The Con

by Nicole Marsh

  “Just think about it,” he pleads.

  “No.” My tone is firm. I’m finished with this conversation, but Derek doesn’t seem to get the hint.

  “It’s easy money.”

  “I prefer to work for my money,” I counter.

  Derek widens his eyes and pouts his lower lip. It’s probably one of his usual seduction techniques which normally has girls swooning, but in my opinion, it makes him look like a child begging his mother for a cookie.

  Not attractive.

  “Kenzie,” he whines, adding to the whole childlike vibe he’s sending. “I would be taking all the risk. All you would do is be an informant and tell me the layout of the house, what valuables they keep in each room, and any security they have. Your part is way easier, with less risk involved, and you get an equal share in the profits. Aren’t you saving up to leave this place? This will help you add to your funds. We could make a grand, each. Easy.” Derek’s tone is serious, and he allows silence to fill the space after his words.

  Following the brief pause, I mutter, “I’ll think about it.”

  I wish I could say my response was just to get Derek off my back, so I could close the door and prepare for work. However, he’d successfully put a bug in my ear like he’d intended.

  A thousand dollars is a lot of money to someone like me. Dismissing the idea of adding such a large sum to my savings is difficult, even if I would have to commit a crime to earn it.

  Derek’s shoulders relax, making me realize how anxious he was for my response. “You do that Kenzie-girl. Let me know when you decide.” Without having to slam my door on him, he leaves. I watch for a second as he drifts down my steps, back towards his trailer, our conversation repeating itself in my head.

  A thousand dollars.

  Sighing, I gently close the door and return to my bedroom. At least Derek kept me from being late. I slowly dig through my clothes until I find a clean uniform top, then begin the process of getting dressed.

  By the time I’m ready for work, I’ve successfully talked myself down from Derek’s offer and the potential money. Although it’s tempting, I don’t want to start down that path. I refuse to become the type of person that drags others down in order to climb up.

  Deciding to tell Derek the next time I see him, it’s a definite no from me, I lock my trailer as I leave, then pick up my bike. The heat is already scorching outside, and I waffle between grabbing a pair of shorts to ride in or not.

  The thought of Mr. Mouchard eyeing my ass and legs in a pair of cutoffs, while I make my way to the lobby bathroom to change, makes the decision for me. No shorts today. I jump onto my bike and pedal in the direction of work, instantly beginning to sweat.

  I arrive at the motel a few minutes earlier than usual. Despite the sun beating down on me, I linger outside to kill the extra time, kicking pebbles on the cement, not wanting to spend a second longer with Mr. Mouchard than absolutely necessary.

  When it’s two minutes to my shift, I shove open the lobby door while sighing deeply. My steps falter, in surprise as my eyes find Mr. Mouchard and see he isn’t standing alone. With him, behind the front counter, is a girl a couple inches shorter than my five-foot eight frame. She has cotton candy pink hair and huge doe eyes that take up a third of her face. Although the feature is extra-large, her small nose and plump lips make it work, and she’s startlingly pretty.

  “McKenzie, so glad you could join us,” Mr. Mouchard oozes out, in his usual, slimy tone. He gestures to the girl standing next to him. “This is Candy, I hired her to take over some of your shifts, since you’ll be starting school soon.”

  Fuck.

  I needed to ask him for more hours to cover the raise in cost for my lot rent and he went and hired someone else?

  Fuckity Fuck Fuck.

  I’m forced to shake myself out of my inner dialogue and step forward to shake Candy’s hand when she smiles and offers it to me. She leans across the counter to meet me halfway and her breasts instantly capture my attention. They’re unnaturally large and threaten to spill out of her blouse at the slightest movement, straining the top button of her pale blue work shirt.

  Dragging my eyes from Candy, I scope out Mr. Mouchard. He doesn’t even notice my suspicious glare, he’s transfixed by Candy’s bosom, creepily stroking a single finger across his mustache.

  Well, crap.

