Shoot the Money

by Chris Wiltz

  The connection sounded open but the music had gotten dimmer. “Luc?”

  “I’m here. I got Ramon another beer and I’m in the storeroom.” He grunted as he moved a box from under one of the shelves. Karen could hear it scrape on the gritty concrete floor. “Karen? Shit. I can’t believe I’m sitting in this storeroom on a box of Rolling Rock…going nowhere. Look, I like you. I’d like to see you sometime when we’re not at work. When we’re not in this barroom.”

  “Me too.”

  “Me too,” he said, repeating it in her same monotone. “What does that mean? You’d like to see you sometime, not in this barroom?”

  She laughed. “And you too.”

  He waited. “Just tell me, are you, um, otherwise engaged…with someone else…”

  “No. Luc…” She could see him in the small room lined with shelves, crammed floor to ceiling, sitting with his elbows on his knees, one hand in his hair, holding the cell phone, and the sleeves of the plain black tee he liked to tend bar in rolled up over his biceps, which were big enough but not too big, and no tattoos to hide the lift and line of muscles working over bone… “I need to be alone, while Raynie’s over there. I’ll call you back.”

  “How ‘bout I call you when she leaves?”

  “Fine.”

  Karen stood at her gate. She closed the cell and fumbled for her key. The phone rang before she found it. Raynie.

  “He’s here, Karen. The cowboy, only he’s not dressed like a cowboy and when he asked for a beer, he didn’t sound like one either.”

  “Has he seen you yet?”

  “What? You’re breaking up.”

  “I said has he seen you yet?”

  “No, I was coming from the bathroom. I ducked back in.”

  “Where is he sitting at the bar?”

  “The short end. Get this, he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a lei. The guy likes to dress up.”

  “Wait there. I’m calling Luc.”

  Luc answered saying, “That was too quick. Don’t call it off.”

  “What? No, I’m not. The guy at the end of the bar, in a Hawaiian shirt—that’s the cowboy, the one who spiked Raynie’s drink.”

  “I know him.” The music faded as Luc moved into the storeroom. “Avery Legendre. Brother of Pascal who owns Le Tripot—where’s Raynie?”

  “Hiding in the bathroom.”

  “Tell her to come on out, act like she’s never seen him before. She’s never seen him at the restaurant? I thought he ate over there all the time.”

  “Maybe not, not if he saw her first. Luc, walk home with her, will you?”

  “As soon as I can get LaDonna down here again. She got tired of listening to Ramon a couple of hours ago. If he’s going to hang out like this, she needs to give him a job. Let him work off his nerves.”

  ***

  Karen closed the gate behind her and stopped. The French doors to the living room were open and the TV was on. Karen and Raynie didn’t watch TV and they never left the doors open when they weren’t there. Unlocked most of the time but not open.

  “Who’re you talking to out there, baby?”

  Karen stood at one of the doors. “Jesus, Jack, do you want me to stroke out? How did you get in here?” She turned off the TV.

  He lounged on the sofa, bare feet crossed at the ankles, giving her that lopsided smile of his.

  “Oh, right,” she said, “breaking and entering—another of your many trades.” She walked into the living room, over to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Who told you where I live?” She poured some orange juice into a glass.

  “What?” Jack grunted as he sat up on the sofa. He saw her in the small hallway off the bedroom, fooling with the thermostat. She turned off the air conditioning. “Christ, Karen, the place was a fucking inferno when I walked in.”

  “Broke in. The choice here is open doors and ceiling fan—” she pointed above him “—or closed doors and air conditioning.”

  “Shit, then. I’ll close the doors.”

  “I didn’t say your choice.” She walked toward him, stopping at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.

  He did that thing with his hands, patting the air, which meant for her to calm down.

  “I am calm, Jack.”

  “But you don’t seem very glad to see me. Of course, I can understand that.” When she raised her eyebrows, Jack said, “The money. My money. That you ran off with.”

  “Solo’s money, but you can have the money back. What’s left of it.”

