The Amateurs (19 page)

Alex narrowed his eyes. He curled one hand into a fist, took three fast steps forward—

“Alex, no!”

And threw his arm around his friend’s neck, yanked him into a hug. The guy weighed nothing, felt impossibly thin through his clothing. For a moment he seemed confused, reluctant, but then he wrapped his arms around Alex. “Shit, you scared me there.”

“You think I’m going to hit you?” He shook his head. “I’m too glad you’re OK.” He stepped back, looked at the others. “All of you.”

“We’re more than OK,” Mitch said with a crooked smile. He glanced around, then reached inside the door of Jenn’s apartment and came out with a big freezer bag, the kind that could hold half a chicken. Inside was a thick stack of green bundles.

“Ho-ly shit.”

“There’s three more that size.”

“My God.” Alex stared at it, just stared. There it was, all he needed. His whole life, his daughter, a new job, a new start, all packed into a Ziploc bag. Something pounded through him, hot and happy, exploding in a grin. “We did it. We fucking did it!” He started laughing, and the others joined, the four of them hooting and back-slapping like they’d won the Olympics.

After a few minutes, Jenn said, “We should go inside. We have a lot to talk about.”

At her words, the smiles fell away. The two gun blasts seemed to echo off the bare white drywall. He straightened. Took a deep breath. “Right,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

 

 

SHE COULD SEE THE GOOD HUMOR draining from Alex. Everything was shifting, and Jenn found that she didn’t know what to do with her hands, how to cross her legs.

“Are you fucking
kidding
me?”

The hallway reunion had been great, a moment outside of time, but things had started to go south already. Strange enough to have them all in her living room. But then add to that the thing with Mitch last night. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It hadn’t been a planned decision, but it wasn’t nothing, either. Sure, adrenaline had played a part, and the memory of what he had done for her, how far he’d been willing to go. But there had been a connection, too. It wasn’t like the sex she and Alex had shared, a friendly, lusty sort of thing predicated on an understanding of boundaries. Last night felt like maybe the start of something.

In a normal relationship, they would have slept late, made love again, sipped coffee in bed and giggled. Whereas this morning, she had awakened, stretched, and enjoyed five peaceful seconds as her consciousness booted up—then been slapped by the memory of the alley. Her throat had tightened and her belly had gone acid. She’d put a hand over her mouth to catch a whimper. Slipped out of bed and into the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror.

She had a desperate urge to cry, to hug her knees in the corner, at the same time she wanted to collapse in front of the toilet and retch. Her body was flame and ice and needles. Jenn had spun the cold water tap on, held her wrists underneath, forced herself to take deep breaths.

What did we
do?

Had she really thought that sleeping with Mitch would somehow erase what had happened? It had provided distraction and comfort, and she appreciated both. But the horror was still waiting for her on the other side.

Then the phone had rung, and it was game-on from that point. She forced herself out of the bathroom to talk to Alex in code. After hanging up, she’d found Mitch staring at her, his expression filled with emotions too varied and conflicting to bear a single name.

“Is Alex OK?” he’d asked.

“I think so. He’s coming over.”

He’d been silent for a long moment. “Guess I better get up.”

“Yeah.” She opened her lingerie drawer, saw she needed to do laundry. The absurdity of it almost set her to laughing. She picked up the panties she’d discarded yesterday and stepped into them. “Listen . . .”

“Please don’t say ‘about last night,’ OK? Please?”

“I wasn’t going to.” She found a bra that was a close-enough match and slid the straps over her shoulders. His eyes traced her breasts as she hid them. “But I think we should be quiet about this. Not tell the others.”

“Not tell them what, exactly?”

She gestured to the bed.

“This wasn’t just sex for me.”

“For me either. It’s just, right now, it will make things more complicated.”
Especially between you and Alex. Way to go, Jenn. Nice timing
.

“All right,” he’d said. “I understand.” Then he’d pulled on his pants and, threading his belt, said, “Coffee?” with forced cheer.

