Then she led him through the kitchen, to the garage. Ronnie acting like the chauffeur again, carrying the luggage, following her into the garage, glad to get out of there.
Pressing the fob, she unlocked the trunk of the Benz. Ronnie laying the twins in there and easing it shut.
Popping the door locks, Bobbi tossed him the keys, saying, “You drive.” Getting in the passenger side, she pressed a button on the remote clipped to the visor, the garage door going up. Ronnie starting the car and backing down the driveway, driving the way he came, past the hot Toyota. Rolling down Chartwell, not fast enough to attract attention, the lights of the city like stars before them.
“How about putting that away,” he said, glancing at the pistol. “You’re making me nervous.”
She ignored him.
“Man, that’s some racket coming out of him,” he said, going for some chitchat. “How you stand it?”
Bobbi told him about the club drug cocktail.
“Jesus.”
“Wanted to be sure, you know. No surprises, like him waking up when I’m walking out with the twins.”
Ronnie shook his head and laughed, saying, “Never pictured it, the two of you anyway.”
“You going Dr. Laura on me now, Ronnie?”
“Sorry, really none of my business.”
“Anyway, you telling me you don’t snore?”
“Not like that.”
“Yeah, well, guess we’ll see.”
Wondering what that meant, Ronnie coasted down the hill, seeing the flashing lights and barrier as they turned at the top of Taylor Way. His heart back in his throat, thinking it was the cops. Turned out to be a work crew in safety vests, one guy setting out orange cones, a couple others dealing with what looked like a burst water main. A flagger waved them down a single lane along the wide boulevard.
Ronnie got in the left lane, set to take the ramp and head east on the 1. Bobbi telling him to turn right instead, the pistol still aimed at him.
Powering up the ramp, sailing along. Didn’t speak again till they were near Caulfield, then Ronnie said, “Could be he’s got some tracking device in the cases. Should pull over, have a look. See how much we got.”
“Just drive.”
Staying in the outside lane, Ronnie kept an eye on his speed. No desire to get pulled over. They were quiet till they rolled past Horseshoe Bay, no lines for the ferries at this hour.
Then she asked, “Why’d you pick tonight?”
He told her he’d been watching and waiting. How he’d seen them that time, her and Lonzo at the bistro six months back, Ronnie standing in a job line across the street. Said it came to him soon after that. He figured Lonzo owed him.
She told him what happened inside the bistro, the way Lonzo just walked in and took her from Carmen Roth. “He owes you shit, by the way.”
“Maybe so, but still, we got two bags of his money. One for you, one for me.”
“That’s how you see it, huh?”
“Think it’s fair, yeah.”
“Yeah, well, think again.”
“You know how much’s in there?”
“No.”
Ronnie frowned, feeling his phone vibrate, reaching for it, doing it slow. Could be Maxwell, pissed off about the missed appointment, calling at a ridiculous hour to remind Ronnie he could send him back to the can — just like that. But it wasn’t him.
Bobbi leaned close and looked at his screen.
“How d’you like that?” Reading the text, he told her it was the recruiter he saw all those months ago, how he’d long given up on it. “Says the last assistant didn’t work out.”
“What kind of employer texts at this time of night?”
“You got no idea what it’s like out there.” Reading the rest of it, Ronnie said he’d been short-listed to assist some big star.
“Like who?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“Pffft.”
Bobbi looked out at the scenery rushing past. The two of them talking about different jobs they’d had, people they both knew, most of them gangsters. Laughing as they passed a sign that read Squamish up ahead.
Ronnie thought of making a grab for the pistol, Bobbi acting like she forgot it was in her lap. He could take it all, leave her the Benz, and jack himself a fresh car in Squamish, drive back down, get his stuff from his flat, and split town. Maybe drive east. Saying, “You mind I turn on the radio?” Reaching for the knob, he turned it on.
Bobbi switched it off.
“You don’t like country?”
“Turn at the light.”
Putting on his flasher, getting in the left lane, guessing she was dropping him off at the McDonald’s. Hopefully with some of the cash. Then she’d drive off and ditch him. Maybe he should be glad she hadn’t shot him.
Showing him where to park, she told him to make hers black.
He reached for the keys.
“Uh-uhn.” Giving him a smile, hand on the pistol. Ronnie noted her painted fingernails.
He got out and went into the restaurant, seeing himself on the first bus back to the city, likely with none of the cash. Stuck following up with the recruiter with the pierced lip and green hair, then calling Maxwell, sucking up and telling him the good news, saying sorry for missing his appointment. Back to scraping the bottom.
He came out sipping a large. The Benz was parked where he left it. Bobbi in the passenger side, talking on her cell. Going back in the door that said Welcome, he ordered one for her. Going back to the car, he heard the country, some Willie Nelson number. Ronnie got in, handing her a cup, saying, “Thought maybe you’d be gone.”
“Did cross my mind.” She set the cup in the holder, stared straight ahead.
“So, how about it? We check the cases, see how much we got, see if they’re wearing bugs.”
“Was him on the phone.”
“Lonzo?”
She nodded, trying to smile past the scared look. “Man sure is pissed. Wants it back, his million bucks.”
Staring at her, Ronnie mouthed the amount.
“Yeah.”
“Lemme see it.” Ronnie held out his hand, meaning her phone.
A puzzled look, she handed it to him.
Opening his door, he dropped it out, crushing it under his heel.
Bobbi stared at him, the pistol pointing at him.
“Can track us by it. The car too. I say we jack another ride, maybe that one.” Glancing at a plain van in the next row. “Figure this shit out.”
“Not going anywhere in that.” She sipped some coffee, saying, “I know this guy, he’s got a chalet up near Whistler. Spot with a fireplace and pool, real nice. He’ll let us crash till we figure things out.”
“He know Lonzo?”
“Carmen Roth, the guy from the bistro.”
Ronnie looking at her, then they were laughing, sipping their coffee.
“Any chance he’d give us up?”
“None, ’specially after I tell him how I drugged Lonzo and ripped off his cash.”
More nervous laughing. Ronnie finally saying, “Okay, so we drive up, wait till morning, then you call this Carmen, see what he says.”
“I’d call him right now, but you just killed my phone.”
Reaching in his jacket for his, handing it to her, looking at the pistol back on her lap. Saying, “You ever shoot one of those?”
“Not yet.”
She punched in directory assistance, and he started the engine, knowing that lunatic Lonzo D’Cruz would be coming after them. The strange thing, Ronnie wasn’t worried. In fact he was feeling pretty good about the way things were turning out. Ripping off a million bucks and running sure beat the hell out of picking up some A-lister’s dry cleaning. Then he was thinking about the chalet and sleeping arrangements.