the chain-link fence, rounded the corner, and stepped into the loading dock, a wide concrete bay, dingy and smelling of trash. A guy unloading a panel truck looked over, and Jack tossed a salute. The man nodded and went back to work. As Jack opened the door into the mall, he felt that old tightness in his stomach. It felt like home.

  ANNA’S SKIN WAS STRETCHED TOO FAR, like she might split at the seams. All around them, people shopped and ate and chatted as though everything were normal. Two men laughed at a downstairs table. A couple of hairstylists from the salon wandered into Victoria’s Secret. They were easy to spot, black clothes and fried bangs. Why did stylists always have the worst hair? A woman pushed a stroller, the boy in it wearing that slightly stupefied expression like the world was a hell of a show.

  This had seemed like a good idea last night, clean and easy. Just a thought experiment, a move they were contemplating in a game. But now that she stood here, it wasn’t rational thought that filled her. It was dread and nerves and a child’s desperate fear of punishment.

  A muscular man in a Cubs jersey rounded the corne
r to their right. He moved swiftly, not running, but with fast, long strides. His eyes were on them.

  “Tom.” She nudged him. He turned to look, saw where she was staring. His fingers went white on the handle of the bag.

  The guy kept moving, staring straight at them. He had short-cropped hair and broad shoulders. She remembered Tom saying yesterday that they didn’t know if Jack would come himself. The guy was thirty feet away. Twenty. She heard a woman talking in a singsong voice, saying, “Isn’t this fun, baby?” The mother pushing the stroller, coming from the opposite direction. The man in the jersey sped up, one hand moving to his waist.

  “Tom.” Her voice breaking. He took a half step in front of her.

  Fingers lifted the edge of the jersey.

  The woman said, “Don’t you like shopping with Mommy?”

  Ten feet.

  Anna wanted to scream, to run, but found herself locked in place. Watching the man pull up his shirt and reach for his waist.

  Grabbing at something. Panic pounded in her temples, panic clenched her fingers. Jesus, it was all going wrong, this guy was going to just shoot them, right here, in the middle of the mall, right in front of this mother pushing a child, believing herself safe, borne up by belief in a world that followed immutable rules, the same ones Anna used to believe in.

  The hand came out. Clutching a cell phone.

  “Nah, nothing. Just shopping,” said the guy in the jersey, moving right past them, one hand pushing at the door to the stairwell. “When you want to-” The slamming door cut off the rest of what he had to say.

  She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in a long, hard whistle. The world spun, and she put a hand on the railing. Tom slumped too, dropped the bag to the ground, reached up to rub at his forehead. The stroller reached them, one wheel creaking a little. The mother smiled at Anna as she passed. The railing was cool. She put both hands on it. Watched people move. “I can’t do this.”

  Tom turned, touched her upper arm. “We’re almost done. Just a few more minutes.”

  “I can’t. I can’t. What if someone gets hurt?” She gulped air. “I thought… that guy-”

  “I know.” He spoke soothingly. “We’re both jumpy. But it’ll be okay. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”

  “Are you kidding? Where have you been for the last few days? Let’s get out of here. Go to the police.” She stared over the edge of the railing, to the levels below. “Wait, better. There’s a cop here. Let’s go get him, tell him-”

  “Tell him what?” Tom’s voice a slap. “Tell him we set up a thief to get kidnapped and tortured to death by a drug dealer so that we could keep our stolen money? He’d think we were crazy.” He shook his head. “Worse, he might believe us.” He put his good hand on her shoulder. “If we screw this up, Malachi will kill us. That’s if Jack doesn’t. We have to get through. Just a few more minutes. Okay?”

  She stared at him, at the tension in his jaw, the wide eyes. He was scared too. She could see that. But he was beating it. She straightened. Tried to breathe like yoga class, in through the nose, steady exhale through the mouth, picturing the air filling her with pale blue light. In, hold, out. I am the center of calm.

  I am pale blue light.

  THICK PIPES RAN UP THE CORNER. A sign beside the door marked this as the west stairwell, ground floor. Jack stepped to the door, looked out the window in the center. Beyond he could see the mall, the ramps spiraling upward. A brunette with a shirt that read “Porn Star” strolled past, oblivious to him three feet away. Jack smiled. Put on work clothes, stand in a stairwell, he could have been invisible. He could have been Mexican.

  He was reaching for the door when his phone buzzed. “Yeah.”

  “Hold on.” Marshall’s voice quiet.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m not sure. I think something’s wrong. I’m going to get closer.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Fourth floor, northwest corner. Near the movie theater. They’re carrying a bag,” Marshall said. “You want me to just go get-”

  “No. Stick to the plan.” He hung up, peered out again. What are you doing, Tom?

  Jack unzipped the jumpsuit halfway, then took his phone from his pocket and dialed.

  TOM’S PHONE RANG. He didn’t recognize the number. Taking a deep breath, he flipped it open. “Hello.”

