by Zahra Girard
I wish he could. I wish you could talk to your dad without putting yourself at risk of getting hurt. But you’re just too honest to deal with your criminal father.
“That wouldn’t be a good idea. Do you really want to explain to your dad, after not seeing him for so long, what kind of mess we’re in?”
“No. He wouldn’t like to hear any of that. I got my work ethic from him. And regular ethics, too.”
I chew on our problem for a minute: we need more information, but the only resources we have are ourselves. There're no lawyers to call on, no daddy to talk to; it’s just us.
“There is another way to get that information.”
She leans in, eager to change the subject. “What’s that?”
“Anna is listed on my mom’s paperwork. I saw her at the meeting. Safe to say, she’s pulling plenty of strings in this scam. Also seems likely that, since she’s up to some illegal shit, she wouldn’t keep all this information at the bank. She’d keep it somewhere else, safe, away from any fucking intern or teller who might stumble on it. Right?”
She nods, but there’s a wary frown on her face. “I don’t like where you’re going with this, Blaze.”
“I don’t fucking like it, either. But I’m trying this new thing called ‘thinking’ that someone taught me, and it’s telling me that, since no legal professionals will help us out — no lawyers, and we sure as shit can’t go to the cops — it seems to me our only option is to bust into Anna’s house and find the shit we need there.”
She sits up. Shakes her head. “No, it’s out of the question.”
I sit up, too. Fold my arms and look her in the eye. She’s gone from reasonable to stick-up-her-ass stubborn in the blink of an eye. “Tell me what other options we have.”
“I’m sure if we sit and think, we can come up with a better plan than burglary.”
“We don’t have the fucking time,” I say, harsher than I mean to, but she has a determinedly uncooperative look on her face.
“Excuse me?”
“We can’t just sit around doing thought experiments or brainstorming or charts any of that other shit you learned up at Stanford. We have to act. Because, any day now, those fucking construction workers could come back and guess what happens then, Saint Tiffany? I’ll have to shoot every single one of them for threatening my mom.”
Her eyes flare. She stands up. Her hands fall open at her sides in exasperation. “So, you are telling me that my only choice here is between breaking into someone’s home or endorsing you in committing multiple homicides?”
I shake my head. Draw two intersecting circles in the air. “Wrong. You’ve got three options. Here, let me show you. This is a Venn diagram — yeah, I know that word, I paid attention in class sometimes — and there’s a point where the two intersect. So, your options are: burglary, homicide, or both.”
She nearly stomps her foot. Saint Tiffany, in full force. “What? Why both?”
I shrug, give her a crooked smile that makes her nostrils flare. “Sometimes shit happens.”
“That’s the worst Venn diagram in the world. Why are you doing this?”
“Why? Because there are no other options. You’re not coming up with any, and I sure as shit can’t think of any other way to get the information we need, other than going to the source and breaking in to Anna’s house.”
“Just give me a chance, Blaze.”
I shake my head. “Here’s something for you to think about: what do you want to do when this is all over?”
“Excuse me?”
“When we’ve finished this business with my mom, what do you want to do with your life?”
“So you’re a guidance counselor, now?”
“I’ll go first: when I’m done here, I want to go back to my life. I want to kick Mack’s ass at pool, like I regularly do. I want to get drunk and have his old lady, Sophia, give me a kick ass tattoo. I want to go for a ride with my brother, Razor; the kind of ride that’ll have his old lady, Samantha, rolling her eyes and saying she’ll see us later in the evening at the ER because we’re both reckless and irresponsible assholes. That’s what I want. Your turn.”
Doubt washes across her face. “I don’t know.”
“Think, Saint Tiffany. This whole mess is over. You’ve got a chance to put your life back where you want it. What do you do?”
“I want a job that matters. I want to wake up and be proud of the work that I’m doing. It doesn’t matter how much money I make, as long as it’s enough to get me by. I just want to do something that impacts people’s lives, even if it’s in a boring way,” she says, pausing. Considering. This woman is so beautiful, even when she screws her face up from thinking so hard. Even though she’s so damn different from me that I have a hard time figuring out how her brain works. “Maybe something like what my dad does. I know you’ll say it’s boring, but a properly functioning and fiscally responsible government makes an enormous impact on people’s lives.”
“You said a lot of shit that I don’t understand, or even really believe in, but if that’s what makes you happy, then we need to do what we can to get you to that as soon as possible. And the way that happens is by me breaking into Anna Ebri’s home.”
“Blaze, no.”
“But don’t worry, I’ll do it while she’s at work. She won’t even know until it’s too late. I’ve done this kind of thing before. You might say I’m fucking great at it.”
She gets dressed. Soon, she’s that same, professional-looking number cruncher I remember. That same woman that turned me down at the bank and stood on a soapbox the second she saw my credit score. I might be taller than her by a long shot, but she sure as fuck is looking down at me right now.
“I won’t support you in this, Blaze. I won’t break into Anna’s house. There are limits, and that’s mine. I told you I’d help, but no crime. If something goes wrong, that’s on you.”
