Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [57]
Bert and Ernie. I see Blackie on the floor in the bar almost headless. I wonder which one he was.
—The deal is, Ed and Paris, they, like, ship the bank money to me, just, like, Federal Express it, man, if you can believe that shit. I pass it on to Roman, who moves it through the Russians till it’s washed and he hands it back over to me, at like which point I put it in safekeeping. Ed and Paris get caught, they don’t want to be holding the bag, right. For my services, I’m paid a flat fee. The Russians slice a big percentage out of the gross, Roman takes a cut of the, like, net and the boys and Lum will split the rest. And it goes fucking perfectly. Mmmm. Ed and Paris go on a full-out crime spree, straight-out holdups, real, like, Dodge City shit. They are fully notorious and on the FBI Most Wanted, but they’re, like, uncatchable. Just so fast and mean they can’t be caught. They pull those hit-and-runs for almost two years and the money piles up and up and, well, man, look at it.
He opens his eyes and we both look at the money. There’s a lot.
—A couple weeks back they say, that’s it, they’re coming to town to pick up their jack. They send the dough from the last bank, I have it laundered, bring it here, pack it with the rest and I guess that’s when I, like, started getting, like, sick thoughts and, well, you know, things got all, like, fucked up. But, man, it’s just, it’s just, like, so much fucking money, ya know? It just, it just made me, like, stupid. Mmmm. Man, I don’t feel too good.
He passes out. I lay him out on the floor and check his eyes again. The left one is still kind of funky. I take off his ski cap. The toilet paper mostly falls right off, but some of it is sticking to the wound on his scalp. I try to pick it out, but he winces a few times in his sleep, so I just leave it as is. It needs to be cleaned out and stitched up, but for now the bleeding has stopped and that’s gonna have to be good enough.
I park myself in front of the door and stretch out with the Yankees jacket as a pillow. I haven’t slept since I first showed up at Yvonne’s, whenever that was. Once I’m still, I realize just how bad the pain my wound is and I have to take a full Vic.
I lie there and stare at the money as the fog rolls into my brain. It’s just over four and a half million and I know exactly what Russ is talking about. I’m starting to feel stupider by the second.
It comes as no surprise when the nightmare wakes me up. Cold has begun to creep up out of the floor and into my bones, I sit up slowly, stretching out the kinks and shrug my way into Russ’s Yankees jacket. He’s still asleep, his breathing is deep and even, I leave him alone. Sleep is certainly the best thing for his head right now. Looking at him, I realize for the first time the slight resemblance he bears to Rich. Same color of curly brown hair, though not nearly as long. A similar toothy grin. The same wiry build. They couldn’t be brothers, but perhaps cousins. I leave it alone and look at the cash instead.
I do some math in my head. Four and a half million divided by nine comes out to five hundred thousand. As far as I know, nine people have died for this money at a price of half a million each. I think about Yvonne’s family. Her crazy philosopher father and yoga-teaching mother. I think about Wayne’s daughter and Amtrak’s ex-wife that he still lived with and loved. My stomach flops. I can’t want this money. And yet I do. I have the key and Russ and the money. For the first time since I was seventeen I have everything everybody wants, and I don’t want to lose it this time.
I close my eyes and, yet again, Rich shoots past me, through the exploding windshield and into the tree. The mediocre years of my life pile up around me. This money is not mine. It is not meant for me, but for someone either more deserving or more ruthless. For me, it is a tool that will allow me to rebuild what is left of my life. I inhale, exhale, until my heart stops jumping and I feel I am myself again.
I open my eyes