1503900738

by Johnny Shaw

  “Why all defensive? I’m a nice guy.”

  “The saddest thing is you believe that.”

  Tom began to say something.

  “If you’re about to tell me that I would be a lot more attractive if I smiled or something equally stupid, consider this a warning not to.” Gretchen put the earbuds back in her ears. Tom stared at her for a moment and slid back to continue his musings.

  Looking back at her phone, Gretchen realized she had missed something big happening. A short, bald man was now sitting at the table. She recognized him from the Mark Land Symposium but didn’t know his name.

  “I know it’s not what we agreed to, but due to the cash arrangement and time frame, I had to bring someone else in. I hope that doesn’t change anything. The money is the same. You will just be doing business with Morris, not me.”

  Mother’s voice went flat. “I thought you were going to grow beans. That was your dream. I’d hate to see the land being used for some other purpose. You dance with the one you brought, sweetie.”

  “I brought Morris,” Stephanie said. “Morris plans on growing beans. Isn’t that right?”

  “Fava, garbanzo, pinto, black. We’re going to do it all.” Morris smiled. He rested a hand on Stephanie’s thigh.

  Gretchen felt immediately jealous.

  “You said you needed the money quickly,” Stephanie said. “This is the only way I could accomplish that. If you want to back out, I understand.”

  Gretchen had no idea what she had told Morris, but could see him envisioning himself and Stephanie settling down on the bean farm together. Poor Morris was getting piggybacked onto their con.

  Stephanie had smelled something hinky. And it wasn’t Mother and Fritzy’s getup. She had known for long enough to bring in Morris. It must have been Gretchen who had given it away.

  “Money is money,” Mother finally said.

  Morris slid the all-you-can-eat breadstick basket to the side, placed a briefcase on the table, and opened it facing Mother and Uncle Fritzy. It held five $10,000 bundles of hundos.

  “This is fifty thousand,” Mother said. “We said one hundred.”

  “We couldn’t swing that,” Stephanie said. “I shifted the money into the contract. When escrow closes, you’ll still get the same amount.”

  “That wasn’t what we agreed on,” Mother said.

  “It’s the only one we can do.”

  A long silence followed.

  “Okay,” Mother finally said, “but dinner is on you.”

  Stephanie nodded and laughed, staring directly at the camera.

  “I’m going to need my briefcase back,” Morris said. “It’s monogrammed.”

  “Were we supposed to bring a bag or something?” Fritzy asked.

  Mother took out the money and put it into her purse. Morris took the briefcase back.

  “What are your plans for retirement?” Stephanie asked. “You and Jedidiah?”

  “Get a little place outside of Branson,” Mother said. “You a Kenny Rogers fan?”

  “Who isn’t?” Stephanie said. “I know when to hold ’em, and I know when to fold ’em.”

  “I bet you do, honey,” Mother said, her accent dropping away completely.

  “She knew.” Mother fumed, taking her hair out of the pigtails as she stomped around the German restaurant. Her footsteps shook the floorboards and echoed through the large hall. “The bitch knew. Did you get sweet on her and talk out of school?”

  “Go to hell, Mother Ucker,” Gretchen said. “I did my part. I didn’t say shit.”

  Mother stared her down. “I believe you. We probably rushed it.”

  “Why didn’t she walk away?” Gretchen said. “Why go to the meeting? Why go through with the deal with someone else?”

  “Put it on layaway. Hedge her bets. Morris owns the land now—or at least thinks he does—and I’m sure she figures she can get it from him when she wants. No risk, same reward. Maybe got a finder’s fee. She didn’t fold. She checked.”

  “We got the money.”

  “Half the money. And it wasn’t hers. We lost. Tied, at best.”

  “Axel doesn’t need to know, right?” Gretchen said. “Let’s give him the win, let him believe he got his revenge. She gutted him.”

  “You mean lie to your brother?” Mother said.

  “I’ve been doing it for years. It’s super easy. This time, it would be a nice gesture. A kind of your-ass-doesn’t-look-fat-in-those-jeans lie.”

  “Fritzy?” Mother shouted across the room.

  “Girl’s got a point,” Fritzy said. “Don’t matter much. Doesn’t sound like it was on him that it all went tits up. Give the boy a victory lap.”

  “The confidence boost might help him going into the Floom thing,” Gretchen said.

  “He ain’t ever going to learn if he thinks a bad plan worked,” Mother said.

  “It was my fault,” Gretchen said. “I must have blown it somehow. Stephanie’s a pro. I was out of my league.”

  “She’s an amateur compared to Dolphus,” Mother said. “We’ll have to make sure Axel’s next plan works better. Give it more oversight.”

  Back at her apartment, Gretchen watched Dawn of the Dead to get her mind off Stephanie. She drank a beer and ate some microwave pork rinds, liberally pouring sriracha on them. When her phone beeped, she paused the movie but didn’t look right away. She knew who it was.

  Stephanie texted her an address. Somewhere downtown.

  When she walked into the dive bar, she saw Stephanie in a pool of light at a back booth. The sound of the pool table and some David Allan Coe on the jukebox told her it was her kind of place.

