Still Waters

by Ash Parsons

  “No.”

  Michael’s mouth pressed into a cancerous smile. “Then I hope he beats you to death.” His eyes shone, not with the manic glow, but with something else.

  I wondered if anyone ever said no to him. If he ever didn’t get exactly what he wanted.

  Of course it had happened before. It was why he’d targeted his dad’s office. Reciprocity for not giving enough. For making Michael invisible in his own home.

  I shrugged. “I guess I’ll take my chances.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Because that’s the risk you’d rather take.”

  I didn’t say anything. Just held his eyes as he stalked out from behind the bag and left the gym.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  After he left, I started running around the court. My feet hit the boards, the dull thudding sounding like a drum in my brain, saying the same thing: Over. Over. Over.

  I’d be fine.

  More importantly, Janie would be fine. It was getting more dangerous to stay than to leave, no matter what the police thought. If they even had anything to connect me to the doctors’ offices. So we’d get on that bus. We’d start our plan—

  I couldn’t go along with the job. It was too risky.

  A thousand dollars. I told myself I wasn’t thinking about it.

  My fists flew at the heavy bag.

  The bell tones buzzed through the rest of the day as I waited for the time to pass so I could go home when my father would be gone. Janie and I would pack. I’d have to tell her to leave her happy endings behind—we’d need to carry whatever we were taking with us. We could get a library card when we got there. Then I’d go say good-bye to Clay. Warn him to watch his back.

  I thought of Cyndra. Kept punching.

  Over. Over. Over.

  I wanted to find her and say good-bye.

  Could I trust her if I did? Not to say anything to Michael? I knew better, despite the stubborn hope that I was wrong.

  In the locker room, the hot water pelted over me. After I got dressed I headed home. The sky was darkening, the early fall sunset fading in the sky before the football team finished practice.

  On the walk home, everything looked different. Darker, leached of color somehow. Like the slate-gray sky had sucked everything dry.

  I closed the army jacket, fighting a shiver at the bite in the air.

  It was too early for him to be home, but when I opened the door there he stood—leaning against the wall.

  Janie sat in the center of the swayback sofa. Tear tracks streaked her face. My heart hammered.

  “There he is. The big man.” My father flowed forward. “Here.” He held out a fifty. Waved it. “Go on, take it. Your friend gave it to me for you. Nice kid. Too young to be going to strip clubs, but hey—what do I care, right? And we had an interesting talk.”

  My heart stopped.

  Michael hadn’t meant what he’d said. He was pissed, sure, but he wouldn’t do this.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t feel betrayed.

  My father looked over his massive shoulders theatrically, first one, then the other.

  “Now. Where do you keep big money like this? When you have a secret stash. When you’ve been working a little angle all your own. Where do you keep it? Inside a book? Taped to the back of a drawer?”

  Janie sobbed.

  The coffee can sat beside her on the sofa.

  “Hmm?” My father’s ice-blue eyes burned into me. He followed my glance. Pointed at the can. “There? Inside the coffee can? Stuffed down the air vent, right, Janie?”

  He patted the lump in his pocket. “Nice little bank. Smart, too. I don’t think I ever would have found it if I hadn’t known it was waiting to be found. Even then, Janie had to show me.”

  Janie sobbed and looked away from me. There was a red mark across her cheekbone.

  “Know what else your friend Dwight said?” My father laid heavy hands on my shoulders, thumbs stretching across the back of my neck.

  Dwight. My biceps knotted with rigid pressure. Seething blood coursed into my heart as bands of rage constricted my chest.

  Dwight was back in his rightful place. Maybe he’d never been anywhere else.

  “He said there’s an opportunity for you to get more. Isn’t that cute? An opportunity.” The stress on the word sounded amused. “But Dwight says you don’t want to go. Now is that any way to behave toward opportunity? No! Of course not. So you’re going. Come on home with those nice, nice profits for me. Clean and easy.

  “But it does make me wonder,” he continued. “Why haven’t I put you on the rolls before? If you have opportunity with that little puke, why not with me? Like tonight. You’re doing that for me.”

  His hand slid along my shoulder and tightened, catching a nerve and making my eyes water. My stomach clenched.

  “You’re going tonight, understand?” His hand closed so hard I gasped and had to take a side step to ease the pressure.

  He let go of my shoulder and grabbed my arm, twisting it. “You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He shoved me away.

  “Good.” He turned and walked into the kitchen. “Someone will pick you up here late tonight. So don’t go anywhere. And don’t get any ideas, because Jane will be waiting with me for you to come back.”

  Janie jumped off the sofa and ran upstairs, slamming our bedroom door behind her.

  I picked up my bag. Climbed the steps with weighted feet.

  Janie grabbed my hand when I walked into the room.

  “I’m sorry!” She swiped at her eyes. “He made me. He came in, barged in—then he, he—”

  I lay down on the bed and draped a rigid arm across my eyes.

  “I know,” I told her.

  It didn’t feel as bad as you’d think. Losing everything. It’s not like I had much beyond some stupid plan. I tried to tell myself it had never been real.

  Dwight. Had Michael sent him, or had Dwight come on his own, seeking revenge? The end result was the same.