I shrug. Pull on some clothes myself. “I’m fine with that. Hang out here. I’ll be back in an hour or two with whatever I can find in Anna’s house. If you’re still here, you can help me go through it. If not, well, I’ll see what I can get out of it. Or maybe I’ll go back to Anna’s house when I know she’ll be there and pay her a visit.”
“Do I mean so little to you that you’ll just shrug off what I want? You’re being an ass.”
“Maybe I am. But I’m also going to go break into Anna’s house and go through her shit to get what I want. Hopefully, you’re still here when I get back, because it’ll make things a lot easier to have your help; we both fucking know that the only way we think our way out of this problem without hurting people is if you’re here to do the thinking. Otherwise, it’s back to using guns. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“I swear to God, Blaze, don’t do this. You’ll regret it. What are you going to do if someone calls the cops on you? Don’t be shocked if that happens.”
That makes me pause.
That makes my blood burn.
“Are you threatening to rat me out?”
She flinches. And takes way too long to respond. “I’m just saying that the cops are already looking for you. Why would you commit more crimes and make the situation even worse?”
“Are you trying to tell me how to protect my family?”
“I’m telling you that you made me a promise. You said no more crimes. And yet, when I remind you of that, you’re going to just do it anyway?”
“You don’t have any answers for me. This is a way to get what we want — what we need to solve this whole situation — and now you’re telling me to just sit here with my thumb up my ass? Fuck that.”
“I’m telling you to give me a chance to think.”
I shake my head. Start down the stairs. “You want to think? I’ll give you something to think about: you either support me, or you think about getting the fuck out of my house.”
She opens her mouth to answer, but I hardly hear her; her words just wash over my shoulders as I head downstairs. There’s no more
time for hiding, no more time for thinking or planning or arguing, it’s time for action. And that is what I do best.
My bike roars between my legs, my gun’s sitting comfortably in the waistband of my jeans, and there’s a smile on my face. Saint Tiffany might glare at me through the window of my mom’s office, we sure as fuck might be through, but it’s time for action. And action is what I excel at.
Some simple daytime burglary. How hard can it be?
Chapter Nineteen
Tiffany
One Dunne leaves angry, the other returns, also angry.
Blaze is gone no more than five minutes before Eleanor’s car pulls into the driveway, and I barely have time to give myself a quick fix-up in the bathroom mirror so I look less like I just fucked her son before she enters the front door, her rickety, warbling voice ringing with anger.
“What in the name of God are you two up to?” She shouts and then slams the front door behind her. The old house shivers through its bones with the rumble of the impact.
My heart still pounding and ready for a fight after my argument with Blaze, I leave the bathroom and stand waiting for Eleanor at the top of the staircase, twitchy and anxious. She peers up at me, eyes narrow slits of fury.
“What are you talking about, Mrs. Dunne?” I say.
“You never struck me as dumb, Tiffany. I remember reading about you in the school newsletter; you were always earning recognition for your grades, not to mention your frivolous accomplishments on the track team. I think you fully understand what I’m talking about. Unless my earlier impressions of you being a smart person were so far off the mark?”
I glare at the hateful old woman. “I’m not an idiot, Eleanor.”
“Are you sure about that? You certainly haven’t done much to keep my son in check. I’ve heard more than a few things today about Declan’s behavior that have me feeling considerable distress. And I’ve heard things about your behavior, as well. Beyond what that cocksure lawyer wanted to rant about. Do you know what I’m talking about, Tiffany?”
Dread slowly wraps its long, icy fingers around my heart, but the chill doesn’t seep into my veins — I’m still angry, still incensed, and now I have to defend myself and the man whose actions I condemned just minutes ago.
“What are you getting at?”
“Tell me: how did you reconnect with my son?”
I shrug, fight my hardest to keep my eyes on hers, though every urge in my body is to look away from her malevolent stare. “He came into the bank.”
“And why did he come into the bank?”
“He wanted a loan. Because he knew you were in debt and he wanted to help you. Because that’s the kind of man he is.”
I might hate Blaze’s methods, might wish that I could recalibrate his moral compass to point in an honest direction, but I have never doubted his intentions: to help the people he loves.
“And why didn’t he get a loan?”
“Because I checked his credit score,” I say. And then I tell Eleanor her son’s credit number.
Her eyes go wide. Malice is replaced by disbelief. “Is that really his score? I thought the minimum was much higher than that.”
“It was a shock, I’ll admit, and I don’t know how it got that low. But that’s why I turned him down,” I say. “Now, are you through throwing a fit over how your son is helping you?”
She shakes her head. And then she smiles.
“You know, when I was at Margaret’s place, she had the radio on to the news. Do you want to venture a guess about what I heard? Do you want to tell me what my son did after you turned him down for that loan?”
I know what she’s going to say, but I don’t want to say it out loud.
She takes a step up the stairs toward me, eyes on fire with indignation and anger.