  She sat down across from Stephanie, but kept her eyes down.

  “What were your plans after you ripped me off?” Stephanie asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Can we not do that?” Stephanie said. “I thought I was the only one that trawled self-help seminars. Tell me if I’m right. I figure you spotted that guy chasing me and saw the chance to play hero. That was a great in. Quick thinking.”

  Gretchen hadn’t thought about it, but there was no reason for Stephanie to associate her with Axel, which was good. That would only complicate things.

  “You don’t seem mad,” Gretchen said. “Why aren’t you mad? Or hitting me? Or calling the cops?”

  “I am not a fan of the police. We’re in the same business. I’m a con woman, too.”

  Act surprised. Act surprised. Act surprised. “What? Really? You?”

  “You have to work on your acting.”

  “When did you know?” Gretchen asked.

  “If something seems too good to be true, it is. You didn’t make me work enough. You reeled me in too quickly. The fishing line broke. Impatience hurt you. This is the kind of thing you have to stretch out over a month or two, not a weekend. You practically forced those fake documents on me—which would have fooled me, by the way. Good work there. Also, you over-linted the office. I don’t mean to be critical. I feel like I’m giving you notes on your performance. A lot of good ideas, but it had the feel of—not quite an amateur, but someone who has planned a lot on paper but hasn’t seen their work on its feet.”

  “That pretty much nails it.”

  “If we’re going to do this thing, we’re going to have to agree on one thing. We can’t lie to each other anymore.”

  “Do what thing?”

  “If we’re going to become partners, of course.”

  “I tried to steal money from you. Why would you want to work with me? Or do you mean partners like—I’m confused.”

  “You tried to steal money from me,” Stephanie said. “That’s sexy as hell. It’s business. You were doing your job. Doesn’t mean that we can’t get to know each other better.”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  “I think you know,” Stephanie said. “And I think you feel the same way.”

  “We’ve only lied to each other.”

  �
�With words, yes. Words are always lies.”

  “How do I know this isn’t another scam? Revenge for what I did?”

  “Oh, you can’t,” Stephanie said, smiling. “People can’t trust other people, because people suck. But that doesn’t mean this isn’t real and we can’t try it.”

  “I hope you don’t take offense, but I have to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Are you insane? I mean like for real.”

  “Nuttier than a porta potty at a peanut festival.”

  “At least we have that in common,” Gretchen said. She leaned over the table and kissed Stephanie.

  CHAPTER 20

  Kurt and Louder walked to the open mic at Mugs and Quiches in the Kensington area of San Diego. Due to an unfortunate situation involving the police and six grams of hash, Pepe was on sabbatical.

  It had taken Kurt some time to get the itch to play music. When it hit, he didn’t want to waste it. Open mics acted as the perfect low pressure environments to play in front of a crowd. No stakes, the audience made up almost exclusively of other performers waiting for their turn to play.

  “Hey, everyone. My name’s Kurt. This is Louder. Tonight we’re Kinrip or Two-Thirds of Skinripper. This is a new one. I hope you like it. Ready, L?”

  Louder ran a drumstick down the front of her washboard and nodded. She had constructed a percussion instrument on a pole, with a washboard in the center, a symbol on top, and various pieces of scrap metal below, including some tuning forks, a cowbell, and some triangles.

  Kurt followed on the guitar.

  Grab all my old comic books, throw them into a box.

  Stuff my coin collection in a pair of black socks.

  I got a tarnished trombone that’s screaming out, “Hock me.”

  Need a coach-class ticket, got to get to Milwaukee.

  I can taste the peanuts on the flight over there.

  Got a six-hour stopover, I’m stuck in O’Hare.

  I can already see us stretched out on the floor.

  In front of the TV, watching Death Wish 4.

  Got to get to Wisconsin.

  Watch some Charles Bronson.

  Want to be in Wisconsin.

  Checkin’ out the Bronson.

  With you. With you.

  All those classic movies, you’d think he’d won an Oscar.

  Don’t matter none to me, ’cause the Chuck-man rocks her.

  Seen ’em all a million times, don’t bother me in the least,

  When I’m up against the beauty and I’m watching the beast.

  Louder launched into a badass washboard solo. What she lacked in precision, she made up for in volume and enthusiasm as she moved around the stage and banged her head in time. In a flurry of noise, the song ended. Louder whooped and threw her drumstick into the crowd. It knocked over someone’s coffee, bounced in the air, and hit a guy in the face.

  “Sorry,” Louder said.

  The crowd clapped politely, which was better than booing. Kurt would take it. There was a good chance that nobody in the young audience knew who Charles Bronson was. Maybe one of them would google the name and Kurt would have done his community service for the week.

  A loud whistle cut through the soft applause, followed by a booming voice. “What? Are you people deaf? Clap or I’ll come over there and show you how. Can’t stand people that clap their hands but don’t make noise. You aren’t mimes. It’s offensive.”

  The crowd clapped more enthusiastically. A few people laughed. A dreadlocked waif with a guitar walked onstage as Kurt and Louder left. She said, “I wish my mom was that supportive. She hates my life choices.”

