I stood for a long moment in the rain, letting it pour down on me, feeling as if I were melting like a wax statue in the hot sun. I became one with the drumming and thrumming and pounding of it all.
There was only one thing I could do now.
I took off running back to the car. To Laura. And the man with the gun.
I broke into a crazy grin when I saw the car. I could see Laura’s profile in the gloom. She was still alive.
I reached the driver’s door, opened it up and pitched myself inside.
“My God, what happened to you?” Laura said. “Did somebody beat you up?”
The man with the gun was a little less sympathetic. “Where the hell’s the money?”
I decided to answer both questions at once. “I couldn’t remember my pin number so I had to stand there for a while. And then this guy — this black guy — he came out of nowhere and he had a gun and then he made me give him the money.” I looked back at the man with the gun. “I couldn’t help it. I told him that you had first dibs on the money but he didn’t care.”
“You expect me to believe that crap?”
“Honest to God. That’s what happened.”
He looked at me and smiled. And then put the gun right up against Laura’s head. “You want me to show you what’s gonna happen here if you’re not back in five minutes with the money?”
I looked at Laura. “God, honey, I’m telling the truth. About the guy with the gun.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.” I glanced forlornly out the window at the rain filling the curbs. “I’ll get the money. Somehow.”
I opened the door again. And then noticed the white envelope still sitting on her lap. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, sweetheart.”
She was scared, that was easy enough to see, but she forced herself to focus and smile at me. “I love you, honey.”
“Get the hell out of here and get that money,” said the man with the gun.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“You heard what I said. Get going.”
I reached over and took Laura’s hand gently. “I’ll get the money, sweetheart. I promise.”
I got out of the car and started walking again. Then trotting. Then flat-out running. My head was still pounding with pain but I didn’t care. I had to get the money. Somehow. Somewhere.
I didn’t even know where I was going. I was just running. It was better than standing still and contemplating what the guy with the gun might do.
I reached the corner and looked down the block where the ATM was located.
A car came from behind me, its headlights stabbing through the silver sheets of night rain. It moved on past me. When it came even with the lights of the ATM machine, it turned an abrupt left and headed for the machine.
Guy inside his car. Nice and warm and dry. Inserts his card, gets all the money he wants, and then drives on to do a lot of fun things with his nice and warm and dry evening.
While I stood out here in the soaking rain and—
Of course, I thought.
Of course.
There was only one thing I could do.
I started running, really running, splashing through puddles and tripping and nearly falling down. But nothing could stop me.
The bald man had parked too far away from the ATM to do his banking from the car. He backed up and gave it another try. He was concentrating on backing up so I didn’t have much trouble opening the passenger door and slipping in.
“What the—” he started to say as he became aware of me.
“Stick up.”
“What?”
“I’m robbing you.”
“Oh, man, that’s all I need. I’ve had a really crummy day today, mister,” he said. “I knew I never should’ve come in this neighborhood but I was in a hurry and—”
“You want to hear about my bad day, mister? Huh?”
I raised the coat of my raincoat, hoping that he would think that I was pointing a gun at him.
He looked down at my coat-draped fist and said, “You can’t get a whole hell of a lot of money out of these ATM machines.”
“You can get three hundred and that’s good enough.”
“What if I don’t have three hundred?”
“New car. Nice new suit. Maybe twenty CDs in that box there. You’ve got three hundred. Easy.”
“I work hard for my money.”
“So do I.”
“What if I told you I don’t believe you’ve got a gun in there?”
“Then I’d say fine. And then I’d kill you.”
“You don’t look like a stick-up guy.”
“And you don’t look like a guy who’s stupid enough to get himself shot over three hundred dollars.”
“I have to back up again. So I can get close.”
“Back up. But go easy.”
“Some goddamned birthday this is.”
“It’s your birthday?”
“Yeah. Ain’t that a bitch?”
He backed up, pulled forward again, got right up next to the ATM, pulled out his card and went to work.
The money came out with no problem. He handed it over to me.
“You have a pencil and paper?”
“What?”
“Something you can write with?”
“Oh. Yeah. Why?”
“I want you to write down your name and address.”
“For what?”
“Because tomorrow morning I’m going to put three hundred dollars in an envelope and mail it to you.”
“Are you some kind of crazy drug addict or what?”
“Just write down your name and address.”
He shook his head. “Not only do I get robbed, I get robbed by some goddamned fruitcake.”
But he wrote down his name and address, probably thinking I’d shoot him if he didn’t.
“I appreciate the loan,” I said, getting out of his car.
“Loan? You tell the cops it was a ‘loan’ and see what they say.”
“Hope the rest of your day goes better,” I said, and slammed the door.
And I hope the rest of my day goes better, too, I thought.
“Good thing you got back here when you did,” the man with the gun said. “I was just about to waste her.”
“Spare me the macho crap, all right?” I said. I was getting cranky. The rain. The cold. The fear. And then having to commit a felony to get the cash I needed — and putting fear into a perfectly decent citizen who’d been having a very bad day himself.
I handed the money over to him. “Now you can go,” I said.
He counted it in hard, harsh grunts, like a pig rutting in the mud.
“Three goddamned hundred. It was supposed to be four. Or five.”
“I guess you’ll just have to shoot us, then, huh?”
Laura gave me a frantic look and then dug her nails into my hands. Obviously, like the man I’d just left at the ATM, she thought I had lost what little of my senses I had left.
“I wouldn’t push it, punk,” the man with the gun said. “Because I just might shoot you yet.”
He leaned forward from the backseat and said, “Lemme see your purse, babe.”
Laura looked at me. I nodded. She handed him her purse.
More rutting sounds as he went through it.
“Twenty-six bucks?”
“I’m sorry,” Laura said.
“Where’re your credit cards?”
“We don’t have credit cards. It’s too tempting to use them. We’re saving for a house.”
“Ain’t that sweet!”
He pitched the purse over the front seat and opened the back door.
Chill. Fog. Rain.
“You got a jerk for a husband, babe, I mean, just in case you haven’t figured that out already.”
Then he slammed the door and was gone.
“You were really going to tear it up?”
“Or let you tear it up. Whichever you preferred. I mean, I know you think I still have this thing for Chris but I really don’t. I was going to prove it to you by showing you the letter tonight and letting you do whatever you wanted with it.”