  Even if she sucks, there’s no way he’ll fire her. As long as she keeps the girls on display, her job here is safe. I glance down at my own, much flatter chest, briefly entertaining the idea of trying to show off my breasts to receive more hours on the schedule. I quickly brush aside the idea. Six dollars an hour isn’t worth Mr. Mouchard’s creepy attention.

  No way.

  Sighing, I resign myself to losing money and hours to Candy. Maybe if I’m lucky, she’ll hate it here and decide to quit.

  I paste on a smile and address the new girl. “Are we working together today?”

  Mr. Mouchard shakes his head, answering my question for her. “No, you’re on your own today. I’m going to show Candy here how to work the computer.”

  Work the computer?

  I’ve been employed here for a year and a half and I’ve never been given more responsibility than cleaning the rooms and skimming the old, dirty pool. I want to rage at the unfairness of the situation, but I tamp it down and turn to the janitorial closet instead. With a fake smile plastered on my face, I check the list, then load up my cleaning cart as usual.

  Just another day in the life.

  Before I’m fully through the doors of the lobby, Mr. Mouchard stops me. “Oh, McKenzie?”

  I pivot, facing the desk at the sound of my name, tilting my head in lieu of responding.

  “You can have the rest of the week off. I’ll show Candy the ropes and the two of us can handle it.” I watch Mr. Mouchard as he watches Candy’s tits. His gaze doesn’t even acknowledge me as he cuts my shift.

  “Great,” I reply.

  Fucking great.

  Chapter 5

  My thoughts wander as I pedal home after my shift. Where can I apply for a new position? I have two months until my eighteenth birthday, the day I can open a bank account.

  That means, best case scenario, I’ll find somewhere to pay me cash to help keep me afloat. Worst case scenario, somewhere will hire me and I’ll stockpile a few checks, then deposit them the day I turn eighteen, or pay to have them cashed somewhere if I require the money sooner. Either way, I really need to avoid the worst, worst case scenario which is anyone finding out my mom bailed months ago, leaving me in a trailer to fend for myself.

  Freedom is so close; I can taste it. I can’t have CPS sniffing around me sixty-five days before I’m legally allowed to be on my own.

  As I’m mulling over my options a red “Now Hiring” poster catches the corner of my eye. Feeling like it’s a sign from above, I quickly brake and drag my bike to the curb. Gently laying the rusted metal against the brick, I read the words painted on the awning of the building, “Pawnstar Plus”.

  It’s never been my dream to work at a pawnshop, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  Opening the door, a tinkling bell rings across the shop. An older man with dark hair wearing a pair of khakis pops up from behind the counter. “Here to pawn something, dear?” he asks, in a jolly tone.

  I shake my head. “No.” Clearing my throat I continue, “I actually came to ask for an application. I saw the sign in the window.”

  “Ahhh, of course. Are you eighteen?” he follows up, while placing a sheet of paper on the counter.

  “Not yet,” I begin. “I will be in two months though.”

  A sympathetic frown appears on the man’s face. “Ahh, bummer. I’m unable to have you here alone if you’re under eighteen. Tell you what though, why don’t you fill out the application anyway? I’ll give you a call around your birthday, if we’re still looking for someone.”

  I nod my head, even though I think this is a waste of time. I don’t need a job in two
months, I need one like yesterday. Disregarding the thought, I stride towards the counter, snatching up the pen placed against the glass for me and begin to scrawl down my first name.

  Movement catches my eyes and I peer out from under my lashes. The pawnshop owner has drifted to the back wall and is placing merchandise onto shelves. A duster sits to the side, like I interrupted his cleaning tasks with my entrance.

  Although I’ll probably have to find something else in the meantime, I already like this nameless man more than Mr. Mouchard. If he were to offer me an opportunity around my birthday, maybe I would leave the motel to work for someone that doesn’t hover to stare down my shirt or at my ass, while I’m bent over.

