Nickel Plated

by Aric Davis

  I watched the black Lincoln pull in and park three spots down from us. The windows were tinted, and I could see nothing inside of it.

  The person on the passenger side got out. It was a man, I could tell by how he was walking, but I would have been shocked by anything else. He was big. He approached Jeff and said something. Jeff nodded and knocked a thumb at the car. They were either talking about the money or me. Jeff walked to the passenger side door and opened it, took the money and set it on the hood. I took the pen and tucked it into my sock. The man opened the bag, fiddled around for a few minutes, and zipped it up. They exchanged a few more words, and the man brought the money to the Lincoln and tossed it in the trunk. Jeff came back to the passenger side door, opened it, and said, “Get out.”

  I did. I walked in front of Jeff and stopped in front of the car with the man. He grabbed my shoulder and spun me, letting his eyes creep over me.

  Jeff said, “Whaddya think, he cover it? He’s clean, man, super clean, long gone. He’s put in work, but always supervised, you know? You could turn him out, party, whatever.” Jeff was acting like a total meathead. It was perfect.

  The man said, “He’ll do.”

  He walked to the car, opened the rear driver’s side door, and yanked out a little brunette girl, maybe seven or eight years old. If I’d brought Rhino, this is where it would’ve gotten really bad. I could see the tears on her face in the moonlight. She was dressed like a streetwalking prostitute. The man led her to Jeff and said, “This is Cindy. Cindy, this is the man I told you about, okay?”

  “I want to go home.”

  Jeff brought her around the car and helped her in the back seat. If there was a home, and it was a good place, she’d get to go there. If not, she’d wind up somewhere okay. Rhino knew a cop who actually cared about stuff like that, checked up to be sure, the kind of cop who wouldn’t let a pair of predators make kids into movie stars. The man snapped me back to attention, grabbed my shoulder, gave me a shake. He pointed at the car and shoved me towards the door. I got in, making sure not to look back at Jeff. He had his instructions; all he had to do was follow them. I watched his car pull out and leave the rest area. The man got back in the car, and the other man stared back at me. He had white hair and spoke in a high, reedy voice. He smiled at me. He looked like a shark that smelled blood. “Ready to have some fun?”

  I nodded, looking as solemn as possible. I buckled in the middle seat and gave myself slack so I could move. The two men smiled, and the car backed out and hopped on the highway, jumped on the first ramp, and turned around to head back to the city. The two men in the front spoke, but I couldn’t really hear them over the radio. I looked to the front seat. We were doing just over seventy. I took the pen from my pocket and held the top to unscrew it, and then I pushed my arm over the front seat between the headrests. One of them grabbed my arm. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed the button. Mace filled the car.

  The air was fire—rancid, smoking fire. The car was all over the road, dancing back and forth. I kept my eyes closed and fought fear in the darkness. Took my left shoe off, peeled off the sole, and felt for the little bottle of mineral oil. I poured the contents on my sock and yanked the wet thing off of my foot, ran it over my eyes and in my nostrils. I opened my eyes just as the car went off the road and flipped.

  We rolled twice, and I bounced hard when we stopped. I shook the cobwebs out and grabbed my right shoe. The big guy who’d been outside was sleeping, but the driver was moving, hands already clawing at his seat belt. I didn’t have much time. I tore off my right shoe and peeled the sole from it. The driver was climbing over the seat, screaming curses at me. The syringe fumbled in my fingers. He grabbed my injured arm and wrenched on it; my world went gray and then snapped back. He was almost over the seat. Ignoring him as best I was able, I focused on my right hand; the left felt numb and detached. I grabbed the first syringe and stuck it in his mouth as he toppled over the seat. Pushed the plunger and gave him enough Ketamine to put down a small horse. Just enough to maybe not kill him.

  He flailed at the syringe for a moment and then bent at the waist and just got gone, half in the front seat, half in the back. I took the other syringe and bent over the seat, stuck it in the big guy’s neck to help him sleep. I dropped the note I’d typed in the front seat on his lap. I didn’t figure he’d read it, but it ought to give the fuzz some probable cause beyond the loaded dough in the trunk.

  Chapter 46

  When I finally pulled myself out of the car, my head was just banging. The car was in worse shape: the frame was bent, the whole car looked like someone with a bad disposition had worked it over with a mallet and sandpaper. I gave myself a look. I’d been better. My arm felt like it was going to come off, and the rest of me wasn’t a whole lot better. It was going to be bad when the adrenaline dump wore off.

  I opened the driver’s door and popped the trunk. Leaned back in and turned the car off. Went to the trunk and took fifty thousand in fake hundreds, then zipped the bag and looked around the trunk. There was another little duffle in there. Nice—as was the fact that I now wouldn’t be covering the back end on the counterfeit bucks. Here’s the thinking: leaving the funny money in the car with the bad guys would make the cops think they already had a closed case. They’d just figure any other money that started showing up had already been distributed from the batch they’d found, which I guess it had been—to me.

