Sandy pushed her way through the curtain and stood next to him. She held a drink. "If I don't have it down by now I never will," she said between sips.
A helicopter descended suddenly, its beam of light aimed at something moving on the ground. Vehicle lights sped along the fence. After a while the helicopter ascended and followed the border east. Finally it was out of sight.
"Funny, the two of us spending the night together," Sandy said. "After that last time I swore I'd never work with you again. And here we are rehearsing an act."
"I wanted you in on this. I really did," LaMonica said. His hands held the balcony rail.
"I'm here because I finally said to myself that if you really did rip me off in that last thing, you would never have had the guts to ask me to work with you again," Sandy said. "Plus, I sort of respect you…the way you work alone and take care of business. You're not a bullshit artist. And because I have a chance to make enough money to change everything for once and for all. I want out of this fuckin' place. It's a goal." She held the drink to her forehead.
"What about your boyfriend, Mr. Cool?" LaMonica said. "You'd just leave him behind?" He smirked.
"I once read in a women's lib book that women should have relationships with lower class men in order to develop confidence," Sandy Hartzbecker said. "I think the author was right. My relationship with Mr. Cool has changed me. I feel different after having been with him. He's his own man, but he's concerned about what happens to me. We're equals. We respect each other and always have something to talk about. We share things and look out for one another. The book was right. Fuck what other people think." Her expression was one of disdain.
"If Lockhart puts you on the spot tomorrow, just turn on the tears and leave the room," LaMonica said. "I'll follow you out and then we'll decide what to do next. We have to play it by ear. On the other hand, don't be afraid to push him to the wall. I read him as basically a pussy. He'll cave in with pressure. Even if he tells us to shove it and walks out, don't worry. We can always go back later with a lower offer."
Like a ritual of good luck, they went over the details again. By the time they'd hashed it all out, Sandy had downed three more drinks. They went back into the room and got undressed.
Sandy fluffed a pillow and flopped down on her bed. LaMonica climbed onto the other bed and flicked off the light on the nightstand. There was only moonlight in the room. It was too warm for covers.
"You wanted me in the same room with you so I couldn't back out at the last minute," Sandy said. Her speech was slightly slurred from the drinks. "You're a great one for details. You like to have everything just right. Just the way you want it…even in sex."
A gust of wind. The curtains reached into the room like ghost's hands. A sound in the distance might have been a siren. They stirred for a while. Nothing was said.
"I'll do it if you want me to," Sandy said flatly. "I can't sleep. "
"I'd like that," LaMonica said.
"Only if we can start my way," she said. "There's a jar in my purse.
LaMonica reached into the purse on the nightstand. He removed a jar of surgical jelly.
Sandy rolled over and adjusted a pillow under her stomach. "When I say stop, I mean stop."
Sitting on the balcony with the morning sun warming his back, Paul LaMonica felt encouraged. The plan had progressed. He knew Omar T. Lockhart had not waddled all the way from Texas to Tijuana lust to shoot the shit.
For over an hour the topic of discussion had been money. There had been first and second offers, and the hotel room was filled with fiery talk about them. Sandy Hartzbecker, wearing a jumpsuit, paced around the room puffing on brown cigarettes, making demands. For emphasis, now and then she would aim a finger at Lockhart as if it were a gun.
Lockhart looked perfectly uncomfortable sitting at a table. He clicked furiously on a ballpoint pen.
"A hundred thousand dollars is completely out of the question," Lockhart said, bobbing his puffy head in a bow of confidence. "We'd just as soon take our chances and let the damn checks get distributed and passed. Sure, we'll sustain some loss, but the police will catch the forgers eventually." He leaned back in the rattan chair.
Sandy was perched on the edge of the bed facing the balcony. She stabbed a finger in the direction of the fat man's face. "Then you can go right ahead and do just that!" she said. "Because if you think I'm going to settle for one dime less, you're crazy. I came to you people because I wanted to do the right thing…and because of what those Mafia bastards did to my Freddie." Her voice was filled with emotion. She sniffled. Tear action. "But I swear to God I'll sell the package to them unless I get enough money to make a new life for myself. They killed Freddie and they'll kill me if they don't get the checks. I'm going to need a new identity, a new life. These things cost money." She pulled a tissue from a box and wiped her nose.
Lockhart leaned back in the chair. His neck disappeared in the burden of flesh under his chin. "I hope you realize that simple possession of those counterfeit checks is a felony violation of law," he said smugly.
"Oh, so now you want to threaten me?" Sandy said. "Then why don't you just go ahead and call the FBI! Or the cops or the Secret Service or whoeverthefuck you want to call. This is Mexico, you sonofabitch! U.S. laws don't apply here!" Sandy grabbed more tissues. She dabbed her eyes furiously.
"There's no need to raise your voice," said Lockhart without any show of emotion. "I receive my instructions from a board of directors. There are certain ground rules that I — "
"Then go back and tell your board of directors to get fucked!" Sandy jumped to her feet. "I have nothing else to say to you. I've made up my mind to go the other way." More loud sniffles as she rushed to the door. She swung it open.
"I am prepared to make a final substantial offer," Lockhart said, "if you would care to listen."
Sandy's hands were on her hips. "Then make it," she said.
Lockhart blinked rapidly before he spoke. "Twenty five thousand dollars for full recovery."
Sandy's hands flew to her face. Sobs. She ran out of the room.
LaMonica shook his head in mock despair. "I'll get her," he said on his way out of the room.
Sandy was pacing back and forth in front of the elevators.
LaMonica put his arm around her shoulder just in case anyone was watching. They strolled slowly along the corridor.
"What the hell do I do now?" she whispered.
LaMonica looked up and down the hall. "Counter offer with fifty thousand and don't come off it," he said. "Give him three days to make up his mind."
LaMonica led her back into the room. She sat down on the bed again. Lockhart stood on the balcony. His face was damp, oily.
"Those people will put a contract out on me if they don't get the checks," Sandy said, wiping a tear. "They'll come after me. That means I won't be able to work at a regular job or go anywhere near my friends or family. I'm probably stupid for not giving them the checks and having it over and done with…but I hate them. My Freddie would turn over in his grave." Her hands wiped tears from her eyes. "I need at least fifty thousand. I need it because I have four kids. I can't work. We'll have to move." Her eyes sought the ceiling, "I wish to God I had never seen the damn checks."
Lockhart stood up. He hoisted his trousers over the mound that was his belly. "We're not able to pay any more than I have offered. I'm sorry," he said.
"That's final," Sandy said. "If that's the way you people feel about me, then the hell with it! Day after tomorrow I'm turning the checks over to the Italians. It's worth a hundred grand to avoid the death sentence!" She cupped her face in her hands and sobbed.