Jack - Perfect Burn: Hot Crime Romance

by Alice May Ball

  He said, “You have a cell phone?”

  Silently, I nodded. He nodded too.

  “I’ll need to take your cell phone, but you’ll be safe. I’ll be an hour. An hour and a half, at the most.”

  I shook my head. I should have made more of a fight of it, I know. Even then I knew. But there’s no point starting a fight when you know your body already wants to lose it.

  “I have to ask you to give me your phone.”

  He held out his hand. Crouching on the van’s metal floor, I looked up at him, pleading.

  “I’ll bring it back. I just need to make sure no one tracks you here.”

  “Of course.” I said. “That’s you keeping me safe, right?”

  His hand remained outstretched. Like he was telling a story to a child, he said, “This is what I have to do. I’ll take your phone with me, and about a mile or two from here, I’ll switch it off and take out the little SIM card. That way, if anyone tracks your phone, wherever it is that I switch it off is where they’ll look for you.”

  He handed me some kind of a tablet computer, like an iPad from a Toys-R-Us in a sci-fi movie. My expertise with tech was close to zero at the best of times. Looking at this thing, I had no idea where to start. Still, he was giving me something that looked special in its own peculiar way.

  Really, I had no idea what I might be able to get out of it, if anything at all. It wasn’t likely I would be able to get e-mail or make contact with anyone. It was kind of a gesture, I guessed. Like, you give me something, I give you something.

  I handed over my iPhone and stroked the top of its case as I let it go.

  “I’ll be back soon. I promise.” He slid the door closed, and for a moment, I wanted to cry.

  Miserably I sat, crouched in the back of the cold van, thinking about what a stupid decision I’d made. Wondering if I should bang on the sides of the van, although the parking lot seemed pretty empty as we drove up.

  What an idiot, I thought. How could I let him do this to me? Thoughts of him, pictures of him curled around in my brain like smoke. Had I given in so easily, hoping for something? Could I really be that dumb myself?

  He was the kind of man you’d see at the dark end of a bar, hunched over a double shot of bourbon. Tall, pretty, long-legged girls would flutter around him, primping, posing, and giggling.

  Seeing him over the top of your stupid candy-colored cocktail, you’d think, What does it take to get a man like that? You’d know that the answer would be something bad, and something you probably either couldn’t do or couldn’t bring yourself to do. Something you maybe wouldn’t want to or even be able to do. Or you’d tell yourself you didn’t want to. He was the kind of man to give a girl bad thoughts.

  Or maybe the kind of girls that guys like him went for were in a league apart. Maybe they really were a different species.

  In high school, I remembered the cheerleaders, the preps, and the pouting wild things all the jocks ran after. Most of them weren’t so great.

  If you saw them without all of their makeup on, a couple of days out from the salon maybe, they didn’t even look so great. But they dressed well, meaning that they wore the most up-to-date and expensive designer labels, and they all had a supreme air of confidence. And they made the most of what they had.

  They had a way of looking bored. Bored so that guys wanted to come and entertain them. A permanent, slack look on their faces that said, Come on, what can you do to amuse me? And the boys would line up to show them.

  Plus they dressed to emphasize their assets. Their milkshakes brought all the boys to the yard, because they presented their tits with every physical support aid they could find. Push-up bras, tissue stuffed underneath, bras that were too tight across the back, tops pulled down to emphasize their cleavage. They’d have had red, flashing, neon arrows pointed at them, if they could.

  In high school, that certainly was the common denominator. If you showed some heaving cleavage, you had your pick of the boys.

  That high school prom, when I rocked the plunging neckline, push-up bra, and for good measure, added a few drips too many from mom’s most expensive perfume—that brought all the boys to the yard. They only wanted one thing, but I knew that. That night, I only wanted one thing too. At least, when I went out it was what I wanted.

  Seeing the looks on all those boys faces, plus remembering how they looked at me just the day before in class—even after all the sweet, sticky drinks they all bought me—even seeing their stupid tongues lolling out—it made me think again. I remembered them sniggering behind their hands. Heads bent together as they shared their nasty little jokes. I knew they’d line up for what they wanted, but then I knew they’d just have had a whole new punchline.

  When it came down to it, just because I could get them to like me more didn’t make me forget what assholes they’d been to me all that year. It didn’t make me like them any better. I left the prom early and went drinking with my cousin instead.

  Guys like the car thief, he was a different story. He wasn’t putting on an act. He wasn’t trying to impress anybody.

  I poked aimlessly at the screen of the tablet. It asked for a password. Obviously, I didn’t know one.

  I slid my fingers over the button that said “cancel” and the screen flashed.

  Then my picture appeared.

