After a couple of seconds, I took it off him. Then I grabbed Dale by the elbow and pulled him back. If the drape killed Ty, I wanted Dale and me to be far enough back that we didn’t fall into the Empty Spaces.
It didn’t kill him, though. Instead, Ty slid off the chair onto his knees, cursing and promising to kill me.
Dale tore out of my grip and rushed to him. “Oh my God, you—”
“At least he won’t bleed to death from a scratch,” I said. Of course, he would die soon enough anyway, but now I figured it was safe to take him outdoors. I went into the bedroom and slid open the closet doors. Half a dozen belts hung from a hook. I chose an army-surplus web belt.
And there on the floor was the open suitcase. I picked up a packet of hundred-dollar bills. The wrapper helpfully told me, in ink the color of spicy brown mustard, that the bundle was worth ten thousand dollars.
A suitcase full of money was a new thing for me. I’d always stolen cars, not cash. At least, not in piles. I didn’t have a job and I’d just taken a beating from a friend—I wanted this money so much that it made me angry. I tore the wrapper off and stuffed the folded bills into my back pocket. I could have made things hard for Ty and Dale by tossing the wrapper behind the bureau where the cops might find it, but I dropped it into the suitcase instead. I wasn’t put on this earth to help cops.
Back in the other room, Ty was smearing aloe on his shoulder. Dale stood between us, a butcher knife in his hand. I’m sure it was the biggest one he could find.
“You’re leaving,” Dale said. “Now.”
“I know. And I’m taking Ty with me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What are you gonna do? Stab me so my guts fall out on the carpet? Right here in your own apartment, with a suitcase full of stolen money in the other room?”
That was all he needed to hear. He sagged and turned toward Ty, letting the knife hang low at his side. “Ty …” His voice had an air of finality about it.
“Don’t say it,” Ty said. “I already know.” He stood. “I tried to do things the right way. I tried a regular job and taxes and everything, but I just couldn’t work it out.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m not going to go down without a fight.” Ty turned to me. “How much of the money did you take?”
“Less than all of it, but enough that I don’t feel like killing you anymore.”
Dale was staring at me. “Can you …” He couldn’t finish the question. I didn’t think he was even sure what he was asking for.
“I don’t know, but no one else is even going to try.”
Ty laid his hand on Dale’s shoulder. “Take the money and get out of town for a while. Take a week, drive up the coast. Use up some of that vacation time. If you spend the money slowly, no one will notice.”
“Tear off the wrappers,” I said. “Order something at a drive-through McDonald’s or something. Take the food out of the bag, stuff the wrappers into the bottom, and roll it up tight. Then stuff the bag into a trash can right there at the restaurant.”
Dale moved toward Ty. “Don’t,” Ty said, and stepped back. “It’ll burn you.”
Dale kissed him.
I looked away, but I didn’t turn my back. Dale still had that damn knife. After a short while, I heard Dale go into the bathroom. He closed the door and turned on the water to wash.
I wrapped the belt around Ty’s right wrist and tightened it as far as it would go. He let me. We left the apartment and went down the rough concrete stairs. I held the end of the belt like a leash. It made me feel like an asshole.
“I’m through playing games,” I said. “If you take that belt off or”—I couldn’t say it on a public stairwell—“do your thing, I’ll kill you, and to hell with the consequences.”
“I was the one who beat the hell out of Justin Gage, you know.”
I couldn’t remember who he was talking about, and I said so.
He laughed a little. “Guess you wouldn’t. He’s a big figure in my life, but … He’s the Cardio-eira guy at the gym where I work. You know, like Tae-Bo, but with capoeira? Never mind. It’s a new fitness thing that’s been getting pretty popular, even though it’s really stupid. Everyone who went to the gym wanted Gage—I couldn’t even pick up the guy’s sloppy seconds. And to make it worse, he was always being nice to me about it. Encouraging me that I was good enough and telling me how it all takes time … like I needed attaboys from him. Do you know how much the gym charged me to work there?”
“No.” I tried to sound like I cared, but I failed. He glanced at me. He could see how I felt, but he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to drop it.
“Well, it’s a lot. After I kicked his dancey little capoeira ass, I took over a bunch of his clients, but I could tell they weren’t going to switch permanently. It was just a waste. Maybe I should have killed him. He was just lying there, at the end—I could have stamped on his neck, you know? But I wasn’t desperate enough for that. That’s what I told myself. I wasn’t desperate enough. I thought I could be a straight arrow, you know? Like Dale. Such a waste, man.”
He didn’t sound sorry about what he’d done. I guess that would have been too much to expect. We reached my Escort and I opened the door for him. He sat and I shut the door. I went around to the driver’s side and climbed in.
“I should have taken that money,” he said. “I had hopes for it.”
“Wally doesn’t need your money.”
“Maybe he wants it.”
“For God’s sake! It should have been obvious to you a long time ago that you cannot pull the usual shit here. You can’t buy off or bully these people. There’s no way to blackmail them. They have their own little world, and it only comes into contact with ours when they need to kill someone or find a patsy.”
“Fuck you. I’m nobody’s patsy.”
“Fuck me? You have a living stomach lining over your whole body, and it’s going to start eating you soon. You’re a patsy. Deal with it. Whatever Wally really needed, he tried to get it with Luther. You weren’t involved.”
Ty turned toward me suddenly. “Tried? At that house?”
I didn’t like the look on his face. “Dude—”
A Range Rover screeched to a halt right in front of my car. I jammed the key into the ignition at the same moment that Ty opened the passenger door and turned invisible. The engine started as I lunged toward Ty but missed him. He was gone.
The doors of the Range Rover swung open. Meatheads One, Two, and Three piled out.
To hell with this. I threw it into reverse and tried to back out of my spot. One of the meatheads fired three rounds into my engine block.
Immediately, the engine started grinding and lost power. I cut the wheel, backing up anyway, but I didn’t have the space to make the turn, and I plowed into the street-side taillight of the car parked behind me.
By then, a man was standing by my window, tapping a pistol against the glass.
I turned off the engine and opened the door. Their ugly faces were all around me, thick, pouchy, scarred with acne. Hands pressed me against my car and patted me down the way a cop would. They found my cell and ghost knife, and this time they kept both. They also found the ten grand. Damn, I hadn’t even gotten to the end of the block with it, and now I had to listen to them laugh as they split it between them.
A woman on the sidewalk held up her cellphone and snapped a picture of us. I stared straight at her, knowing my face would be recorded. Too bad I was on the twisted path; by the time she showed the photo to someone, it would no longer look like me.
“Let’s go,” one of the men said. They dragged me into the Range Rover and shoved me into the back, where I sat squeezed between two guys who smelled like sweat and enchilada sauce.