  Kurt and Louder walked to the back of the room and sat down at Mother’s table.

  “You haven’t met Louder,” Kurt said. “Louder, this is Mother.”

  “Louder is a strange name for a girl,” Mother said.

  “Your name is Mother Ucker,” Louder said. “If a guy named Hogwash Puddledick walked in, he’d have the second dumbest name in the room.”

  “I like her,” Mother said.

  “I haven’t made a decision about you yet,” Louder said.

  Kurt looked back and forth between their staring contest. “How did you know I was here? I didn’t tell anyone about it.”

  “I have my ways.” Mother winked. “I wanted to see you play again.”

  “This is just a goof to stay in practice. The songs I’m writing now are all mundane stuff. The other day I wrote a song called ‘I Accidentally Poured Guava Juice on my Cinnamon Life but Ate It Anyway, and You Know What? It Wasn’t That Bad.’”

  “Not all songs have to open a vein,” Louder said. “I like that song. It’s about taking what’s given to you and making the best of it. Even if you don’t think something will work out, doesn’t mean it won’t.”

  “It’s my truth,” Kurt said.

  The woman on stage started her set. She strummed on her guitar, her voice just above a whisper.

  We heal. We live. We are reborn.

  Passion is a constant. Nothing is impossible.

  Only a seeker of the dreamtime may create this source of faith.

  We exist as superpositions of possibilities.

  Power is the driver of curiosity. Nothing is impossible.

  The stratosphere is buzzing with supercharged waveforms.

  Wanderer, look within and heal yourself.

  “Can we talk?” Mother asked Kurt as she shot a look in Louder’s direction.

  “You know what?” Louder said. “I’m going to take off. It’s a long drive back to Warm Springs.”

  “You sure?” Kurt asked.

  “She didn’t come here to see you play,” Louder said. “That’s cool. I’ll see you later, K. If she asks for money, don’t give it to her.” She stood up, gave Kurt a punch on the arm, and walked toward the door.

  “Aren’t you going to walk your girlfriend to her car?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. Besides, she can take care of herself. Desert rats bite.”

  “She’s got the hots for you. Trust me. I can read people. And she’s a billboard. Let’s get out of here.”

  Harry Cronin sat alone at the end of the bar. He drank what looked like a blue Hawaiian with an umbrella and pineapple garnish, a bold choice for the surroundings. Not a tiki bar or themed in any way, the dive looked like the location for a Hank 3 video. Filthy and rough.

  Kurt stopped at the door as soon as he saw Cronin. “What’s he doing here? Is this a bust? Is he busting us?”

  “Why would I take you here if I thought you’d be in trouble?” Mother asked. “Trust me.”

  Kurt and Mother walked to Cronin. He lifted his drink. “First one’s on me. What can I get you?”

  “What do you want?” Kurt asked, still bristling.

  “Take it easy, kid,” Cronin said. “I know we started off bad.”

  Mother sat next to Cronin and motioned for Kurt to take a seat. “We worked out a deal—Agent Cronin and me.”

  Kurt looked around the bar. There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the place. Not even a bartender.

  “You are mortal enemies,” Kurt said. “He wants to arrest you. He told me himself. He wanted me to rat everyone out.”

  “I should be angry at you, kid,” Cronin said. “I told you not to talk to anyone, and what do you do? Immediately tell this one.”

  “You should know by now that Uckers are loyal to each other,” Mother said.

  “Your aunt is not the only crook on my shit list, son,” Cronin said. “As much as I would like to bust her, she offered me a bigger fish. One that I couldn’t resist. Dolphus Ucker has been hiding in plain sight, but nobody’s been able to touch him.”

  “You see,” Mother said, “Agent Cronin doesn’t care if we thieve a thief. So long as we can hand Dolphus over to him.”

  “After that,” Cronin said, “we can go right back to the cat-and-mouse game we’ve been playing for decades.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any ot
her way,” Mother said. “A ceasefire.”

  “I don’t have anything to do with our grandfather,” Kurt said. “I don’t see how I could help.”

  “Not yet, but we’ll find a way in for you,” Mother said. “You’re the only one we can trust. Your brother and sister can’t know.”

  “I’m sensing all sorts of bullspit here. Why shouldn’t they be in on it?”

  “Blame Mother,” Cronin said. “I’ve been double-crossed by her before. If it weren’t Dolphus that I was after, I’d bust all of you right now. I’ve got your sister for the break-ins. Your brother for the land scam. That’s right. I know about that, too. If there are too many Uckers in on the Floom thing, you’ll find a way to turn it on me. You and Mother, that’s it. Nobody else knows. If I get any indication that they know, I haul all of you in.”

  “Even Fritzy doesn’t know,” Mother said. “He thinks I’m at spin class.”

  Cronin laughed at that. Mother shot him a look. He went serious again.

  “I want something in writing,” Kurt said. “Something that clears me and Axel and Gretchen.”

  Cronin reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a rolled-up document. He flattened it out on the table. The heading read, “Confidential Informant Agreement.”