And now, an hour later, she sat on the comfortable couch that was supposed to be her refuge, a knit blanket over her knees, and watched the boys square off. Sometimes it sucked to be right.

“Are you fucking
kidding
me?” Alex repeated. “You shot him on purpose?”

“You weren’t there,” Ian said. “Mitch did what he had to.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t there. I was on the floor, bleeding from the head. Wonder how that happened, genius? If I had been there—”

“What?” Mitch leaned back. His voice was calm, his manner easy. “What would you have done, Alex? There’s a drug dealer on the ground, shot once, and he can identify your best friend. So what would you have done? Asked him nicely not to hunt her down and murder her?”

“I . . .”

“Yeah.” Mitch glanced at his watch like an executive late for his next meeting. “Exactly. So how about we knock off the posturing and focus on the situation.”

She had to admit to being impressed. It was hard to reconcile this self-assured man with the wallflower she was used to. Alex looked startled too, said, “So what happened next?”

“Ian drove the rental car, and Jenn and I took the dealer’s Eldorado, this big purple boat—”

“Where are they?”

“Parked separately, a couple of blocks from here. I wiped the Caddy down. Then we came up here, called you, and started waiting. Now, your turn. What did the cops say?”

“They mostly asked questions.”

“What did you tell them?”

“A couple of men in masks came in yelling. I tried to take one of them and got socked for it. After they left, I heard shots.”

“Did they ask what you were doing there?”

“Yeah. I told them Johnny had asked me back, I didn’t know why.”

“Did they buy it?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Mitch nodded. He had one leg crossed at the knee of the other, the foot bobbing. “Good. So it’s like we thought. No reason to tie it to us. We probably won’t hear anything more.”

Was it really that simple? Could it be? Jenn couldn’t think of a reason why not, but somehow she just didn’t believe it. Maybe it was all those Sunday School afternoons. Sunlight filtering dusty through high windows, coloring books with pictures of Jesus and the disciples. Father Mike talking to them about God. God who was always watching, saw everything they did. Every cruelty to a younger sibling, every stolen cookie.

“Not to change the subject,” Ian said, “but how much was there?”

“More than we thought,” Mitch said. “Two hundred and fifty grand.”

The words fell like a change in the weather, a soft snow that muffled sound. Ian broke into a wide grin. Alex gave a low whistle. “That’s . . . wait . . .”

“Sixty-two thousand, five hundred each,” Ian said. “Not bad for a night’s work.” He reached for one of the bags, split the top open. Stuck his face in and inhaled hard. “Goddamn, that’s good.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to have lots of time to smell it,” Mitch said. “We can’t spend it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t. Not yet.”

“Why?”

Mitch sighed. “Would you think for half a second? This was supposed to be untraceable. Johnny wouldn’t even have gone to the cops. He couldn’t afford to. But now there’s a body.”

“So?” Ian’s eyes were wide. “What does that matter?”

“It matters because everything is more complicated. We have to cut every tie between us and the robbery. Dump the clothes, the masks, especially the guns. Return the rental. Get rid of the Cadillac. And go on living our lives just exactly as before. Which means that we have to pretend that money doesn’t exist. Take it home and hide it somewhere.”

They’d talked about that this morning, as they’d broken the stacks up. Mitch had wanted to get a safe-deposit box, something secure, and lock it all away. But she’d pointed out that there was no way the others would go for just one of them having a key. And if all four of them were on record at a bank for a safe-deposit box? Seemed like a big clue.

He’d yielded, but she could tell he wasn’t happy about it. She couldn’t blame him, watching Ian cradle the Ziploc like a favorite teddy bear. “For how long?”

“Probably just a couple of months.”

“No.” Alex shook his head. “No way. We did this because we needed the money. I can’t wait—”

“You have to. Or else you can’t take your share now.”

“Who says?”

Mitch stood up. “I do.”

Oh shit.
Jenn supposed on some primal level this should have gotten her excited, strong men fighting for dominance, but instead she just felt tired. Tired of the way they talked and interacted, the way everything was a contest. Tired of the whole idea of men. She was filled with a sudden regret for having slept with either of them.