  My vision blurred. I closed my eyes. Bile rose in my throat.

  The fat wad of cash in his pocket.

  Food, bills, medicine. Freedom.

  The Plan.

  I lunged for the trash can. Retched until it made my ribs sore, water leaking out from under my eyelids.

  Janie rubbed my back. “Take a deep breath. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure out something.”

  I wiped my sleeve across my mouth and put the can down.

  “Shut up.” I knocked her hands away. “Don’t touch me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  We didn’t talk about the money, or Florida, again. For a long time, we didn’t talk about anything. I sat on the floor, back pressed into the corner. Shudders ran down my arms. The rage pulsed white-hot through my head, shaking in clenched fists that ached to hit something, someone, anything.

  And on the heels of the anger, so close that you couldn’t feel the transition, this burning coil. A molten knot of shame and realization.

  There was no move to make. There was nowhere to go but along.

  My jaw clenched, teeth pressing tight like I could get something between them. This is what it was to be truly trapped. No plan. No money. No dream of someday. And on his radar. With his notice, the inevitable end. A concrete wall at the end of the road.

  Because even if I got through this night, this dangerous strip-joint robbery, in one piece and not under any suspicion or inevitable arrest, it would still never be enough. There’d be the next, and the next. No matter if Michael decided he was through with me, my dad never would be. Now that he could see the potential—the money I could bring him.

  I was trapped for the rest of my life. And maybe that wouldn’t be too long.

  I leaned forward, then slammed my shoulders back against
the corner. Shifted until they were squared against one wall.

  Made myself a promise. If we got through it, when the night was fully behind us, I would beat the hell out of them both. Dwight and Michael.

  It made me feel better, until I thought of Janie, waiting with my dad.

  The rage winked out. A shift in my mind, like watching a fan, and suddenly it seemed the blades were turning in the opposite direction.

  My revenge wasn’t what was important. Getting through this night. Coming home to keep Janie safe was.

  She came and sat on the foot of my bed. We waited. For three a.m., when Michael would pick me up for the job.

  Finally, after hours, Janie spoke.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Get through it, I guess.” I got up from the floor and scrubbed my hands over my face. “Keep our heads down. Keep our powder dry.”

  I couldn’t stop the bitter laugh.

  Jane eased closer, so tentative that the springs barely sagged with her movement. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about the can. About all of it.”

  I didn’t have to say it. That he would have had to kill me before I would have shown him where it was. And she didn’t have to say that I had a death wish or that we could start over. Or that everything was going to be okay.

  I sat next to her. She sighed, and the breath coming out stuttered in little puffs, like she was about to cry.

  “I don’t know what we should do,” she said in a tiny voice. “What if you get caught? Or get hurt?”

  “You’re going to be fine, Janie.”

  “I’m not worried about me!”

  Her eyes were so dark I could see myself in them. I wrapped an arm around her. “I love you.”

  She tucked her head on my shoulder and hugged me like she thought she’d never see me again.

  “I love you, too. Please be careful, Jason.”

  “I will. If you get the chance, take it. Run to Clay’s.” I hugged her back.

  “I’ll text you if I do,” she said. We both knew it was a forlorn hope. “Should you call him now?” she asked.

  I sighed. “What would be the point?”

  We waited.

  The clump of my father’s steel-toed boots came up the stairs and knocked the door open.

  “Your ride is here.” Knife-blade eyebrows lowered in a glare.

  I put on my work boots while my dad watched. Nodded good-bye to Janie and walked down the stairs and out the door.

  On the front stoop I paused and shook out a cigarette.

  Michael’s cherry Mustang idled by the curb. Michael stood beside it on the passenger side, hands in his pockets, a small, knowing smile hovering on his mouth. His clothes were dark.

  His eyes flicked over my ripped jeans and stretched-out shirt. “No time to go change, sad to say,” he called. “Not that you would, right? Wearing your clapped-out clothes is the only screw-you move you’ve got left.”

  I crossed the dirt and stood in front of him. Waited.

  He crossed his arms high on his chest. “I guess you’re in now, huh? It’s for the best. You’ll see. I know you won’t believe me, but I really didn’t have anything to do with it. Dwight crossed a line, man, and he knows it. And when we’re done, if you want to break him, whale on him till he’s raw meat, no one will blame you, and no one will stop you.”

  Like they could.

  “But even though he was wrong”—he held up his hands in a now-let’s-not-be-hasty position—“it’s for the best. And you look fine, so you obviously handled your dad. For now.” He edged closer, dropped his voice. “My offer still stands. Tonight, after it’s over, let’s take care of him, and you’ll never have to worry again.”

  I glared at him.

  Michael took a step back.

  “You’re right. I don’t believe you,” I said. The smile on his face tightened. “And, yeah, I’m in tonight. Not because you convinced me, or hired me, or any lame-ass reason you could dream up that you thought I’d go for. But because you forced it. That’s your control. Force instead of manipulation. Just so you get what you want.”

  His eyes crinkled at the edges, though no smile crooked his mouth. “You suppose God cares if people love or fear Him? As long as they’re obedient?”