  Chapter Five

  THE BMW’S TIRES SQUEALED and smoked as I shot it out of the parking garage. An aged Saturn swerved and a bus sounded a honking horn as I blazed across the three lanes of traffic.

  Getting the car to Gregor any later would have been another complication I didn’t need. So, I wanted to keep the slave girl safe, and that’s what I would do. Probably just long enough to fuck her.

  Hey, why not? After that, most likely I’d forget about her and be thinking about the next girl. Or just waiting for one to cross my path.

  In the meantime, she was a smoking piece of ass.

  About halfway to Gregor’s garage at a stop light, I took out the slave girl’s iPhone in its colorful beaded case. For a moment I felt it and thought about her back in the van.

  Somewhere I had an iPhone tool, but there was a paperclip in the console. Straightened out, that did the job. I drove with one hand and jammed the end of the paperclip into the side of the iPhone.

  The little SIM card slipped out and I dropped it in my pocket, then switched the phone off to be sure.

  Now whoever might be trying to track her would be looking a long time through camera footage from that busy intersection.

  The RAV4 was among the pickups outside Gregor’s garage as I skidded to a stop, so I knew that Tynie was there. The shuttered door was stiff and it rattled as I shoved it up and ducked underneath, into the long, semi-dark, clanging workshop. I yanked the door down noisily behind me.

  At the back of the arched brick shop, Gregor’s head barely lifted, but I felt the sharp gleam of his scowl all the same. Gregor was about two hundred and forty pounds of muscle. Bent over the guns and ammunition clips on the metal table, talking with Seb, the Romanian driver, his eyes barely slipped in my direction.

  Tynie was working on a black Honda Civic. He hunkered down under the hood as soon as he saw me. When Tynie arrived before I did, Gregor would definitely have asked him what happened. How we got separated.

  How Tynie and me did our business was none of Gregor’s, but he always wanted to know everything. For a big, tough guy like him, that seemed pretty sneaky.

  Whether Tynie saw the girl in the back of the BMW, I had no way of knowing. We were a little ways apart when she started banging on the windows.

  But whatever Gregor asked him, Tynie would have given away everything he knew for sure. Tynie was unable to lie, or even to conceal anything whenever anyone questioned him.

  I remembered a few times when we were teenagers, he asked me if I could teach him. He wanted to do things and not always have his dad know what he was up to. I tried. How I fucking tried.

  Tynie couldn’t say anythi
ng that wasn’t true without making it sound completely phony. The worst of it was the way that his head went down and to the side and his body shrank away. Then he’d look back up to see if you were watching him. You’d ask a question, he’d just close up. Straight away, you could see that he was trying to hide something.

  It was pretty funny. Any child would sniff the truth out of him in no time flat.

  Whatever Tynie had seen, Gregor would have gotten it out of him and I had to be ready. Gregor would have something to say about it, but if he wanted to make a beef out of it, fuck him.

  He got his car, my part of the deal was done. I wished I had a way to let Tynie know that it was okay and I understood. But there wasn’t and he’d have to cope.

  “The car’s outside,” I told Gregor. He straightened up and put his hands on his hips as he looked at me. His eyes narrowed and he breathed in, teeth tugging at his lip.

  His years in the dirty tricks squad of the Serbian military and his fast work rising through the local crime networks here in the US made Gregor a tough customer, and a rough prospect.

  Each and every time I saw him, he gave me a cold chill deep in my stomach. Every time it made me wish that the last time I saw him, I’d told him that I didn’t want to work with him anymore.

  Now he just stared at me and waited. The look in his eye, the way that he stood there was a challenge. Like always. Like he was daring you.

  I called over, “You want me to bring the car inside?”

  As he looked at me, Gregor’s head tilted to one side just slightly and his eyes flashed. Still looking at me he reached out and slapped Tynie’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Go,” he said, and flicked his fingers forward without looking at Tynie. “Bring us the car.”

  It came to me again that whatever happened, I wouldn’t let Gregor know about the slave girl. I would protect her from him if I had to, but I really didn’t want to have to. A surge started deep down at the thought.

  He was one of those guys where the first time you meet him, you start thinking about how it would be. What you would do. What might work. What wouldn’t.

  And you go on thinking about it, because the possibility never goes away. No matter how much time passes, you know it could happen. And you know, whatever you do, you won’t be ready. Not as ready as he is.

  The first time I ran into Gregor I felt it and every time since. One day, one way or another I knew we’d have to get into it. There would have to be a reckoning. A trial of strength.

  Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be pretty. I’d be an idiot to hurry it along, but when it came to it, I’d be ready for him.