“I need that money,” Ian said. “I mean, I really need—”

“Mitch, listen, I understand what you’re doing, but—”

“This was your stupid plan in the first place, and now look—”

“Shut. Up.”
Jenn made her voice a whip. “All of you.” It was the first time she’d spoken in the last minutes, and the harshness cut the air. The boys wore sheepish caught-by-Mom looks. “Jesus
Christ
. What’s wrong with you? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in serious trouble right now. Would you stop it with the alpha-male nonsense? Next step, one of you shits in his hand and throws it.”

Ian started to argue, but she bulldozed him. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Alex, you’re going to get rid of the guns. Wipe them off and throw them in the river or a storm drain or something. Ian, return the rental car. Along the way, take all of the clothes to a Dumpster across town. Mitch and I will take care of the spare car.”

“But—”

“No buts. We’ll get it washed and cleaned, and then take it somewhere to get stolen.”

“Why the two of you?”

“Because one of us will need to follow in another car. In the meantime,
do not spend a dime
of your share. Mitch is right. We don’t know the situation yet. If the cops get on us, or Johnny, or friends of whoever got shot last night, we’re going to need it.”

“For what?” Ian asked.

“Maybe just to stay alive.” Mitch put one hand on Alex’s shoulder, the other on Ian’s. “Guys, listen. I know this isn’t what we planned. But neither was last night. This isn’t a game. If we get caught, we’re going to jail. And that’s only if the
police
catch us. If it’s Johnny, or someone else?” He blew a breath.

“We’re in this together,” Jenn said. “We get through it together or we go down together. That’s the only way. OK?”

There was a long silence. Ian rubbed his nostrils between thumb and forefinger, and shuffled his feet on her rug. Alex looked like he was thinking of bolting out the door with one of the bags.

“
OK?
” she asked again.

“Fine,” Ian said, heaving a sigh. Alex only nodded. Neither of them would look at her.

And all of a sudden she had the strongest feeling they were fucked.

“
Y
OU DIPSHITS KNOW WHO I AM? You’re in a world of hurt for this.”

Victor heard the voice through the doorway and paused to listen.

“You think I’m just some restaurant owner you can jack off the street and shake down? Not gonna happen, kid. I’m connected all the way up. I’m done, you’re going to regret waking up this morning.”

The words were right, but the tone rang false to Victor. One of the things that made him good at his work was a nose for fear, and through the bluster, Mr. Loverin was scared.

Good.

The ten-flight climb had Victor winded, and he took a moment to calm his breathing. Then he fastened the top button of his jacket, shot his cuffs, and walked through the open doorway.

The space would one day be suites, another anonymous gray Chicago office building. But now it was an empty room half a city block in length, sitting vacant while the owner wrestled the city council over permits. Coils of wiring hung from exposed girders. The wind whipped through open walls. Dawn was just breaking in the east, painting the sky with a blood-red brush.

Johnny Love sat in a chair at the far end, ten feet from the edge. His hands were cuffed behind him, and a black hood covered his face. Victor smiled. Nice touch.

Slowly, conscious of the theatre of the thing, Victor began to walk over, his dress shoes ringing loud on the cement. The two men standing near Johnny straightened, nodded at him. Ex-Army guys. Real money bred an efficiency that love of the flag sometimes didn’t. Especially after getting stop-lossed once or twice.

“Who’s there? What the fuck is this?”

Victor stood for a moment, let the guy imagine the worst. Then he nodded, and one of his soldiers snapped the hood off.

“What the fu—” Johnny’s mouth froze open, and his eyes went wide. “You.”

“Me.”

“I was going to call you.”

“Oh? When?”

“I was on my way when these geniuses grabbed me.”

“But you were robbed last night.”

His eyes darted. “How did you—yeah, I was. But I was taking care of it. I have calls in, people out . . .”

“Calls.” Victor nodded. “People.”