The Amateurs (33 page)

“No,” she said. “No, I can’t.”

“Me either,” Ian said. “But there’s a snag in this plan, right? The DF is in a safe-deposit box. How do we—” He stopped, caught the expression on their faces. “What?”

“It’s not in the bank,” she said. “It’s here.”

“
Here
here?”

“Down the block, in the trunk of the drug dealer’s car.” She paused. “Are you sure you want to do this, Mitch? You understand—”

“I understand.” He raised his hands above his head in a stretch, then let them drop. “I’m not happy about it. But that choice between the lives of people we love and the lives of a lot of people we don’t know? I won’t make it.”

It was a simple enough statement. But she didn’t know if she would have been strong enough to say it.

“What are you going to tell them?” Ian asked.

“What happened, more or less. I don’t need to mention you guys.”

“Yeah, you do,” Ian said. “Johnny saw me, too, remember?”

“I can just say that I won’t tell them who my partners were.”

“That will make them go harder on you. As it stands, you’re a civilian without a criminal record. The man we robbed is a former drug dealer, and the one you killed was selling chemical weapons. Weapons you brought to them.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Besides. Screw the Prisoner’s Dilemma.” Ian gave that lopsided grin. “I’m not letting you take this on alone.”

Mitch smiled. “If you’re looking for me to convince you otherwise . . .”

“We’re not,” she said. She stood up. “I’m going too.” Some part of her wanted to do this, she realized. Wanted to admit the wrong and take the punishment, to stand with her friends. “Guess the Thursday Night Club isn’t done yet.” She took a deep breath, the air rasping cool into her lungs. “OK. So when do we go?”

“Now.” Mitch stood. “Right now.”

The rain had been going steady and soft for the last few hours, and the air had that smell that told her it might go all night. It had put a damper on the usual Saturday revelry, and the sidewalks were nearly clear. They walked in silence, all of them lost in their own thoughts.

Abruptly, Mitch spoke. “I’m sorry.” He turned to Jenn. “I can’t believe I—that wasn’t me.”

She turned responses over in her mind, looking for the right one. Finally, she said, “I know.”

“You too.” Mitch turned to Ian. “If you hadn’t figured out what this stuff was, we would have gone through with it. I was wrong to call you a fuck-up, man.”

“No, you weren’t. I am a fuck-up. But I’m working on it.”

“We all are,” she said and meant it. Still, there was a calm replacing the panic of earlier. They had come up against an impossible decision, and they had made the right choice. Whatever sins they’d committed, that had to count for something. And if nothing else, at least this would all be over soon.

They crossed the intersection, passing two women holding hands. Weird to think that just days ago she and Mitch had run this course in reverse, in pain just from smelling the chemicals. How much worse must the actual thing be?

She thought about the police, wondered what the three of them would say. The truth, obviously. But what exactly? Maybe it didn’t matter, she thought. Fast or slow, elegant or graceless, the facts spoke for themselves. Maybe it was just a matter of telling them—

“No.” Mitch stared straight ahead.
“No.”

She followed his gaze. In the dark, the Eldorado had a richer hue, the purple almost looking good. The car radiated a certain cool, that big grill, a hood that could sleep three. The sharp, almost dangerous lines of the body, leading back to where—

The trunk was open.

 

 

IN THE CITY PROPER, Saturday night made for lousy, slow driving. But at this hour the freeways weren’t too bad, and even with the rain, Alex made good time. The dashboard clock read 11:32 when he pulled up outside his ex-wife’s.

He sat in the car for a moment. He could hear the ticking of the engine and the soft, steady spatter of the rain. Through the windshield he could see her house: porch lights on, the quiet domestic comfort of aluminum siding, squares of warm yellow hidden behind curtains. It looked comfortable, cozy. Everything he had ever wanted.

The rain made him want to hurry up the walk, but the thought of what he would say—or rather, the total lack of any idea what
to
say—made him keep his pace steady. With shaking fingers, he rang the doorbell. Listened to the soft tones, wondered what it felt like to hear them from inside.

