“I could ask the same.” Victor leaned back, crossed his legs. “And, Bennett, you find these people, then this-”
“Could be the start of a beautiful friendship?”
“Maybe ‘profitable’ is a better word.”
“I hear you, brother. Consider them found.”
CHAPTER 20
“I’M SORRY,” the teller said. “I don’t understand.”
“I want to make three deposits,” Alex said. “Separately.”
“To the same account.”
“Yes.”
“So why not…”
“Look, I just want to deposit this money, and then I want a cashier’s check cut for the total amount to Tricia Kern-I mean, Tricia Stevens.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Why do you need to understand?” He hated this dynamic: Give an imbecile a vest and a counter to stand behind, and suddenly they had some say in your life. Banks weren’t nearly as bad as the post office, but still. And it wasn’t like he could explain he was trying to cover up the cash deposit from his robbery. “Why can’t you just do your job?”
“Sir, I don’t have to listen to that kind of talk.”
He started to snap at her, caught himself. “I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day.” He gestured at the bandage on his face. “My head hurts.” Her face softened some, and he continued. “I know it seems strange. But could you humor me?”
The teller glanced past him at the growing line, all of them checking their watches or glaring. “Who was that check to again?”
Alex understood what Jenn and Mitch were thinking, not spending the money. It made sense if you thought of this as a game. But that was bullshit. This wasn’t about generational ennui for him. Everything he’d done, he’d done for Cassie. If not for her, he’d never have taken the risk. Wouldn’t have gotten clocked in the head with a pistol or had scissors held to his eyeball or had to lie to the police. Wouldn’t have had to lay there on the floor while his nice, simple plan went to shit out in the alley. He hadn’t killed anyone. The Four Musketeers thing went only so far.
“Here you are.” The teller slid the check across the counter. “In the future, I’d appreciate if you didn’t take that tone with me.”
And I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking do what I asked. He folded the slip into his pocket, shouldered past the line, and stepped out the double doors.
The bad mood faded as he left the toxic quiet of the bank. He had a couple of hours to kill before heading out to Trish’s, decided to grab dinner. One of his favorite bars was nearby, a place called Sheffield’s, barbeque and a terrific beer selection. He got the same warmth he always got in a corner bar, that sense of coming home. Once this had all blown over, he’d need a new job. Maybe with his remaining fifty grand he’d see about buying in somewhere.
Or maybe not. He had time to figure it out. Regardless, everything would change now.
He ordered a pulled pork platter and a Jolly Pumpkin bomber. Someone had left the New York Times on the bar, and he skimmed through. The headlines were depressing, full of news of the mortgage crisis, the stock market bottoming, the recession.
Alex was conscious of a certain split in himself. Part of him was feeling good, excited, the other part wondering what they had done, and if they would get away with it. Processing the fact that one of his friends had committed murder.
The thought hit hard, as it had all day long. He’d forget for a while, and then it would hammer him again. What had Mitch been thinking? Aiming a pistol at someone and pulling the trigger?
Maybe that Four Musketeers thing had reached the end. Time to move on. To leave the three of them behind, start fresh. Hell, maybe even move out to the suburbs, be closer to Cassie. Start catching her soccer games more often, picking her up from school. Leave behind late-night drunks and casual gropes with Jenn. He cared about them, he did. But sometimes you got too comfortable in your old life, too built-in, and only an earthquake could shake things loose, show you that you weren’t where you wanted to be.
It might be time to start standing alone.
IAN MADE IT to Wednesday evening.
After leaving Jenn’s apartment, he went to the office and threw himself into work, trying to use it as a drug to distract himself. He hadn’t taken a blast of coke since Mitch had yanked his vial away, and while he was proud of that, he was also ragged and sick. The burn on his balls fired raw, electric jolts every time he shifted position. And worst of all, he could hear Katz’s measured voice in his head:
My money. All of it. By Wednesday. Or…
For you and your friends.
He knew what he had promised the others. If he wanted to keep that promise, he should go home, make dinner, turn on reality TV, and work his way through a couple bottles of wine. Not do any coke, not call Katz, not do a good goddamn.
But if he did, then he was on the line for the debt. They all were. And he had the money, could pay what he owed. Keep all four of them safe.
Besides. They would never need to know.
TRISH HAD BEEN HESITANT AT FIRST, but eventually had told Alex to come out this evening, after dinner. It was typical that she hadn’t invited him to join. Not cruel, just oh-so-practical. Ex and husband do not at the same table eat.
Her doorbell made a civilized ding-dong, nothing at all like the shrieking buzz of his city apartment. He heard the clicking of shoes against marble, and then the door opened. Trish wore a white blouse and a serious expression, hair pulled into a simple ponytail but nails done. She hesitated a moment, then surprised him with a hug. They hadn’t done the hugging-hello thing for years. “Thanks for coming out,” she said, like it had been her idea.
“I needed to talk to you.”
“I know. Come in.” She closed the door behind him.
“Where’s Cass?”
“She’s staying at a friend’s.”
“What? Are you-” He spread his hands. “I wanted to see her.”
“I thought it was better we talk without her for now. Come on. We’re in here.”
We? We who? He followed her, noticing the stack of moving boxes in the corner, the half-empty bookshelf. “Trish-”
“Hello, Alex.” Scott stood beside the kitchen table. His ex-wife’s new husband was the kind of guy who, no matter what he was wearing, always looked like he had a sweater tied around his shoulders. “You remember Douglas, our attorney?” He gestured to a pale, suited man with watery eyes, who nodded, said, “Thanks for coming.”
“Everybody keeps saying that,” Alex said, thinking, attorney? He fought the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet. The kitchen was bright and expensive-looking, with granite countertops and a stove that would have made Ian jealous. “But I asked to see Trish, not the other way around.”
“Sure. Of course.” Scott made brief eye contact with his wife and their lawyer. “Do you want a drink? Some coffee, or a beer?”
“I’m fine. What’s he doing here?”
The lawyer smiled blandly. “Mr. and Mrs. Stevens asked if I could join just in case there were any, ah, legal questions.”
“There won’t be. You can go.”
“Alex.” Trish came up beside him. He’d forgotten how petite she was, a little elfin thing. “Don’t be like that.”
He narrowed his eyes, looked around the room. “I came to talk and to see Cassie. I didn’t expect to get ambushed.”
“Nobody’s ambushing anybody,” Scott said. “We just thought the four of us should chat.”
“The four of us. My ex-wife, her new husband, and the vampire lawyer.”
“Come on. Let’s be adult about this, OK?” Trish pronounced it ad-ult. “Come on, sit down.”
He thought about storming out, couldn’t see what it would accomplish. Reluctantly, he pulled up a chair.