  “I don’t get it. Why did you take the money and leave? What did I do?”

  “Think about where you were at three o’clock in the morning.”

  Jack’s face showed the strain of thinking then it lit with understanding. “What are you saying? You took it because you were jealous of that little girl at the bar?”

  When she didn’t say anything he said, “I won five grand at her table. We were having a celebratory drink.”

  “Silly me. I thought she was going to jack you off right there, maybe take you out for a sunrise screw on the beach. I said, let him have his fun after all that hard work, stealing all that money, the psychological stress of knowing Solo would try to hunt you down and kill you. Then I said, wait a minute. You can’t really steal money that’s already been stolen, right?”

  “It’s just pissing money, baby. Chump change. It’s all right. You can have it.”

  “That’s generous of you, Jack, but if it’s just pissing money, how come we had to run for our lives? Am I missing something?”

  “Look, it’s a long story. Solo let a guy walk out of a game with it. He wouldn’t of if he thought it was a lot of money. He could afford to lose it.”

  Karen scratched her nose with the side of her index finger. “It’s the kind of answer I expect from you. Here’s the thing, though. Solo’s honor and reputation have been compromised. His manhood is threatened. You know, quién es más macho. The answer always has to be Solo. See, he caught up with me, and he said if I don’t call him the second you show up in New Orleans, his young thug Ernesto will be allowed to show off with his knife. So you can have the money, Jack.”

  “Aw, sweets.”

  Karen cringed and Jack said, “What?” Then looking confused— “Wait, so you went back to Miami?” He looked around. His eyes lit on the commode, the library table. He looked down at the sofa.

  “I did. And, really, Solo couldn’t have been nicer. He let me keep the cash I had for the mover.”

  “He knows you have the money?”

  “No, he knows you have it.” Jack stared at her, his mouth open. Struck dumb, she thought. “That’s what I’m saying; you can have the money. There’s better than fifty left.”

  Jack got up from the sofa and took his time walking over to her where she leaned against the counter. Karen felt an involuntary straightening of her posture, the edge of the counter cutting deeper into the small of her back, as though she was trying to back away from him.

  He stopped about ten inches from her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t want the money, baby, I want you.” He moved his hands to her neck, up under her hair, and his body leaned toward her, crotch first. Karen closed her eyes and tipped her head back. He kissed her neck. That smell, that musky, dark, mysterious odor that at one time would have been the only reason she needed to give in to him. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to whimper.

  He lifted his head and moved in for the kill. Karen opened her eyes, looked into his. She clutched his forearms and he released her neck, his hands beginning to travel south. Karen slid to the side.

  “Back off, Jack.”

  “Come on, sugarplum,” he said reaching for her, “You can’t stay mad at me forever, you know you can’t.”

  She stood in one of the French doorways, one foot in the courtyard, her arms folded.

  “Here’s the thing,” Jack said. He sat on the arm of the sofa, keeping his distance. “Everything’s just fallen into place as n
ice as can be. I went up to Hot Springs and made a big pop. That’s why I don’t need the money. I come to town and just like that—” he snapped his fingers “—I got some heavy action set up. Baby, it’s going to be a large payday.” He rubbed his hands together fast, the sound grating on Karen’s ears.

  “I thought you had enemies here. That’s why we left, remember?”

  “Sure, but things change.” His face lit up. “The floods came along and washed all those old bad guys away.”

  “Lucky you. But don’t forget about Solo. He didn’t get washed away.”

  “I can see Solo salivating. He’s like a cartoon character, you know? Can’t you picture it? In his shiny suit with all those little nubby things all over it? All hunched up like a gorilla, drool down to his knees? He’ll get his money back plus some, the chump.”

  “Chump? Solo?”

  “He’s been taken a couple of times. The guy I took the money from that night? He wouldn’t of been back to play double or nothing.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I think he was wise to the game. But it doesn’t matter. He died. Heart attack. So you see? It’s a good thing I took the money.”

  “How do you know he died?”

  “Solo told me.”