  I threw the bag over my shoulder and closed the trunk, walked into the woods at the side of the road, and got moving back to the rest stop. I needed to be well clear by the time the cops showed up. Looking down the highway I could see four or five sets of taillights, cars stopping to call for help.

  I tucked the money into the wide pocket in my hoodie and tried not to think about what had just happened or about the adrenaline. I walked through the woods and listened for sirens. In a few minutes, I heard them. I ran, crushing pine needles and leaves—fall was falling.

  I walked from the trees and onto asphalt. Stuck a matchstick in my teeth, adjusted the bag I took from the trunk on my shoulder, and walked into the yellow light buzzing from the streetlights. I could see Jeff sitting on the hood of his car looking worried. I walked over to him.

  “Nickel! God, you just scared the crap out of me. Where’d you come from?”

  I pointed to the woods and threw the duffle on the hood next to Jeff. Unzipping it I saw that it was full of exactly what I’d expected: money. No surprise, really—guys like that would have a hard time using a regular bank. I took out two bricks of bills and handed them to Jeff. “One for you, one for Rhino.”

  “Where’d you get this?”

  “The trunk. How is she?”

  “Scared out of her head.”

  I grabbed the duffle, opened the car door, got in, and sat next to her. Jeff got in after me and turned the car on. The girl wasn’t saying anything, just sitting there shaking. I said, “Cindy?”

  She looked at me with these big, terrified blue eyes. “I want to go home.”

  “I know, but listen, you’re going to have to talk to the police first, go to the hospital and make sure you’re okay. Jeff is going to say he found you walking by the side of the road. You need to pretend that those bad guys were driving somewhere and crashed. You got out and walked until Jeff found you. Everything else you tell them can be true. Can you do that?”

  She nodded her head. I took her hand, and she leaned into me—it was a little painful, to be honest, but if it made her feel even a little better it was okay with me. I let my breath out, let the terror back in. Let the fear shake through me. I’d gone back into the lion’s den and come out alive. By the time we got to my gas station, Cindy was asleep. I slipped Cindy off of my shoulder, made sure she was comfortable, gave Jeff a wave, and then took the duffel and waited until they left. I had calls to make, but they could wait until morning. I walked home smiling.

  Chapter 47

  Knocking on the door woke me. I almost ran for the rea
r exit when I remembered the steaks. I looked at the clock: 7:30 a.m. I answered the door and took a package from the FedEx guy, signed his slip, and he was gone. The package was big but lighter than it looked. That was a good thing; I felt terrible. Inside the box were two gorgeous rib eyes, a little catalog/instruction manual, and some ice packs. I threw the cooler into the garage and put the steaks in the fridge. I had nine and a half hours until Arrow came over. Nine and a half hours to learn how not to ruin a hundred bucks worth of steaks. I went to the garage and hopped on my bike. The shower could wait.

  I remembered that I’d made myself look like crap the night before when I was halfway to the grocery store. Too far now to turn around. I went in and bought two huge potatoes, a pack of unsalted butter, a little tub of sour cream, extra virgin olive oil, and six rib eye steaks. The lady working kind of gave me a look, and I said, “My mom is scared the roast won’t be big enough.”

  She nodded as if that explained away a kid grocery shopping before school perfectly. For all I know, it does. I crammed all of the crap in my backpack and raced out of there. Got home and grabbed the little book that had come with the mail steaks and set it on the counter while I put the rest of the food away. I put the steaks in the fridge along with the butter and sour cream. Left the potatoes and oil on the counter and got to reading. First thing on the list, get steaks to room temp. Crap. I took four of the grocery store rib eyes out and set them on the counter.

  I used a paring knife to remove the plastic wrap and put all four steaks on a metal serving tray. I went and got the salt and pepper out and was about to douse them when I grabbed the book. Don’t season until ready to grill. I left them on the counter and went to check the computer.

  Local news site had the arrest and the counterfeit bits. Left out Cindy entirely, but did say that the men were believed to have been involved in several kidnappings. The cops found two more kids at their house, one of them dead. It made it sound like the two guys from the car were alive—good. I took a deep breath and left the computer. So far my end was clean. So far.

  I went back to the kitchen and checked my steaks. They were getting close, so I did like the book said and got the grill started. I rubbed the grates down with olive oil and went back in to let the thing heat up.

  I read step three in the little guidebook and seasoned the meat. I only did one of the steaks and then read that I needed to brush them with olive oil in the middle of cooking. I tucked the guide in my back pocket, poured some oil in a little bowl, dropped in a silicone grilling brush, and brought the bowl and the steak outside. The grill was ready.

  I dropped the steak on the fire using tongs, like the book said. I’m not a dummy, I knew not to use a fork already, but it was nice to have that reaffirmed. I seared it just like the book said, brushed it down with oil, and flipped it. When I was done, I had something that resembled an oblong hockey puck, only less appetizing. It was almost three o’clock before my steaks were coming out right. I left the grill on—it’s a good thing it hooks to the house line, or I’d be screwed. I can’t imagine lugging a propane tank on my bike. I went in the house and prepped the potatoes. Poked them full of holes with a fork, rubbed them all over with olive oil, and seasoned them. I put the potatoes on the grill, took a shower, and made some calls.