  “Mr. Reed? This is Detective Halden. Where have you been? After our last conversation-”

  Shit, shit, shit! “Detective, now isn’t a good time.”

  There was a pause. “Are you in danger? Is the drug dealer there?”

  He snuck a glance at his watch. 10:02. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just” – he looked around, sure he would see Jack coming toward him at any moment, that big gun in his hand – “I can’t talk right now.”

  “Listen, whatever you’re doing, this is more important. That guy, he’s going to be looking for you, and you won’t see him coming. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there in ten minutes. I can keep you safe.”

  Tom hesitated. The window of the luggage store was empty. Where had Andre gone? Everything was happening so fast. He thought of the guy with the jersey, how he’d realized in that moment that they were in way over their heads. Maybe he should tell Halden everything. Get the cops here. The idea was tempting: Give up control, let the professionals handle it.

  “Mr. Reed?”

  Tom opened his mouth. There was a beep in his ear, and he pulled the phone away to look at it. Another number he didn’t recognize.

  “Tom, I know you’re scared. Let me help.”

  His pulse was heavy enough to shake his vision. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you back soon. I promise.”

  “Wait-”

  He hung up, clicked to the new call. A familiar voice said, “Who were you talking to, Tom?”

  ANNA SAW THE WINCE, saw Tom look around wildly. He mouthed the word Jack, then said, “No one.” Paused, and said, “It was my mother, all right? I got her off the phone as quick as I could.”

  Her heart throbbed in her chest, and her fingers tightened on the railing. I am pale blue light.

  Tom said, “Yeah, well, you don’t know my mother.”

  She looked left, toward the theater. A bored college kid behind the ticket counter, posters for indie films, a bench with an old lady sitting on it. If things started to go bad, they could make for that. Motion caught her eye, a level down, the cop strolling past a display window. There was a stairwell to the right, where the guy in the Cubs jersey had gone.

  Tom said, “We’re not leaving the mall. No way.”

  Pop music still played from overhead, inane and insistent, that stupid boy band song that went “Bye-bye, baby, bye-bye.” She could smell stale popcorn.

  Tom said, “Okay.” He hung up. “He wants to meet on the ground floor, in front of the salon. He said to not take the elevator.”He glanced over his shoulder, then passed his phone to her. “You’ll have to page Andre. I can’t and still hold the bag.”

  “I’ll-”

  “Jack would never believe I’d have you carry it.”

  She bit her lip, knew he was right. Slipped the phone into her pocket and her hand in after it, one finger on the Send button. I am pale blue light. “We should go.”

  They started down, Tom slightly ahead. The fourth floor slowly gave way to the third. Her eyes scanned fast, looking for Jack, for Andre, for any of them. Overhead, the boy band’s singer said that he didn’t want to be a player in a game for two, and Anna wondered what the hell that meant. Three floors to go. There was no sign of Jack, but there were a whole lot of people around: a cluster of teenagers at the elevator, women fingering clothing in the Express, a clerk on break reading a book. Two and a half floors to go. She found herself thinking of that mother with the stroller. Wondering if she knew how lucky she was. Wondering if anyone did, until they didn’t. Life could fall apart so fast.

  Which was what she was thinking at the exact moment J
ack Witkowski stepped out of the stairwell door in front of them.

  TO JACK, the pair of them looked ragged, stretched thin with panic. Something in Anna seemed particularly off, her hands in her pockets and her eyes wild. Perfect.

  He smiled, gestured to the gym bag in Tom’s hand. “That for me?”

  Tom’s eyes darted like a rabbit looking for cover. He took a step back. “I thought you wanted-”

  “Never mind what you thought, dipshit,” Jack said. “Open the bag.”

  Tom Reed stood still.

  “Tom,” Jack said, and unzipped his jumpsuit so that the holster was visible. “Open the bag.”

  “You’re not going to use that. We’re in a public place.” The guy said it like it was a contract, like a kid on the playground whining about the rules.

  Jack laughed. “Are you kidding?” He shook his head. “You’ve passed a dozen people in the last few minutes. Can you tell me what any of them looked like?” He cocked his head, smiled. “What makes you think any of them saw what I look like?”

  TOM FELT LIKE his face had grown apart from him, like it was a separate entity. He could feel the blood banging in his forehead, could feel the heat in his cheeks. “We had a deal.”

  Jack shrugged, the motion rippling the blue jumpsuit and revealing more of the big pistol. “We still do. It starts with you opening that bag and showing me what’s mine.”

  “You just said you were going to kill us.” Trying to keep conversation going. Praying that Anna had been able to page Andre.

  “Actually, Tom, I said that I could kill you.” Jack was smug, obviously enjoying himself. “If I do decide to kill you, I probably won’t tell you about it in advance. Now open the goddamn bag.”

  “No,” Tom said, as steadily as he could. He had to hold out.

  Another few seconds, a minute. His life, their lives, it came down to a minute. Sixty endless seconds. Where the hell was Andre? “Not until you tell me, straight up, that once you have this money you’ll leave us alone.”