The Double Cross

by Michael P. King

  Paul walked out of the tavern and into the afternoon glare. Stella was a good person to know. He needed more friends like her. And the job? That was the easiest work he’d done in a long time. He went into a Stop-N-Go and used the pay phone to call a cab. From there he went to the convention center downtown.

  Happy hour was in full swing at the convention center bar. A crowd of men and women in business clothes with conference nametags clipped onto their jackets were networking with acquaintances and catching up with old friends. Paul bumped into a man who was leaving the bar and lifted his name tag. Now he was Jeremy Singer. He circled the room, on the lookout for a particular type of woman: middle-aged, married, expensive clothes, drinking alone. A woman whose dress and makeup showed that she considered herself sexually desirable. Preferably a woman whose nametag indicated that she was at a different conference than Jeremy Singer. He went to the bar, ordered a beer, and paid for it with a counterfeit twenty. Then he sat down at a table in the far corner with a good view of the space and waited.

  There were a couple of likely candidates, but it was too soon to move. It was best if they got enough drinks in them to begin to feel lonely. Groups were leaving for dinner. The bar was beginning to empty out. Two women came up to one of his prospects. She immediately brightened up, and they all left together. Another of his prospects asked for a bar phone, made a call, and turned down the bartender’s inquiry about another drink.

  But his third prospect was hard drinking, hunched down on her stool like she was never leaving. She was slim, with dark, shoulder-length hair. She wore an ivory suit. A wedding ring that glittered with diamonds was on her left hand, and a gold bracelet was on her right wrist. The perfunctory strand of pearls hung around her neck. Paul waited until the bartender was in close proximity to her. Then he went up to the bar next to her and flagged the bartender. “Another beer, please.”

  The bartender nodded. Paul glanced at the woman. Her name tag read Sandra Malone. “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  The bartender set his beer in front of him.

  “Which conference you at?”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  “I’m sorry. Just making conversation.”

  She smiled. “No, no, I was just thinking about something else.”

  “I’m Jeremy. I’m at the pharmaceutical meetings.”

  “I’m Sandy. Insurance Alliance.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of your name tags around.”

  She glanced down at her name tag. “I should take this off. Today was our last day.”

  “Your friends already gone?”

  “Yeah.”

  He smiled. Her eyes were bloodshot. She was already slurring her words. This was going to be so easy. “So you’ve been here all week? You must know where all the good restaurants are.”

  Later, up in the hallway in front of the door to her hotel room, she grabbed his ass while he unlocked the door. He hoped she was blackout drunk. “You’re a naughty girl.”

  She giggled. She put her arms around him and kissed him. They stumbled into the dark room. The moonlight fell in through the open drapes. He pushed the door shut with his foot. She started tugging at his clothes. “What’s your hurry?” he asked. “We’ve got all night.”

  He helped her out of her jacket and skirt and led her to the bed. “I’m married,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t do this very often.”

  “I don’t care.”

  They both laughed.

  She took off her blouse and lay down on the bed in her bra and panties, watching him. He pulled off his clothes and laid them over a chair. “God, you’re perfect,” she said.

  He climbed up onto the bed. “You’re drunk.”

  She laid her head back on the pillow. He finished undressing her. She started to speak, but he closed her mouth with a kiss.

  When they were finished, she fell asleep curled up beside him. He listened for a while to the rhythm of her breathing before he slowly rolled off the bed. He stood watching her in the moonlight while he dressed. No movement. He fished her wallet out of her handbag, stepped into the bathroom, and turned on the light. One hundred and eighty dollars, cash. He left her with a maid tip and cab fare to the airport. No need to be mean. Then he looked through her credit cards, thumbing past the ones that were the easiest to take out. Back by her health insurance card was a MasterCard in her husband’s name. This was the jackpot. Why was she carrying it? It would be days—maybe even weeks—before she missed it.

  He turned off the bathroom light, crept back across the room to replace her wallet, and then stood watching her for a few more minutes. It seemed like she’d had a good time. It was a shame she probably wouldn’t remember it. Maybe this would be her wake-up call to deal with her drinking problem. He cracked the door open just wide enough to slip out, heard it click shut, and pushed it to make sure it was properly closed. It was 2:30 a.m.

  3

  Looking for Partners

  Four months later, Paul, now going by the name Roy Stevens, was sitting in his sky-blue Cadillac in a Subway parking lot, eating a tuna sub and thinking about his next move. He’d arrived in Fredericksburg, the city where Pooch lived when he wasn’t on a job with Jacob and Stevie, a week ago. Roy wanted to know the when and where of their next job so he could rip them off and screw them over. They’d cheated him and tried to get him killed. They owed him money. Now he was going to get even. Pooch was a talker. Liked to talk. Liked to make friends. So he was the most likely candidate to give up the information Roy needed. But he wasn’t going to give the information to Roy, so Roy needed partners that Pooch didn’t know. He’d reached out to a few grifters that he knew were reliable, but thus far no one was interested in partnering on a job that was more personal than business.