  Smoke plumed out my mouth. “Tell me what I’m doing. And after it’s over, stay the hell away from me.”

  Michael smiled like I had agreed to come to my own party. He dug in a pocket and handed over five crisp hundreds. “Be yourself. The badass we all know and love.” His eyes had that manic light—like he had tilted the table and everything was spinning his way.

  We got in the car and drove away from Lincoln Green.

  “The others are meeting us there,” Michael said as we accelerated onto the highway. “Dwight, too. We need him. And he was only too happy to be loved again.” He glanced at me like he thought I’d act surprised or argue or make some pointless threat.

  When I didn’t speak he kept talking.

  “Cesare says the safe and security computer will be in the same room. He says if we can get in and get into that room right at four thirty—that’s when the video server backs up—if we can get in there on time, we can get the money and destroy the video footage.”

  “That’s a load of bullshit. There’s no way we’re disrupting the video feed. Unless we go in with masks on, we’re getting ID’d.”

  Michael shifted lanes. He shook his head. “Let me worry about that. The cameras might get us going in, but so what? Cesare says there’s a blind spot to the left of the bar—there’s a little recess there. That’s where we do it. We go in as customers—we come out as victims. Scared kids who took off running when the rival gang came to call. That’s the story. Simple.”

  “You’re taking a lot on faith.”

  Michael smiled. “No, I’m taking a lot on greed. Cesare wants this, which means I do, too. And to get out from under his thumb, I have to get out clean. It’s all good.”

  “You can believe any story you want. You still have to deal with witnesses.”

  “Kid. You ever hear of a good lawyer?” Michael wove between cars. “These witnesses you’re worried about. Drunks. Strippers. Gang members. Unreliable in the extreme. We’ll be fine.”

  It didn’t matter if he was right or not. And it didn’t matter if we got away with it in the long term. I had short-term worries.

  Janie. My dad. The security at the club.

  We drove onto the bridge.

  “This’ll be fun,” Michael said.

  The Mustang wove through an alley lined with gasoline stations and convenience stores. Took off down a twisting county road into the darkness of a country night for miles. Until we arrived at the roadhouse, a clapboard, squat building. Red neon curled on the gray-painted exterior: Raunch.

  A different crappy van was parked by a Dumpster beside the building. Other beater cars parked on the edge of the lot or near the door. Thumping music blared from inside the club.

  Michael parked near the van. We got out and walked over. T-Man slid the door open and we climbed in.

  Cyndra sat in the driver’s seat, Dwight in passenger seat. He gave me a self-satisfied grin.

  Even though I knew he would be there, I had to stop myself from grabbing his head with one hand and driving the other into his nose.

  Cyndra wore the sparkly dress from the party. Next to her, Dwight wore a collared shirt and khaki pants, like a frat guy. In the back of the van were the others. LaShonda had on a shirt thin as a whisper. T-Man and Beast wore crisp shirts and tailored jeans.

  They looked like a bunch of rich kids. An inviting combination for the doorman.

  Michael passed around a flask. “Dwight explained it all, right? We’re just kids out to have fun. Follow my lead. You know what to do when it starts.”

  Nods and some gri
ns.

  Dwight gave LaShonda an empty backpack. She rolled it up and shoved it in her bulky purse.

  We climbed out. Cyndra came beside me.

  My hands itched to grab her. To ask what she knew about any of it. About Dwight telling my father.

  Michael looped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her under his chin.

  “Showtime.” He stumbled suddenly, leaning on her for support. A loud, drunken laugh cawed out of his mouth.

  On cue, the others took it up. Babbling, stumbling, slapping shoulders and hands. A weaving pack of drunk high school kids, out for a good time.

  Dwight smiled at me and took a pull from the flask. He fell in behind Michael and Cyndra. Bending over, he waggled his fingers along the bottom edge of her dress. An obscene gesture just for me.

  I ignored him. Choked off the molten rage with a promise.

  We walked to the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A rope-muscled bouncer stopped us. He was bald and tall, and stupid, because he wore gauges in his ears that were big enough to be easily grasped in a fight. Which told me that for all the out-of-town-rough-element atmosphere, there really wasn’t much trouble calling if he controlled the door.

  “Hold up,” the bouncer said. He squinted at T-Man and Dwight standing behind Michael. Eyes tracked up to Beast, hulking behind us all. “Go home, kids. You can’t come in here.”

  “It’s my birthday.” Michael slurred his words.

  “Happy birthday. Now go.”

  Michael let go of Cyndra, held up a hand. “Hang on. I think we can come to an orangemet. Uh—arrangement.” He dug in a pocket, spilling twenties on the ground. He teetered as he collected the money. Didn’t count, just shoved it at the bouncer.

  “That’s for me and my friends.” He swayed, smiling. Swiveling owl eyes to the rest of us.

  The bouncer flicked the bills into a neat stack and pocketed it in one slick move.

  “That buys you one hour. If the cops come, you go out the kitchen.” He stepped back, holding the door open.

  “Thank you, my good man.” Michael sloppily swept through. I let Beast go in before me. I glanced back at the cars in the lot, did a quick count. Noted their placement relative to the doors and the road.