Slither - Edward Lee [24]
In the end, though, it was all relative. These days, most men likely to share company with a woman like Ruth cared less about facial prettiness and more about the auxiliary benefits of unnaturally swollen lips.
The first three dealers in Naples had offered Ruth roughly twenty-five thousand for the watch, but ... shit! They'd also insisted on identification. Fuckers know the score, she thought. One had even had the balls to add, "For instance, miss, if I sold this watch and it turned out to be"-he winked at her-"stolen, then I could be charged with a felony." Fuck you, Ruth thought. But Slydes and Jonas had really scored a big one this time. The watch they'd ripped off some broad down South turned out to be a French-made lady's Cartier Baignoire Mini, eighteen-karat gold and studded with diamonds and rubies. List price: fifty-three thousand. Ruth had about had an accident in her overly tight jeans when they'd told her that.
The fourth dealer had been a bit more compliant. "I can take one look at you and know this watch is hot."
Ruth glared. "What's that supposed to mean? What? I look like some lowlife? Some tramp thief trying to peddle stolen goods?"
"Actually, yes. That's exactly what you look like, and I see people like you every day."
"Aw, fuck you!" she dismissed and was about to storm out.
And if you want some advice," the proprietor added, "put your wig on right when you're trying to disguise yourself."
She sneered. "Huh?" Then, Oh, shit! she thought. She'd forgotten to take off the cut-price sweeping redhaired wig. When she'd first picked it up, she tried it on for Jonas and Slydes, striking a sexy pose. "Do I look like Julianne Moore?"
"No," Slydes said, beer in hand. "You look like a hose bag wearing a shitty red wig." The bastard! But it was a good idea; she wore it whenever she jacked money from an ATM. They all had cameras now.
And as for this chump jewelry salesman?
She dragged the wig off, revealing the unkempt blond shag. Fuck him anyway. What could he do?
She gave him the finger and started to leave when he said, "Wait! Don't be hasty!"
When she looked back, he was holding a stack of bills. "There's no way in hell you'll do better than five thousand. And that would be in cash, by the way."
Ooo ... Ruth pretended not to be waylaid. He's right. And ... that's a lot of money!
"Plus," he added, "ten minutes of your time. In the back. If you know what I mean, and I'm pretty sure you do."
"Buddy!" she celebrated. "You got a deal!"
Ruth was the kind of woman who could relate to those terms. He hadn't even lasted five minutes, which was even better, and now all that money formed a big clot in her purse. She'd already tapped five hundred dollars out of the ATM (you could only take out five hundred dollars per twenty-four-hour period); hence, the wig. It was her job to hit a different machine each day until everything was gone ... or until somebody found the woman's body and the bank froze the account. The lady had bucks-thirty grand in her checking account!
All in a day's work ... Back down the main drag in the dented white van the boys had jacked from some one in Georgia. She lived with Slydes and Jonas in their dead daddy's house back at the far corner of Collier County, near the Everglades Highway. When she'd been dating Slydes, she'd cheated on him with Jonas, and when she'd been dating Jonas, she'd cheated on him with Slydes. So they decided to keep it simple; they were both her boyfriends now.
Slydes poached gator; he was the brawn. Jonas grew pot; he was the brains. (While Slydes had dropped out of school in seventh grade, Jonas had actually made it to college, if only for one semester, taking horticulture and botany classes). Beefy, tall, and bearded, Slydes didn't look anything like his short and slightly younger brother. In fact,