  Forcing myself to focus, I continue the application. Filling in the basic information and a small questionnaire. Quickly skimming through the questions on the backside, I check the appropriate boxes before signing my name with a flourish. Finished, I gently set the pen back onto the case and straighten up.

  The man must have been watching me from afar, as he promptly returns to the portion of counter I’m posted at. He lifts my application and I can see his eyes dancing back and forth across the page as he takes in my information.

  His previously jolly smile drops off his face as he reads, causing a nervous flare. “Is something wrong with my application?” I ask, attempting to keep a light tone despite my concern.

  He finally drags his eyes away from the page to meet my gaze, a crease formed between his brows and his lips turned downwards. “Are you any relation to Samantha Carslyle?” He asks, in a tone much less friendly than before.

  “Err, yes,” I hedge. “She’s my mother.”

  “I’m sorry, we’re no longer hiring.” The man says and I watch as he takes my application and tears it straight down the middle. Then tears those pieces in half again, sprinkling the quarters of the page into the garbage behind him when he’s finished.

  I nod once, even though I’m baffled by the man’s bizarre behavior. Turning, I trudge back towards the door, feeling a strange sense of loss, even though nothing I had was actually taken away.

  The second my hand reaches to push against the handle, the man’s voice floats across the store. I pause, wondering if he’s going to apologize for shredding the application he encouraged me to fill out. His words offer a different explanation for his actions. “McKenzie, if you could send your mom my way when you see her. Tell her Mack from Pawnstar Plus hasn’t forgotten about the forty-five hundred bucks she owes him for the merchandise she stole last year.”

  My shoulders slump, and I nod without facing him. Resigned, I shove against the door and exit the shop.

  My mom isn’t even here anymore and she’s still fucking me over.

  I pull my bike off the ground and place my feet onto the pedals. Pumping a few times, I get myself into motion gliding down the road, and then defeat washes over me.

  So much for a sign from above.

  Not only do I have to find somewhere that will hire me when I’m not even eighteen, I also need to find a business my mom didn’t screw over before she left our small town, and me, behind. With jaded eyes, I inspect each shop as I coast by.

  The liquor store? Obviously not.

  The grocery shoppette? Probably not.

  The thrift store? No.

  Each business I assess has me drooping even lower over my handle bars, under the weight of my sudden despair. My thoughts drift as I reach the edge of downtown and make the first left to return to the trailer park. As hard as I try not to, I keep repeating Derek’s words from earlier.

  One thousand dollars.

  What if I agreed to pull the con on Collin Franzen and his family?

  Would it really hurt anyone?

  The more I think about it, the less it sounds like a bad idea and the more it sounds like my salvation. His parents are rich. They’re the type of people that could easily afford to replace a few electronics or pieces of jewelry. Anything Derek or Zane took would be a minor blip in the road for them, not a catastrophic loss.

  The front tire of my bike hits the dirt path leading into the park. I pick up pace as my resolve strengthens, zipping past the office towards the trailers a few dozen yards ahead. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pedal across the pitted dirt, past my trailer. When I reach the end of the road, I skid to a halt, and throw my bike onto the patchy yellow grass in front of Derek’s.

  I muster up my confidence and raise my fist, hammering against the thin, wooden door. Pausing for a second, I perk my ears to listen for any sound inside.

  “Hang on a second,” Derek’s voice hollers through the thin barrier, after a brief delay.

  I cross my arms over my chest to comfort myself, or maybe hold in the feeling that I’m doing the wrong thing, while I wait. I know with a sense of certainty I’m about to venture down a path I may not recover from, but I’ve run out of options.

  My ancient coffee cannister holds about two months’ worth of savings. That’s enough to keep me afloat until I turn eighteen, but only barely. If my shifts continue to get cut at the motel, I’m on the path to becoming a homeless teenager.

  A thousand dollars is a lot to someone like me.

  In a literal sense, it’s enough to change my life.

  Derek’s front door flies open and reveals him in the doorway, shirtless with his tattooed, muscular body on full display. I’ve seen the hodge podge of designs scattered across his arms, but never had a view of his entire upper body, prior to this moment. I keep my eyes focused on his face, despite the temptation to trace the myriad of designs inked into his skin.