  Tynie walked by and his eyes wouldn’t meet mine. I wanted to tell him it was okay, but conversations with Tynie about things like that were always a lot more than a couple of words and usually ended up in a misunderstanding. They got complicated, and sometimes they got difficult. Anyway, Tynie was going to be okay. I’d see to it, somehow.

  Gregor’s voice was like a hammer. “What you waiting for?” He looked at me some more. He stood by the metal table, the top of it covered with guns. Half a dozen short barrel, pump action shotguns, Glocks, Uzis. Some big automatics. Gregor and the three guys were going to be armed up like a special ops group. The sight of them unarmed was scary enough.

  “Get over here.” Seb backed away as I approached. Gregor’s face opened and split with a big smile as he reached his hand out toward me. He pulled me close for a hug. His grip was tight. Gregor liked to hug a lot.

  He pulled me to him. Patted me all down my back. Like you might pat someone if you were looking for a wire or a concealed weapon. When Gregor did it, it was like he was hunting for your concealed intentions. He put his hand on your ribs. Felt your spine. Held your shoulders. All the while, trying to feel what was inside you.

  “The car’s got a Buddha inside,” I told him. “It’ll bring you bliss on the job.” Gregor held me by the shoulders. Pulled back and peered in my eyes. Still with the big grin. “So you had a blissful ride here, Jacker?”

  He liked to call me that. He had nicknames for everyone. Most of them seemed to have a double meaning, and usually it was uncomplimentary.

  I said, “There was an incident on the highway. Cops all over the place. I was trying to get your car here in time.”

  Gregor didn’t say anything. Still held onto my shoulders. Still looked into my eyes. What had Tynie told him?

  Back at the entrance to the workshop, the big chain clattered to roll the shutter open. Then Tynie drove the BMW inside. He popped the hood, jumped out, and rolled a tool trolley to the fender. I called over to him, “Tynie, you got the fob for the RAV4?”

  “It’s in the RAV.” He didn’t look up at me. Poor kid.

  Gregor waved a gesture for me to come back to him.

  “We’re just ready for the briefing, Jacker. Stay. You might learn something.”

  “I’m not coming on the score with you, Gregor. Why would you want me at the briefing?”

  “You’re not coming on this one.” Gregor’s grin had a sly tilt. “Maybe another one. You never know, right?” His hand was on my shoulder again. “You can never know too much. Like my father said, not unless you talk too much.”

  All things considered, I thought maybe I would accept his invitation. Like he said, you can never know too much. Unless you know too much.

  As we all grouped around the weapons table, all except for Tynie, I stood next to Seb. Seb, the driver, was a relaxed, easy-going guy. A bear of a man, but a gentle giant. While the raid was going on, he would take the BMW into position outside the bank. He would have the doors open and be ready to drive the getaway. Seb was a great driver. We’d swapped tips and tales more than once.

  Hannes and Lubic were the muscle. Gregor gave them instructions to be inside the bank near the entrance. They were to go in with the big, shiny pump-action shotguns. Their jobs were to make sure that the tellers, the guards, and the customers in the bank all knew what they had to do. They’d be sure and let everyone know what would happen if their responses were not satisfactory.

  “Blow all the holes you like in the building,” Gregor told them. “If you have to fire at anyone,” he looked slowly around the table, “Somebody fucked up.”

  The point of Hannes and Lubic was that they were big enough and frightening enough that everyone ought to do what they were told, and fast. That way, no one had to get shot.

  Jared was the safecracker and explosives guy. In front of the whole gang, Gregor told him, “You should get a free ride, Jared. If everyone does what they’re told, they’ll open the vault for us and you won’t need to blow anything up.”

  Jared’s dark face didn’t give anything away. Gregor said, “You know that if you do have to work, you need to be very fucking fast.”

  Jared nodded, “One minute twenty-two for the alarm to first responders on the scene.” Then he looked around at everyone in turn. “If I have to blast, look out for yourself. It will be a short charge. Ten or fifteen seconds at the most. Get as far back as you can. There will probably be blood. Try to keep hold of your own.” His deep, hollow voice echoed. His voice was way scarier than Hannes and Lubic’s faces.

  And Ratke. He was the weapons tech, and I hadn’t seen him before. His grin was too wide for my liking and he seemed way too fidgety for an armorer.

  Gregor went over the plan with a map on a laptop, reminding everyone of where they had to be. It made me nervous, hearing all that detail. All of that potential evidence.

  He reminded everyone that the weapons were for scaring people, not for killing them. “Bank robbery gets long enough sentences.” He glowered at each man in turn. Ratke shrugged. Gregor told him, “Nobody needs bloodshed to make their sentence longer.”