  Across Kennedy Boulevard Roy saw a couple walking down the sidewalk. The woman—just a kid, really—was a knockout. She was movie-star pretty, and she knew it. Her dark hair was braided down her back, and she was wearing a tiny summer dress that fluttered in the breeze. All her movements said naïve waif, but—it really did take one to know one, didn’t it? The shift of her hip as she walked, the way her braid swayed—Roy was willing to bet she was a born player.

  The guy who was following her, maybe a couple of years older than her, looked like a former high school football player. He wore shorts, flip-flops, and a Hawaiian shirt. He had that self-satisfied look on his face that some guys have when they know that the woman they’re with is way out of their league, and thus the entire world has misjudged their value. Roy chuckled. That guy probably thought he was in charge. She had to be on the con, but was he a con artist or just muscle? Roy was willing to bet that he loved her, but did she love him? Or was he just her meal ticket?

  The girl stepped over to the curb and stuck out her thumb. Jailbait. Here was the test. No one who could see who she really was would pull over to give them a ride. A bald guy in a red Audi put on his flashers and pulled over. She got in the front, and her boy got in the back. What was their game? Roy pulled out of the Subway parking lot and followed them. The Audi rolled through three traffic lights before it turned into a city park. What was she telling him? That her boy would go for a walk while they did some business?

  The Audi pulled into a parking spot by a picnic table under a huge shade tree. Roy pulled over to the side of the road by a park bench. The driver’s door on the Audi popped open and the bald guy fell out. He started to get up. He was yelling something. The boy came out the door after him, leaned down to punch him in the face, and then kicked at him. The man scrambled away on his hands and knees. The boy climbed back into the Audi and drove away, leaving the bald guy yelling and shaking his fist.

  Roy followed the Audi into the industrial part of town, where it pulled into Whitehead’s Auto Salvage. He smiled. Stealing cars from lechers and selling them to a chop shop. How long did they think they could get away with that? A few minutes later, the girl and boy left the s
alvage yard in a white Dodge Dakota driven by an unshaven kid wearing a ball cap. Roy followed them to a trailer park situated behind a discount strip mall anchored by a Kmart. The truck stopped in front of a dilapidated singlewide trailer with a rusty white AMC Spirit parked in front. Roy pulled to the curb. The girl kissed the driver before she and her boy got out of the truck. The boy unlocked the trailer, and they went inside. Were they done for the day? Roy drove past the trailer, turned around, and parked under a tree with a good view of the trailer’s door.

  At about five o’clock, they came out of the trailer and got into the rusty Spirit. She was still wearing her tiny frock. Her boy had changed into a black T-shirt, black jeans, and work boots. He climbed into the driver’s seat. Roy followed them across town to Juanita’s, a tequila bar located in a shopping area next to a cluster of hotels. The Spirit pulled into the side lot and parked with a view of the entrance. Roy parked his Cadillac on the street where he could see the parking lot and the front door. The girl went into the bar. The boy stayed in the car.

  Roy gave the girl a few minutes to get her game underway before he went in. The place was busy. Tex-Mex music blared from the speakers. Servers in white tops and short black skirts moved among the tables. The bartenders were all dark-haired men wearing white shirts and cowboy belts with large buckles. The clientele were mainly men, many of whom seemed to be pounding down shots. He spotted the girl standing with three thirty-something businessmen at the bar. She had her repartee down: the smile, the eye contact, the touch on the arm, the disarming giggle. She didn’t have any trouble working all three of those guys at the same time. But what was the game? Picking pockets? Prostitution? Something bigger? Why did she need the boy in the parking lot? Roy elbowed his way up to the bar at a spot where he could keep an eye on her and ordered a beer. He felt a touch on his arm. A blonde, an old twenty-two-year-old wearing a frilly party dress that showed a lot of cleavage, smiled up at him.

  “Looking for some company?”

  He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’m busy, but you can use me for camouflage until you spot your mark.”

  “What kind of game you in?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Buy you a drink?”

  Twenty minutes later, his date spotted a drunk she liked on the other side of the bar. “Be seeing you,” she said.

  Roy turned his attention back to his girl. The three guys with her were getting progressively drunker, but she wasn’t. She was faking it. Easy to tell if you’re sober—not so easy if you’re loaded. They ordered another round of shots. That’s when he noticed that the bartender was pouring hers from a different bottle than the guys. Very smooth.

  Finally, things were beginning to sort themselves out. One guy was getting most of her attention; the others were turning into wingmen. The chosen guy was beginning to get that hungry look in his eye. He put his hands on her hips. She smiled and patted his hands before she moved them away. Then she glanced around as if she were afraid of making a scene. She grabbed his tie and pulled his face down to hers so that she could whisper in his ear. Then she left. The guy said something to his buddies. One of them slapped him on the back. The guy set his face to try to convince the world that he wasn’t drunk and followed her.

  Roy slipped out the door behind the lucky winner. He and the girl were in the parking lot in the shadows by the building, kissing and groping. He had her skirt up and his hand in her panties. Her boy came out of the Spirit, moving fast. Roy ducked down behind a car to watch. Her boy grabbed the business guy, pushed him back to the wall as she feigned surprise, gut-punched him twice, and took his wallet from his back pocket while he threw up on his shoes. The girl ran as if she were afraid. Her boy took the cash from the business guy’s wallet, tossed the wallet on the ground, ran back to the Spirit, and drove off.