  “You’ve talked to him?”

  “I have. He’s on his way.”

  A wave of anxiety rushed through Karen. “So, the new bad guys are coming.”

  Without skipping a beat, Jack said, “I tell you, baby, I’m glad to be back. I went over to La Costa looking for you, and I got a damn buzz just being in the place. We had some good times there, didn’t we? Saw a couple of people I knew—oh, and I met LaDonna’s latest boy toy. Ramon.” He rolled the R. “Says he’s going to make the definitive Katrina movie, says he and LaDonna have already started. He was talking a bunch of shit about film tax credits and investors. They get all this money back if the movie doesn’t earn out. I don’t know, it didn’t make a damn bit of sense to me. He must’ve said a hundred times, a movie industry incentives program, trying to sound hot shit, like he’s Steven Spielberg or something. You get all these tax credits, but you can’t take them, then somebody else not even connected to the movie pays you for them. Creative accounting. He liked saying that too. I always thought that was just another way of talking about fraud. I sure hope LaDonna knows what she’s doing, cuz the guy is really full of it. Man, I’m gonna sell it to HBfuckingO....Oh, sugarpie, look, that reminds me—you gotta get cable in here. I mean, no ESPN. The screen’s so full of snow you can hardly see through it.”

  “But you were watching anyway. Jack, who told you where I live?”

  He laughed, sat on the sofa and slid horizontal. “Oh no. I can tell by that tone of voice my source would never hear the end of it. That wouldn’t be fair.” He settled into the cushions, one arm behind his head.

  “Don’t get comfortable. You’re just leaving.” She motioned him to follow her through the French doors.

  He didn’t budge. “Come on, Karen, let me stay tonight. We can talk things out in the morning, get everything straight, pick up where we left off…”

  What amazed Karen was how much she didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to explain anything, or try to reason with him, or get angry, emotional…she didn’t want to put any energy whatsoever into Jack.

  “You can’t stay here. I don’t want you to, and I have a roommate.”

  “You know I love you, baby. I’m never gonna love anyone the way I love you.”

  Karen was thinking about the money. She didn’t want to let it go, but her conscience decided she had to try one more time to give it back. She stepped back inside.

  “Take the money, Jack, settle things with Solo. If you really won money in Hot Springs, then you’re that much ahead.”

  He sat up. “You doubt me? Of course I won money in Hot Springs. That’s what I do. I gamble. I want you to have the money, the 50K, whatever’s left. We get back together, we don’t get back together—it’s still your money. Okay? I’m going to tell you something, Karen, and it’s the gospel truth. When you make money doing things that are…” he rocked a hand, trying to find the right way to say it “…well, not quite the traditional way of making a living, it’s all pissing money. It’s easy come, easy go. You always figure there’s more where it came from. When you work for it, that’s different. You watch it, you save it, you don’t feel so, uh, free with it, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do,” she said.

  She was spared any other insights from the criminal mind by Raynie’s laughter coming over the brick wall and the gate swinging open. She and Luc sort of spilled into the dark courtyard. Luc was holding the key.

  Jack’s forehead creased. “The roommate?” He looked again. “The bartender.”

  Raynie stopped laughing when she saw Jack.

  Luc said, “You were in the bar earlier, talking to Ramon and Avery. Jack, right?”

  Raynie gave Karen a nervous glance.

  “Yeah, Jack O’Leary.” He looked from Luc to Raynie, then to Karen. “Which one’s the roommate?”

  ***

  It took almost forty-five minutes but Karen finally got Jack to the gate. She unlocked it.

  “Why are you kicking me out? Come on, babycakes sugarpie, let me stay with you. Just tonight. I’ll make other arrangements in the morning, if you still want me to. Come on, Karen.”

  “I hate it when you whine.”

  “You haven’t gone lesbian on me, have you, sweetface?”

  “Stop it, Jack. Stop calling me all that shit. I don’t know what you’re up to, but there’s already a smell coming from it. That guy Avery—he’s the one? He’s the action?”