Footsteps, and then Scott opened the door. Trish’s new husband looked surprised, but quickly wiped it away. He stood in the doorway, his body blocking the light. “Alex.”

“Scott. I’m sorry to come out here like this. But I need to talk to Cassie. Just for a few minutes.”

“I can’t do that.”

“She’s my daughter.”

“I know. And you can see her. But we went through this. It’s almost midnight. You can’t just drop by. We need you to let us know in advance, so that we can—”

“For God’s sake.”

Scott pursed his lips. “Why were you at the game today?”

“I wanted to see her play. Jesus, man. I’m not going to do anything to her.”

“I know you would never intentionally hurt her.”

“What does that mean?”

The man shrugged. “Take it how you like.”

Alex had two inches and twenty pounds on Scott. Shoving him out of the doorway would be the easiest thing in the world. Push past him, head straight for the stairs, find Cassie up in her bedroom. Close the door, sweep her into his arms, hold her close. Whisper in her ear. Tell her . . .

What?

That he loved her?

That everything would be OK?

That she might never understand what he was doing, what it was likely to cost him, how many people he was betraying, but that he was doing it for her?

Instead, he said, “Please?”

Scott wavered. Alex could see him considering it. See that he didn’t want to be the bad guy. That, in fact, he wasn’t. A voice came from down the hall, female, maybe Cassie, maybe Trish, he couldn’t be sure. Whoever it was, it made up Scott’s mind. He straightened. “I’m sorry. Not tonight.”

“Listen. I know this doesn’t make sense. But I might not have another chance. Please?”

“You’re right, that doesn’t make sense. We’re not leaving for a couple of weeks. Why don’t you come back tomorrow afternoon?”

He sighed. “Yeah.” He turned and started back down the walk.

“Alex.”

He spun on his heel, stood with the rain running down his shaved head.

“Are you OK?”

He almost laughed. Instead, he said, “Sure,” and started for the car. He had almost made it when he heard sounds behind him, Scott’s voice saying, “Cassie, wait—”

“Daddy!”

He turned in time to see her sprinting down the walk, bent to scoop her up into his arms and hoist her off the ground. His little girl. He could smell her hair, feel the warmth of her body.

In that instant was every other. The way he used to sit in his beat-up chair, legs going numb, unwilling to move as she napped on his chest, her baby’s breath and milk smell. A Fourth of July, Cassie maybe six, spelling her name in the air with a sparkler. The frozen perfection of her guarding the soccer goal this afternoon, captured mid-lunge by his mental camera. “My girl,” he said. “My girl.”

She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. “I don’t want to go to Arizona. I want to stay here with you.”

Over her shoulder, he saw Scott hurrying toward them, his gaze wary. The front door was wide open, and Trish stepped into it, squinting to see what was going on.

Alex allowed himself one more thought of hopping in the car with her, forgetting all about drug deals and police and dead men, just hitting the road together. Best friends and partners in crime. It was so beautiful it hurt to look at.

He said, “It’s OK, Cass. It will be OK.”

Scott had reached them, stood with his hands out, like he was thinking of tackling them both. Alex looked at him, saw the fear in his eyes. Realized that he was scared of exactly what Alex had been thinking.

Alex lowered her to the ground, knelt in front of her. “You know I love you, right?”

She nodded, eyes wide.

“Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll always remember that.”

“I promise. But don’t make me go!”

His knees felt weak. For a moment, he closed his eyes. Reached deep inside himself, not sure he had the strength to say what he knew he had to. “It’s for the best, Cass. Scott and Mom, they both love you. You can have a normal life with them.”

“But I want to be with you.”

“I know, baby girl. I want that too. But this is better.” He clenched his fist. “This is better.”

Scott said, “Alex.”