  Roy jogged to the curb, where he saw the Spirit pull over to pick up the girl. It was a well-oiled machine. Maybe these two could help him get the information he needed from Pooch. He hurried back to the business guy. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

  The guy was picking up his wallet. “Did you see that?”

  “That was crazy. Who was that guy?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Were you in the bar? You got any friends around here?”

  “Yeah, I was right in here.”

  “Let’s go back inside.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Roy was back watching the door to their trailer. They surfaced a little after eleven and walked over to the Gas-N-Go on the corner of the strip mall. Roy followed them in. She kept the counter guy busy with her easy banter and exposed cleavage while her boy worked the aisles, filling his pockets and shoving a package of rolls under his shirt before he slipped out the door. She bought two small coffees. They met at the bus stop, where they sat on the bench to enjoy their breakfast. Shoplifting, rolling drunks, and carjacking seemed to be their stock in trade. She was the grifter, and he was the muscle—that much was certain. They were doing the best they could do together, but with a little direction she could be doing a lot better. She had the magic. She’d walked that guy at Juanita’s into a mugging without even breaking a sweat. So why was she carrying her boy? Was it lack of confidence? Lack of imagination? True love? Roy got back in his Cadillac. It was time to get to know them.

  They strolled down to Kennedy Boulevard again. The traffic was busy. Were they really going to try to jack another car? She stepped to the curb and stuck out her thumb. Roy smiled. He made the turn onto the boulevard and pulled up to her. “How far you going?”

  She smiled. “All the way down to Patrick Avenue.”

  “Hop in.”

  She sprawled across the front seat, legs spread, her dress just covering her panties. “Hot day,” she said.

  Her boy got in the back. “Thanks, mister.”

  Roy pulled away from the curb. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Candy, and he’s Joe.”

  “I bet. Let me ask you a question, Candy.”

  She touched his shoulder. “You’re not shy, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  She batted her eyes. “What you got in mind?”

  “No disrespect. I’m not judging. I was just wondering how many days in a row you think you can pull the same stunt?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. It was fun to watch. Could you see the look on that guy’s face when your boy pitched him out of his Audi?”

  She closed her legs and sat up straight. “Who are you? You’re not a cop.”

  “No, a cop would have waited for you to offer your ass for cash. What did the salvage yard give you for a car that hot? Couple a hundred?”

  Her boy leaned up in the back seat. “Let us out.”

  “We’re going to talk first. You two do anything besides hijack cars, roll drunks, and shoplift?”

  Her boy smacked the back of Roy’s seat. “Stop the car before I bust your head.”

  “You touch me, and I step on the gas. I’m in the safest crash spot in this car.”

  He could feel her watching him. “What do you want?” she said. “We don’t have any money.”

  “That was some good work in the bar last night. The bartender was pouring you water. Was that his play or management’s?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to step up your game. Make more money.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “You can call me the Traveling Man.”

  “What kind of name is that?”

  “It’s a name—like Candy or Joe.”

  “Okay, Traveling Man, what you got in mind?”

  “Maybe we call your bluff,” her boy said. “Fuck you up and take your ride.”

  “Relax, baby. Let’s hear what the man has to say.”

  “There’s a crew I want to rip off,” Roy said. “Your end would be three, four thousand, at least.”

 
“What kind of crew?”

  “Robbery gang. They always party after they finish a job. We swoop in and take their score while they’re passed out.”

  “And what would we do?”

  “You’d play your usual roles, but you might have to stretch a little.”

  “I don’t like it,” her boy said.

  “Sounds like it’s dangerous,” she said.

  “Not if it’s done right. Look, I’m offering you two a chance to move up in the world. The door is open, you just got to walk through.”

  She looked back at her boy. “What do you think?”

  Roy glanced in the rearview mirror. The boy was shaking his head. “Sorry,” she said. “Thanks for the offer, but we have to pass.”

  “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

  “Right here would be fine.”

  Roy put on his flashers and pulled over. She was interested, but her boy was wary. Maybe he was jealous. Afraid he’d lose her. Liked thinking he was in charge. But Roy didn’t need him. Muscle you could pick up anywhere. She, on the other hand, had talent that could be developed. The two of them grifting together could be something special. So maybe what he needed to do was separate them long enough for her to choose to come with him.

  * * *

  Carol and Terry watched the Cadillac disappear around the corner. “What’s next?” she asked.

  “Try for another sucker,” Terry said.

  “Maybe that guy was right. Maybe we should space them out.”

  “The first of the month is coming up. We still don’t have enough money to pay all our bills.”

  “We could have gone in with him.”

  “I don’t trust him.” He gripped her hand.

  “Don’t be jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous.”

  “Admit it. He’s a charmer, like me, and you’re afraid he’s going to charm my panties off.”

  Terry twisted her wrist. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t trust him.”