Alex stared. The fingers in his gut had tightened into a fist. His hands were shaking. Phoenix. Phoenix! They couldn’t do that. Take his baby girl and move halfway across the country, they couldn’t. Yeah, OK, he’d missed a couple of payments, been late on some others. But he wasn’t a deadbeat. He’d been working his ass off, hadn’t made one forward step in his own life because half of what he made went to Cassie. That lawyer of Trish’s-not hers, her father’s. Alex remembered the lawyer, a bland man with glasses and a shirt so white it shone, working the system so the child support was staggeringly high, telling him he was lucky that Trish still cared, that she was being so generous with custody, that-
He grabbed the answering machine in both hands and yanked, feeling the tension and then the delicious snap of the cords as he hurled it at the wall. It flew like a discus, hard and straight, and cracked a jagged hole in his drywall before falling to the ground, the cover breaking off. He wanted to go over and jump on it, stomp on the thing until it was just parts, until he ground the parts into his carpet. He stood flexing and opening his fists, a man alone in the dark of a lousy apartment.
This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t.
Leaving the vodka glass sweating on his desk, he opened the door and stepped outside.
JENN WAS ON A MOTORCYCLE, not a Harley, but one of those low Japanese numbers, what her brother had called a crotch rocket. Leaning into it, the pulse of the thing thrumming in warm vibrations through her body. Zooming on an open road, so fast the striped line turned solid as she raced toward an indigo horizon. There was a pounding sound, a thumping, maybe something from the bike, but she just leaned harder, went faster, the wind streaking her hair behind. The thumping came again, and she fought it, cranked the throttle harder-
And woke up curled sideways in her bed, a pillow squeezed between her thighs. Blinked at the green light of the clock: 4:11. The pounding came again, a real sound. The door. Someone was at the door.
It was enough to make her sit up straight, the sheet slipping from her shoulders. The hammering came again, loud and insistent. She sat frozen for a moment, an animal reaction, part of her wanting to bolt and scurry.
Relax. She swung her legs off the side of the bed, reached underneath for the Louisville Slugger. The heft of it made her feel better. She padded barefoot out of the bedroom, her thoughts straightening as she moved, and by the time she looked out the peephole, she already knew who it was. Jenn lowered the bat, then unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door halfway.
Alex loomed in the hallway, seeming bigger than normal. The yellow lighting gave his skin a sallow tone, but his eyes were furiously alive, bright and wide and bloodshot. He stared at her. She was suddenly conscious of how she looked, worn cotton pajamas and a baseball bat, hair tangled with sleep.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “That’s romantic.”
“Not that.” He took a step forward. “The money.”
“What?”
“Let’s screw Johnny Love.”
She rubbed at her eyes. Thoughts quick with adrenaline moments before now seemed sluggish. “It’s four in the morning.”
“They’re taking Cassie.”
“Who is?”
“My ex and her new husband.”
“Alex-”
“Can I come in? Just to talk.”
She stared at him, thinking of the evening she’d already endured. The blind date that was nice enough but smelled like an aquarium; three hours of talk that got smaller by the minute. She thought of her bed, a cocoon of warm blankets, and the dream of the motorcycle, flying fast over smooth blacktop. Imagined spending the remainder of the night fighting yawns while Alex babbled about another woman.
“Please?”
She sighed, leaned the bat in the corner. “Come on. I’ll make coffee.”
The kitchen lights seemed particularly brilliant with night pressing against the windows. She gestured to a stool, pulled filters from a drawer, poured coffee from the bag in the freezer.
“Trish called tonight. Her new husband got a job in Phoenix. They’re moving there, and taking Cassie.”
“Can they do that?” She held the pot under the faucet.
“Apparently. I’ve missed some child support payments, and I guess that gives them the right.” He paced behind her, stalking the cage of her kitchen. “I miss a couple of bills, and they take my girl from me.”
She set the pot on the base and flicked the machine on. It gurgled and hissed. “You want a drink, something else?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been drinking all night. Since I got the message. Can you believe that? She left it on my answering machine. I’d just got home from working a double”-he made a sound in his throat, blew air through his nostrils-“Anyway, I’ve been trying to figure how to stop her. Thinking all kinds of crazy things.” His motion fast, hands running across his shaven head. “Like going over right now, grabbing Cassie, taking off.”
“Alex, no-”
“I know. I know. But she’s my daughter. All I’ve got. Anyway, I figured a better way. The child support. All I have to do is pay, and they can’t do this. Her husband wants to move, let him, and Trish too. Cassie can move in with me.”
“Does it work that way?”
“What?”
“Can you just pay the late child support and then-”
“Of course. That’s the only thing they’ve got. I pay that, she can’t just move away.”
Jenn gave a noncommittal sort of nod. That didn’t sound right, didn’t make a lot of sense, but she didn’t see any point in saying so. She wasn’t a lawyer, it wasn’t her business, and she didn’t particularly like talking about his wife. Ex.
“So all we have to do is get the money-”
“Alex.” She spoke firmly.
“What?”
“Sit down.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, and moved to perch on the stool. “Sorry. I must sound crazy.”
“Little bit.”
“I’m just… I love that girl, Jenn. I love her more than anything. They can’t take her from me.” His expression so earnest it had sharp edges.
“One step at a time. How much money are we talking?”
“I don’t know. Enough. If they added everything over the years, too much. Her lawyer is slick, probably got it figured to the penny with interest.” He laid his hands on the counter, palms down, fingers spread. “More than I can come up with, even borrowing. Unless.”
“Unless you rob your boss.” She said it as flatly as possible.
“I’ve been thinking ever since Ian suggested it. Because he’s right, you know? Johnny is a bad guy. He’s exactly what’s wrong with the world. He breaks the rules-the ones that are really supposed to matter-and gets away with it. And people like you and me, we end up drinking in his bar. Calling him Mr. Loverin.”
“Think about what you’re saying. You’re talking about robbing a drug dealer.”
“Ex-drug dealer. He’s not a tough guy now. A middleman, maybe, but so what?”
“What if you get caught?”
“We won’t.”
“It’s still stealing.”
“So what?”
“You’re not making any sense, Alex.”
“Come on,” he said, and leaned across the counter. “I know you were thinking about it. I could tell. You were excited.”
She shrugged. “It was a game. Thinking about it was fun.”
“It was more than that. Remember what you said? How you’d been looking for adventure? Well, here’s your chance.” He wore his cowboy smile. That smile was probably the reason she’d first decided to sleep with him. She’d cloaked it in rationality: They were friends, consenting adults, and there was nothing wrong with finding a little pleasure in each other. But truth was, it had been the smile. That and his wrists, which were at once thick and graceful, like a gymnast’s.