  “You see, you can’t stay away from me. I’m the action.” He moved on her again.

  She pushed him away with one hand and the gate open with the other. “Don’t break in any more. Call me on the cell phone. You remember the number?”

  “You know me. I never forget a number.”

  She watched him go down the street, a swagger in his walk, Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky. She wondered what he would do if he ever caught her with another man, if he walked in and found her in bed with someone. He’d probably go over to the guy’s side, stick out his hand and introduce himself, ask him if he wanted a beer or something.

  ***

  Raynie and Luc told Karen how the cowboy, a.k.a. the Hawaiian, tried to act cool, like he wasn’t in a hurry, then nearly overturned his bar chair trying to get out of the place. They told it a couple of times, adding more details, before Raynie said, “So now I know who he is, what can I do about it?”

  “Maybe you should talk to Pascal,” Luc said.

  “I think I’d be too embarrassed, but what if I did tell him? What can he do?”

  Luc reached across the sofa and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

  “Probably nothing,” Karen said. “But we can do something. Let me think about it.”

  She told them she had to make a phone call. She closed the door to the bedroom, and after rummaging through a dresser drawer she found Solo’s card under a short stack of camisoles.

  He answered the phone with a curt, “Sí.”

  “It’s Karen Honeycutt.”

  “Ah, Karen, how nice to hear from you.”

  “Thanks. Jack said he already talked to you and you know he’s here, but since you can never tell what truth Jack has pulled out to fit the occasion, I’m calling like I said I would.”

  “Yes, you are interested in keeping your money and maybe other things of importance to you.”

  “Jack also said your, um, player died. That must take some heat off.”

  “That is of no importance, Karen.”

  “Really? It might be to the, uh, player’s loved ones. Oh, I see what you mean. You still want your money. Jack said it was a good thing he took the money after all or it would be gone for good.”

  “You don’ want to make me angry, Karen. I know you stole the money. I hope you have kept
it safe.”

  “I stole the money? Jack told you that?”

  “He did, and I believe him. I understand women, Karen. You needed your revenge. I have no hard feelings. You keep the five thousand dollars, give me back the rest of the money, and we forget any of this happen.”

  Karen felt the flush of anger hit her face. “You think you’ve got everybody’s number, huh, Solo? Well, let me tell you something else Jack said. He said money he gets from—let’s call it what it is—criminal activities, it’s all easy come, easy go, because there’s always more where it came from. He told me that just tonight. After he broke into my house, waiting for me when I got home. Told me he hadn’t been in town any time at all and already he’s got some big action—you’re both going to be rich and happy. Looks like you and Jack are best friends again, like he never left Miami with the money to begin with. Tell me any of this makes sense. Tell me when Jack ever made any sense. Tell me I broke into a hotel safe and stole a dead guy’s money.”

  Solo waited. When he spoke his voice was calm and quiet. “I am on my way to the Miami airport with ’Nesto. We take the red-eye to New Orleans. When I get there, I will deal with this matter. I can assure you, Karen.”

  Karen closed her cell phone. She could have gotten out of the way of danger, she was pretty sure, if she’d just agreed to give Solo the money back. Instead she’d stepped right into the heart of it. So what did that make her? Some kind of player?

  Fourteen

  Karen and Luc sat in the dark courtyard at a rusty round iron table off Karen’s bedroom. A stand of banana plants next to them rustled now and again with the light breeze, their leaves making a swishing sound that Karen had found was good for falling asleep.

  She and Luc and Raynie had sat in the living room, Luc and Raynie on the sofa, Karen in the big chair, until awkwardness had settled on them after Jack left and Raynie got tired of being on—showing off for Luc was the way Karen put it to herself. When Raynie said she had to work a double the next day and went off to the bathroom, Luc and Karen went to sit in the courtyard. He asked her if she wanted to go out for a while, but she didn’t. She got drinks for them then closed the doors to the living room and turned on the air conditioner. She came out to the courtyard through her bedroom door, the room dark behind her.