  If I did something like that, Derek would think I’m interested in him—which I’m not—the results of which, would be him bothering me more often than he already does. I’m here to create less problems for myself, not fully immerse myself into the Trouble that orbits around Derek, like the earth around the sun.

  Derek quirks a brow, interrupting my inner turmoil.

  I am a good person; I’m not like Derek.

  At least that’s what I’m telling myself, despite my next words. Inhaling deeply, I release my breath slowly, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible with the lengthy exhale. When the last ounce of air has passed my lips, I simply state, “I’m in.”

  His face transforms into a beautiful smile, his dimple fully popping into view. “Kenzie-girl. I knew you’d come around.” Derek steps forward and wraps an arm around me, trying to pull me forward to join him in the trailer.

  As quickly as I can, I wriggle free, brushing almost every inch of skin on his torso in the process. “I have some rules, first, Derek,” I state sternly, re-crossing my arms and standing to my full height.

  Derek is clearly fighting the urge to transition his friendly smile into a smirk, but he nods solemnly. “Would you like to come in, so we can sit and talk? I’ll put a shirt on.”

  I squirm uncomfortably at the thought of entering Derek’s trailer, I’m sure it’s grimy and dingy.

  “It’s probably better if this conversation isn’t overheard,” he adds on in a hushed tone, when I remain on his porch in silence, for a beat too long.

  Reluctantly, I nod my head and brush past him as he holds the door open for me to enter. My eyes flit over the surfaces, which are all, surprisingly, pretty clean. His counters are cluttered with stacks of boxes and half of the table is unusable, hosting tubs of what looks like cell phones.

  If Derek hadn’t already approached me to help him rob the Franzen’s, my suspicions of his extracurricular activities would have been confirmed by entering his trailer. It looks like he robbed a Best Buy.

  I gingerly walk across the floor and perch on the edge of the clutter-free bench next to his table. I leave my legs extended into the center of the room, so Derek can’t squeeze his way in to sit beside me.

  His eyes dance, but he lounges against the counter and crosses his arms. “Okay, what are your terms?”

  “I want half,” I blurt out, immediately.

 
“Half of the money we make?” Derek asks, arching his brow.

  I nod, once, vigorously. I’ve never negotiated before, but I feel like I’ve already started this wrong. I backtrack to make a point before laying out all my demands. “I mean, Zane doesn’t even need to be involved and none of this would even be possible if I wasn’t helping you. If we pull the con on the Franzen’s, I want half of whatever money is made,” I repeat with a firmer tone.

  Derek scratches the underside of his chin, lost in thought. “I could just lie to you about how much we made. You wouldn’t even know what half is.”

  “You wouldn’t,” I insist. “Because I’ll have the information you and Zane were the ones to rob the house.”

  “You’d be taken in for facilitating the robbery if you ratted me out,” he counters.

  “All I did was talk about my friend’s house, how was I supposed to know my neighbor was planning to rob his parents, officer?” I adopt an innocent tone and a scared frown as I make the statement.

  He releases a deep belly laugh and relaxes his arms to his sides, lounging against the counter fully. “Fair enough,” Derek finally says. “Anything else?”

  His words allow my shoulders to relax, reducing some of their tension. If I decide to become this person, and commit to this plan, I need to make enough money that this is a one-time thing.

  I eventually nod. “No one else gets to know I’m involved. Not even Zane if he helps you.”

  “Deal,” Derek agrees without a second thought.

  He pushes off the counter and tips forward, offering me his hand. I clasp my own around it, shaking firmly while his callouses scrape against me.

  “What’s next?” I ask when our palms have separated.

  Derek smirks. “We seal the deal with a good ole fashioned fuck?”

  I scoff and roll my eyes.

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Derek shrugs. “Now, Kenzie-Girl, you need to find a way to spend time with Franzen.”