Chasing China White

by Allan Leverone

  “You only talk about you,” she said. “You never ask about us.”

  He knows, can’t change what’s already done. Just trying to fix what comes. Don’t like what’s coming.

  He feels Carla wake beside him. No reason for him to get up. “Got work comin’,” he says, his eyes open enough to watch her rise. His hand goes toward her bare shoulder but she’s already out of bed.

  She stands over him, don’t look his way. “Same kind of work?”

  “It pays. It helps.” Knows he shoulda never opened his mouth.

  “A real dad,” she says, steps away. “A real husband.” She grabs clothes from the closet and steps toward the bathroom. She’ll change in there, where he won’t see. “Would really help.”

  She enters the bathroom, shuts the door behind her. She’s gonna be a while, spends all her money on lotions. Calls them her ablutions, whatever the fuck that means. She looks great, so fine. But she’s supposed to look great for him, not the world. Fuck the world.

  He wishes he never woke up. Lies awake, eyes closed. Waits for her to leave the bathroom. To leave the house. Can’t stand to think of her smooth brown back and those perfect little tits. Wants to be inside her and she don’t care. He’s been wrong too many times, lied too many times, somehow talked her out of leaving so far. By now it’s just about Malik. She wants him to be a better dad, she’s told him that enough. This is his last chance for that. He’s blown his last chance at everything else.

  She’ll take Malik to school when she leaves. When they’re gone he’ll get up, cook a ton of bacon with a big omelet and toast and lots of coffee. He don’t like to cook but that shit’s easy, easy to clean up too, then she won’t bitch about that. Some day she’ll take Malik for good. His only hope is a job that pays enough money she stops complaining how he makes it.

  He wants her here forever but if they ain’t gonna fuck he wants her gone now. Not forever but now. So he can load up on fuel without looking at her, then go see Eddie and get work. Something where he can do good so he gets the big job next time. He needs the big job.

  Seems like she’ll never leave the fucking bathroom.

  Eddie’s a regular guy, works days at the bar so he can take real work when a night job comes. Mostly he sets stuff up, takes a piece of all that. But muscle work? He’s a natural. Don’t like the risk is all. Don’t mind so much when the money’s right. It’s early and ain’t many guys at the bar yet. He leans against it waiting for whoever comes. Like he’s showing off the knuckles on his big hands, knuckles grown from all the times they broke. Hitting faces and anything else in the way.

  Tommy pulls up a stool. “Hey, Eddie.”

  “Hey. The usual?”

  “Just beer.” Before Eddie pours a shot with it. “Lookin’ for work. Hear anything?”

  Eddie grabs a pint glass, turns his back to fill it. Sets it in front of Tommy, a five’s already on the bar. Eddie looks at it.

  “Whole lot more for you when you get somethin’ for me.” Tommy drinks.

  Eddie picks up the five, looks side to side. A bar lifer down either end, too far away to hear. Lowers his voice anyway. “I get five. You make at least two large, easy work. That’s all I know about the job, all I wanna know. Serious work, Tommy.” He drops to a whisper. “Fuck it up and I give him you, your wife, your kid on a fucking platter.”

  Tommy takes a short drink from his beer, looks up at Eddie. “Business always serious, Eddie. Why I ain’t dead.”

  Eddie grabs a scrap of paper from under the register, sets it next to Tommy’s beer, hands him a pencil. “Gimme your number. He calls you.”

  Tommy has a couple beers and leaves, his gut fucking killing him, like he might explode. Can’t wait ’til he’s healthy though, Carla could leave before then. Don’t know when the job is, gotta be sober when his phone rings. It’s in his pocket and it’s charged. Two large ain’t a ton of money but enough to be legit. And if he gets it soon, proves his worth, something bigger next.

  He walks outside. Afternoon in the city, it’s safe. This part of town anyway. Hears that ringtone that came with the phone, but he walks through crowds and it’s always someone else’s. Keeps walking. Life’s good, work’s gonna be good, he’s gonna get Carla back, he fucking knows it. She loves him or she’s already gone no matter what else is going on. That’s how women work.

  How he works? There’s always someone needs a hand. If it sounds clean, he does it. Sounds messy, he says no. Agrees with Carla on that one—no time to serve time. He has a wife and kid to impress, and they can’t hate or ignore or have pity on him.

  Morning’s gone and he’s still walking. He was with Eddie less than an hour. It’s three or four in the afternoon, breakfast has worn off. He steps into a pizza place.

  “Pepperoni. Four slices.” Two at this place would be a large meal for most. Tommy’s always topped out at three. Sick as he’s been, he should probably stop at two. “And a large Coke,” he says when the slices arrive.

  He takes a table for two, throws spicy peppers all over every slice. Don’t know what that shit’s called but it’s good. Late for lunch and early for dinner, the place ain’t crowded, no one sits near him. Good. Fuck people.