“Because I sure heard a story. A story similar to what that hubristic, self-indulgent cock of a lawyer told us in his office: my son tried to rob that bank. Bank robbery. That’s how he tried to help me. It’s just felony after felony with him. But you know what? I’m sick of it. Sick of overlooking his iniquitous behavior.”
I take a step toward her. The anger surging through my blood has burned away every iota of dread’s frosty touch. I am ready to fight.
“You thankless bitch. Do you know the lengths he is going to to protect your home? You want to talk about criminal behavior? Do you even understand that the people who hold that loan over your head are likely criminals themselves? Soon, those men that you so casually dismissed earlier will come back. And they will not take ‘no’ for an answer. They will hurt you and they will take your home from you and, if you keep acting like such a bitch, there will be no one here to help you.”
She takes another step. She isn’t willing to relent; the hostile fire still burns in her eyes, and her voice is unwavering.
“Shouldn’t that be my choice? I didn’t ask Declan for his help. Wouldn’t want his help even if I had nowhere else to turn. Because all he brings with him is disappointment and heartbreak. I gave up so much raising him. Sacrificed so much of my personal life being a single mother, sacrificed so many career opportunities to stay in this small town teaching at some lowly community college when I wanted to pursue something higher. But, after his father passed and Declan started acting out, I knew that moving wouldn’t be a good idea. Declan needed stability. What a foolish notion that was, considering how he’s turned out.”
I can’t stand it any longer; can’t stand to listen to her vent venom at her son. He and I might very well be through, but I still have my limits. Hobbling, I advance another step down the stairs. And then another. And another. Until I’m face to face with the cold-hearted woman.
I clench my fists, my arms shaking with the desire to lash out at this impossibly frustrating woman. I want a fight.
But I can’t do it.
Not to his mother. For all her innumerable faults, Blaze loves her. And I can’t solve this problem his way — not like I did in David Archibald’s office — I can only solve this my way: with the truth.
“Do you want to know the truth about your son? Do you want to know what really happened that cost him his job and sent him to prison?”
“I know what happened. I’ve carried that shame for years.”
I shake my head. Force a spiteful smile. “You don’t. He told me the truth.”
“What are you talking about?”
Forgive me, Blaze. I know you wanted to keep this from your mother, but it’s time the truth came out.
“He didn’t hurt those people.”
She wavers. Blinks. Shock surfaces and, through the angry mirrors of her soul, I see the conflict rage — the urgent desire to believe me, to believe her son is a better man, and the warring desire to give in to her entrenched beliefs that her son is nothing more than a no-good, violent criminal.
“Yes, he did.”
“He didn’t. His friend did. His friend is the one who got drunk and started that fight. But this friend had a wife and kid, and Declan didn’t want that family to suffer. So, you know what he did? He went out, and he broke up the fight and, when the police came, he took the blame himself. All so his friend could keep his job and support his family.”
“You’re lying.”
I snort. The sheer repugnant defiance in her eyes — the desire to hold on to her beliefs about her son — causes rage to boil within me. I will hit her with the whole truth, and it will shatter all of that ugliness inside her.
Because fuck her for being such a horrid bitch.
My voice quivers with anger as I loom over her and my tongue races ahead of my thoughts, caring only to reach that delicious moment when Eleanor Dunne admits she’s been wrong about her son.
“Why would I lie? You know your son. He’s got the biggest heart in the world — that’s why he’s still helping you, despite all the things you’ve said to him. But he doesn’t always think things through. He saw his friend get into trouble, so he did the best thing he could think of. That’s h
is way. He doesn’t care what he has to do — whether it’s robbing a bank or breaking in to my boss's house — it doesn’t matter what consequences fall on his shoulders; his are so big, he’d rather carry all the weight in the world than see any harm happen to those he loves.”
Eleanor goes silent. For a moment, my heart soars.
Then her eyes narrow.
My heart constricts.
“What was that you said?”
My tongue got too far ahead of my mind, and now I just might pay the price.
“I said that your son loves you.”
She turns, takes one step down the stairs, then another. As hobbled as I am, the thought flashes through my mind of pushing her; I know where she’s going; I know what she’s going to do.
“Eleanor, please. Stop. You don’t want to do this.”
Maybe there’s still a chance I can change her mind.
At the bottom of the stairs, she does. Just for a second. Just long enough to cast a disdainful glance in my direction.
“You know, you almost had me. I believe you about Declan and him taking the blame for his friend. That doesn’t surprise me at all. I’m also not surprised to hear that he’s off to break into your boss’s house. What should also fail to surprise you, Tiffany, is that I am going to call the police. My son’s an adult; he’s made his decisions, and now he can suffer the consequences.”
“I won’t let you,” I say, and I start down the stairs toward her.
But she’s a lot faster than I am. And by the time I reach the base of the stairs, she’s already in the kitchen, with a kitchen knife in one hand and her phone in the other.
She glares at me, brandishing the knife right at me.
I hear the muffled voice of someone coming over her phone.
Hello, this is 9-11, what is your emergency?
Eleanor clears her throat.
“Hello, I’d like to report a burglary in progress.”