He nodded. Glanced up at the man, imploring, not sure what he was asking for. Everything, maybe. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, he forgot all his anger toward the guy, forgot all the ways he’d been wronged. Just saw a man who also loved his daughter. “You take care of her, all right?”

“I will.” The words solemn and the gaze steady. “On my life.”

Alex turned back to his daughter. “I have to go, sweetie. I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have some things I need to take care of. They’re important.”

“More important than me?”

“Nothing is more important than you.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing.”

Then, before his will broke along with his heart, he stood and turned around. The ten steps to the car were the hardest of his life. Behind him, he heard her voice, saying, “Don’t go,” and then he opened the car door and got in. Fired it up and slammed it into reverse and spun out of the driveway fast.

When he reached the end of the block, he stopped. In his rearview, he could see the three of them. Cassie staring, Trish behind, her hands on his daughter’s shoulders. Scott stood alongside, his back straight. They looked like a family. Like they would be happy.

Time to make sure they stayed that way. He turned the corner and reached for his cell phone.

T
HE THREE OF THEM stared into the Cadillac’s empty trunk. Mitch kept fighting the urge to close and open it again, as if the stuff would magically reappear. The rain soaked him.as if

“Victor?” Ian asked at last.

“No,” Jenn said. “He didn’t know about this.”

“No one knew about it,” Mitch said, his voice hollow. “No one but us.”

Part of him felt an enormous relief. If the stuff was gone, then there was nothing they could do about it. There was also no point in turning themselves in. They had decided to do the right thing, been willing to, but circumstance had made it impossible. A lucky break.

Except that one drop could kill, and they had hidden a gallon of the stuff. Not taken it to the police, or called the FBI. And now it was gone. How many would die because of that?

“Oh my God.” Jenn put a hand to her face. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“No, it’s”—she looked up at them, her face pale—“it just slipped out.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t tell him on purpose. He came to see me this afternoon. To apologize, and we were talking, and I just said it without thinking. That it was in the trunk of the car.”

Mitch stared. “Who? Who did you say that to?” But in his heart, he knew the answer already.

“Alex.”

 

 

IT WAS ALL FALLING APART.

Not, Ian reflected, back in Jenn’s kitchen, wet suit plastered to wet skin, that it had ever exactly been
together
. Everything about their situation had been screwed pretty much from the jump.

Only one answer. The same one he’d always fallen back on. Think about it like a game.

Not gambling or one of the political modeling games. Strategy, then. Like the battlefield sims he’d played in college. Balance strengths and weaknesses, figure the goal, and then move toward it.
Meanwhile, try to forget that you have a phone number memorized, that relief from sickness and doubt is one call and a stop at an ATM away.
It was only midnight. He could be the proud owner of an eight ball by 12:30—

Right. OK, then. Strengths.

“I can’t believe he took it.” Jenn was twisting a lock of hair like a phone cord.

“I can,” Mitch said.

“I know, you hate him—”

“No, I don’t.” Mitch sighed. “I don’t. I was trying to become him, I think. But you had it right from the beginning. His daughter. He wouldn’t be thinking about anything else.”

“But to give Victor chemical weapons—”

“He didn’t know what they are, remember? Maybe on some subconscious level, he suspects. But he’ll be ignoring that, same way we did. Telling himself that it’s just chemicals to cook up drugs. Set against Cassie, that won’t mean much.”

Strengths. Well, they knew what the bottles held. Neither Johnny nor Victor would expect that. What else?

Nothing leapt to mind.

Against that, the weaknesses. Victor and his bodyguards and their guns and easy violence. Alex’s head start. Nothing to take to the police now, no bargaining chips. The fact that the four of them couldn’t manage to have each others’ backs for half an hour.

Who was he kidding? They were fucked.

“You know how I said this wasn’t our fault?” Jenn’s voice pitched like she was talking to someone who wasn’t there. “That’s not true, is it?”

“Well, you were right, we didn’t make it—”

“Mitch.”