  Almost done with the third slice, his phone rings.

  “Yeah.”

  “We gon’ meet before we work together.”

  “Yeah.”

  He gets a time, an address. He finishes his pizza.

  “Tommy.” Skinny guy he don’t know sits at a back corner table outside, faces the street, the only way in. “Siddown.”

  Tommy never saw the guy before but he sits, faces him. “What’s your name?”

  “Not how this works. I tell you the deal. Take it, you know me. Don’t, you don’t.”

  Tommy stands. “I’m gettin’ a beer. Need anything?”

  Skinny taps the side of his coffee cup without looking at it. “I’m good.”

  I’m not, Tommy thinks as he steps inside. Not even tryin’ to get good. More like a junkie, tryin’ to get well. Maybe a beer settles his rumbling gut. And if things don’t work out, get fucked up again.

  Twenty feet inside the front door a fridge houses shelves of bottled beers. Tommy grabs one. He could use a couple slugs before he talks to this guy. He reaches the counter, eight people ahead of him in line. He angles his beer bottle and pops the cap off the edge of the counter, drinks as the cap hits the floor. No one says shit. People in a place like this don’t even wanna look at a guy like him.

  The bottle’s half empty when he reaches the register. “Just the beer,” he says.

  “Six bucks.” Bearded guy at the register has an opener in his hand. Tommy takes a drink.

  “How’d you get that open?”

  Tommy pulls six bucks from his wallet and hands it to the guy, walks out the door. Something inside him wants to burst, gotta be nerves from Carla or maybe he’s as sick as he feels. Like his gut could come out in any direction.

  It’s dusk, sun still up a little. The place has outside lights but they ain’t on yet.

  “Got a quick start on that,” Skinny says.

  “Here to do business, not fuck around.” He sits. “What’s the job?”

  “No details here.”

  Tommy drinks. Guy talks like he’s a fucking idiot. Won’t be details at a place like this but the guy wanted to meet him, has to say enough for them both to decide.

  “Just tell me what I gotta do. Ask me what you gotta know.”

  No one sits near them. Skinny looks around anyway, talks soft. “It’s a bar, makes some book in back. Big day’s the Super Bowl but they bring security for that. And Sundays the bar’s packed, people watching games. But Saturday nights, regular season? Lotta money in back.”

  “In a safe.”

  Skinny shakes his head. “Not the whole time. They transfer it, don’t do payoffs at the bar. Take the bets one place, pay off another.”

  “And you know when they pick up t
he money.”

  Skinny nods.

  “And this ain’t protected.”

  “All private, no one behind ’em.”

  “These guys nuts? Someone gets wind, they worse than dead.”

  “Why the job’s safe.” Skinny looks around again. Still no neighbors. “Just need a couple guys with guns to do this.”

  “How many guys they got? Including the driver. Cuz they all got guns. And no way I do this if they’re Chinese or black. Those people cut a white man’s balls off.”

  “Two guys pick up from one.”

  “So three. And there’s a driver. Four. And you said a couple of us. We need more guys than they got and you provide weapons. I approve the weapons before I do the job.”

  “You ask the right questions,” Skinny says. “But I gotta know about you.”

  “You know or you wouldn’t ask.” Tommy holds his empty bottle. “Be right back.” He stands. “Need anything?”

  “Nah.”

  Maybe Tommy’s drink count matters tonight but fuck it, he ain’t pretendin’ he don’t drink. Let ’em know this is who he is now. He stands in line, pays for his open beer when he gets to the register, goes back to the table.

  Tommy sits.

  Skinny’s palm is over the top of his coffee cup. He tips his head up then back down, like maybe he’s indicating Tommy’s new beer. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re fine.”

  “Beer and a shot now. Follow me the last two years, that’s all you see.”

  Skinny holds his coffee cup again, like it’s still warm enough to drink. “Whattaya do instead?”

  “Instead of the highs?” Tommy shakes his head. “Work when it comes. Fight with the old lady. What’s anyone do?”

  “You shot heroin?” Skinny asks it casual, like it’s a hobby.

  “Everyone I knew did. Don’t know none of them now.”

  “Ya want to?”

  Tommy drinks, sets his bottle down. “Not guys you’d miss.”

  “What about the highs? Miss them?”

  “The shit near killed me. Maybe that was okay then.” He drinks. “Don’t wanna die no more.”

  “So whydja fall down at the bar?”

  Motherfucker Eddie. Business though. “Just sick. Don’t last forever.”

  Skinny nods. “We leave here in separate cars. Prescott Motel, you know it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We meet in the parking lot, right outside where you check in.”

  Click here to learn more about Tommy Shakes by Rob Pierce.

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