  Gary answered like he’d been waiting on me. “Hello?”

  “Hey.”

  “Oh hey man, what’s up?”

  “Not much.”

  Yeah right.

  “I’m going to be making a drop in our spot, funny money, fifty stacks.”

  “What’s the word?”

  “Get rid of it.”

  “For free?”

  “Yeah, but tell the folks who get it to spend it.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay. When?”

  “I’ll drop off tonight, late.”

  “I’ll be ready to go soon man, one more week.”

  “Good. Get it spread good, Gary, all social circles. Word for anybody busted, dude with white hair handed it out.”

  “Alright.”

  I hung up, two more calls to make.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s done.”

  “When…”

  “Tonight, after midnight. Same spot as last time.”

  “Is it…”

  “Not yet. Give it a week before you do whatever you were planning to do. I’ve got money running on a couple of different angles for you.”

  I hung up, called Lou. Told him where, who, and when. He didn’t say a word, just listened and hung up. I went back in the kitchen, took the steaks out of the fridge, and opened them up. They looked and smelled different than the ones from the store, richer. I’d been eating steak all day, and I was still excited. I put the meat on a plate and went into the living room. I sat on the couch and tried to read for about a half an hour, but then I gave up and walked to the gas station.

  Chapter 48

  I’d been sitting for about twenty minutes when Arrow and Lou showed up. She got out, beautiful in a pair of jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt, hair piled atop her head like a mess of spaghetti and held together with a clip. Lou poled an arm out of the driver’s side window. I paid him a fifty and said, “Keep it, for next time. I’ll call in a few hours.”

  Lou nodded, a long conversation for us, and drove off. I walked to Arrow and said, “Are you ready?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like, show me your house and stuff. If you changed your mind, I wouldn’t be offended.”

  “I want you to see my house. No one else ever has.”

  We got to walking, right into my little nest of improvised suburbia. I showed her my first drop box as we passed it, told her how I built it, and she nodded like she was impressed. For all I know, she really was. I stopped when we got to the house. “Here we are.”

  “This house?”

  “Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s just so, well, normal.”

  “What did you expect, a tree fort clubhouse?”

  Her face reddened. I felt my heart trying to rip its way out of my chest.

  “No…I’m not sure. Actually, kind of. This is nice. Really nice. Really normal, but nice.”

  “You want to see the inside?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I bent over like an old-timey butler and extended my arm. “Then let’s go.”

  I let her sashay in front of me, jogging ahead at the last minute to open the door. Arrow stepped around me and into my house. She said, “Where’s all your stuff?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I looked at my living room, outfitted with a couch and nothing, leading to a kitchen and dining room with a card table and four chairs. I guess it was sparse. To be honest, I’d never really cared until now.

  “You…don’t have a TV?”

  “Too slow, too dumb.”

  She nodded. God, I love this girl. “That actually makes sense. What’s in there?”

  “Bedroom this way, office that way.”

  “Are those our steaks?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “They look amazing! Did you get those at Meijer’s?”

  “No, Lobe something. Online.”

  “You ordered us steaks from Lobel’s?”

  “Yeah. Wait, those are good, right? Because seriously, it didn’t put me out or anything, but I spent a pile on…”

  “How did you know about Lobel’s? I barely even know about that, and that was only because some idiot buddy of my dad’s wouldn’t shut up about them at some stupid party.”

  “Just a guess.”

  “Let’s put them on the grill. Is it hot?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Get the steaks, dummy.”

  We walked outside, me leading Arrow, holding a plate full of steaks and shouldering salt and pepper. I wasn’t sure what to say about the corn, so I just let her go
for it. “You have a farm!”

  “Yep.”

  “Just corn?”

  “Sort of.”

  She ducked her head in and yanked it back faster than it went in. “You grew that pot?”

  “Yes.”

  I opened the grill, tossed black pepper on the steaks, oiled the grates again, and fired the meat. Flames roared, and I shot Arrow a smile, shut the grill. I looked at my watch, noted the time, and said, “Five minutes.”

  “Aren’t you scared you’ll get caught?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why…”

  “I have to make money somehow, and I figure it’s not really hurting anybody. I charge a fair price and make a pretty good product. Everybody wins.”

  Arrow walked away from me, to the side of the corn and weed plot, and said, “I don’t want to move. I have like three friends who would let me stay with them, and my mom even says it would be okay if I want to, but when I mentioned it in front of Shelby, she wouldn’t stop screaming. I hate to say this, but sometimes I wish she would’ve just died. It doesn’t seem fair for her to live through something like that just to be so messed up by it that she can’t live a normal life.”

  I balanced my words like people level a checkbook. “It’ll take a while for her to come around, and a lot of that is going to have to do with Shelby, not counseling or meds or anything.”

  I almost told her about me, the real story, but I shut that off just as quick as it started. The house was one thing, but I couldn’t go that far. For better or worse, the survivor—the secrets, the sins, mine or others—always wins. She got the edited version.