She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward, dark hair cascading over one eye. “I’m sorry, Owen. I was raised by a criminal, same as you. Sometimes my moral compass goes out of whack, and I was hoping maybe you-you of all people-could understand how that might happen.”
“You don’t have a moral compass.”
Owen looked over at the bar, trying to find something to focus on. Sabrina’s voice was doing more to him than her words.
“The jewels, the cash, everything was just sitting there, Owen. It was a perfect opportunity, you have to admit. And-and I didn’t know what I wanted.”
“Money, Sabrina. It’s called money. You sandbagged us, all right? I don’t even care a hell of a lot about that, but I really fell for you. I actually believed you were starting to feel the same-don’t know where I could’ve got that idea-and I really wasn’t ready to get kicked in the gut by some half-smart slut who fucks her way into my confidence.”
“I’m sorry, Owen.”
“And worse than that, because of you, Max felt he had to make up what we lost, and that’s what got him killed.” This was not strictly true, but it felt good to say it.
Sabrina opened her backpack and drew out a smaller canvas bag. She put it on the table between them, and it made a clunk as she set it down.
“It’s all here,” she said. “I sold the Mustang. So this is everything I took, minus about three thousand I lost on the car.”
“I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.”
“Maybe so, but I still have to give it back.”
Owen kept staring at the words in beer veritas over the bar. He didn’t want to look her in the face; her eyes would undo him. He looked away, surveying the other booths, the quiet couple, as if they were of great interest to him. An uninvited bagpiper had wandered in and one of the monks was gently urging him to turn around.
“The money, the jewellery, that’s one thing,” Sabrina said. “But I wanted to say, I’m sorry I hurt you. It wasn’t what I wanted to do. I just-I guess I was in a kind of panic.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was running from-well, you know what I was running from-and suddenly the idea of being in any kind of relationship scared me to death. Part of me figured this was a good way to make sure that wouldn’t happen.”
“Being an ice-cold bitch is pretty effective.”
“Okay, I deserve that. But the truth is, I’m not cold, Owen. I was frightened, I was confused, and-”
“And badly brought up.”
She reached out to touch him, but he pulled his arm away, feeling childish even as he did it.
“And badly brought up,” she said. “But I want you to know, there hasn’t been a single hour or a single day in the past couple of months I haven’t thought about you. You saved my life at least once, maybe twice. And it’s not like I got away unscathed.”
Owen looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not looking for sympathy, I’m just saying-if it makes you feel better, I’ve already paid dearly for what I did.”
“I never wanted you to get hurt,” Owen said, “even when I was pissed off at you.”
She cupped a hand to her mouth and whispered, “Did I kill that guy?”
“Max finished him off. He would have killed us all.”
She nodded, pursing her lips. “I’ve been hanging around Juilliard hoping to bump into you. I even saw you one day, but you were with a really good-looking girl, so I …”
“I think I need some fresh air.”
Owen got up and walked outside. Traffic was getting noisy on the avenues, but Seventh Street was still relatively quiet. The bagpiper, kilt and all, blew a few raucous test notes through his instrument.
“So now you’ve found me,” Owen said when Sabrina stepped out.
They were quiet for a couple of minutes, walking slowly toward Second Avenue. A woman with five tiny dogs on a single lead was just ahead of them, addressing her charges in crisp monosyllables. A slight breeze picked up, and suddenly Owen could smell Sabrina’s hair. How could a fragrance, a mere sensation in his nose, have such power over him?
“I was sorry to hear about Max,” she said. “Max was … Max was really something.”
“He was very fond of you, too.”
“Oh, sure. I bet.”
That smile at last. It went through him just like the first time.
Sabrina tapped the canvas bag. “Max would take it back. You know he would.”
That was true. Max would have taken it back, and Max would have forgiven her. It had never been in Max’s character to hold a grudge, and, for a criminal, he was actually the most trusting of men.
“They didn’t connect him to the … other things?”
“Nope. Far as they were concerned he was a wig salesman-a failed actor who suddenly snapped. Autopsy showed signs of senile dementia.”
“Not such a failed actor, then. I’m glad you didn’t get charged with anything, at least. Think you’ll keep on the straight and narrow now?”
“Well, seeing as how everyone I’ve ever loved has been killed because of crime, yeah-I’d say I’m done with it.” Owen suppressed the urge to ask about her own plans, but Sabrina answered as if she had heard the thought anyway.
“Right now I’m working in a restaurant while I figure out what to do next. I like the people I work with-they’re all either actors or writers or artists, all completely devoted to something. But what I like best about them is they all have clear consciences. They’re terrified about their careers, they’re in a constant panic about making the rent, but none of them is getting up in the morning thinking, ‘God, I did something really, really wrong. I’m a bad person.’”
“You don’t know what’s in their heads.”
“I think I know them at least that well. Anyway, it’s something I want to try out for a while. A clean conscience. I want to see how it feels.”
They reached the corner of Second Avenue and Owen stopped. “I gotta get back.”
She handed him the canvas bag, and he took it.
“What will you do with that stuff?”
“Way I feel right now, I’ll probably mail it back to the people it came from.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know, Sabrina. I’m still feeling a little … uncertain, you know what I mean?”
When they were back outside Monk’s Castle, the bagpiper was well into “Amazing Grace,” marching slowly back and forth before the tavern. They watched him for a minute, then Sabrina said, “Have you ever walked along Forty-seventh Street?”
“The diamond district? Yeah, why?”
“Well, it just struck me, some of those places would be so easy to knock over, you know? It’s amazing, the lack of security.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But Max was a firm believer in working out of town-until his final performance, anyway-so it was never an option.”
“Right. Good policy.”
“That’s Max. Slow but steady.” Owen put a dollar into the bagpiper’s open jar, then jerked his thumb at the door. “I’m going back in.”
“Okay. But I was thinking-a young couple, maybe scouting out wedding rings, could really get a good look at places like that. They could walk right in and who’s going to suspect them?”
Owen shook his head. “Not interested.”
“I know. It was just a fantasy.”
“Then again,” Owen said, sweeping his arm to include the street, the oblivious bagpiper, the entire vast immensity of New York City, “the whole damn thing is fantasy.”