At Their Own Game (9 page)

“This is insane,” I croaked.
 

“This is life.”
 

Aw, Christ.
 

She wet her lips and leaned toward me.
 

I should have resisted. I should have thrown her out on her perfect ass the moment I saw her sitting on my couch.
 

But life is full of should have’s, isn’t it?
 

Afterward, we lay in my bed atop the blankets, silent. Her hip pressed into mine. Her head nestled under my chin. My nostrils were full of the musky scent of her skin and hair.
 

Christ, was I really lying here with her?
 

I opened my eyes and looked up at my ceiling in the dim light of my bedroom. The landscape of texture and cracks reminded me of the moon. For a while, I imagined hiking through the ravines and over the hills of that alien topography. It was easier than what was here on Earth.
 

Her fingers lightly traced a slow circle on my stomach. Goosebumps rose under her nails. Her breath caressed my chest.
 

I stopped thinking about the moon.
 

“Where did you go?” I asked, breaking the silence of the room.
 

“East,” she said.
 

“Where to?”
 

“I ended up in Minneapolis for a while.”
 

I swallowed thickly, and asked, “With who?”
 

“I went with the person who, in all the world, I most needed to get to know.” She shifted, turning and putting her chin on my chest and looking up at me.
 

“Who?” I repeated.
 

“Me, Jake. I had to get to know me.”
 

I frowned. “So you took off…what, to find yourself?”
 

“Pretty much.”
 

“That’s why the divorce, too?”
 

She returned my frown. “One thing I figured out, baby. I didn’t know who I was, but I was definitely
not
Mrs. Kyle Falkner.”
 

Not Mrs. Jacob Stankovic, either.
 

She stared at me a while, then shrugged. “I worked a couple of different jobs while I was in Minneapolis. And I took some classes.”
 

“Did you find yourself?”
 

She shrugged. “I think what I figured out is that we all know who we are. At our core, we know. A lot of the time, when people are trying to ‘find’ themselves, they’re really just running away from what they already know.”
 

“So who are you?”
 

“A greedy bitch.”
 

“Is that what you found in Minneapolis, or is that what you were running from?”
 

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Both, I think.” Then she smiled. “But it took working on my own and taking some classes to see it.”
 

“You could have done all that here.”
 

“No, I couldn’t. Not with the great master detective lurking around every shadow during the divorce. And not…not with you here, either.”
 

“Why not?”
 

“God, Jake. I have to spell it out for you?”
 

I opened my mouth to say something, but she shut me up with her own mouth, and I was lost again.
 

We dozed for a while after the second time. I dreamt something that was both comforting and dangerous, but when I woke up, it was gone almost immediately.
 

Helen was fast asleep beside me. I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes, amazed at how easily this happened. She’d been gone for years, and after that moment of initial shock, everything seemed normal. As if she’d never left. And yet magical, at the same time.
 

Christ, this woman was infuriating.
 

I let out a long breath. This was how it always felt with her.
 

And I liked it.
 

I glanced over at the clock.
 

The crimson numbers read
7:09
.
 

I blinked.
 

Ozzy.
 

“Shit!” I said, clambering out of bed and reach for my jeans.
 

Helen startled awake. “What is it? Is someone here?”
 

I pulled on my jeans and started looking for my boots.
 

“Jake, what is it?”
 

“Nothing. I’m late for something, that’s all.”
 

“Late for what?”
 

One boot was in a pile with my shirt. I grabbed it. “Nothing.”
 

“Jake, I can hear the stress in your voice. Are you okay?”
 

I found the other boot halfway under the bed. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on both boots. “I am fine,” I said. “I’m just late.”
 

She hesitated. Then she said, “I’m not trying to pry. You just scared me, is all.”
 

“Sorry.” I whipped through tying my boots. Then I stood, pulling on my shirt. “It’s something important.”
 

“Oh.” Crestfallen, like a little baby bird.
 

I paused. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that.”
 

“I know.” Same voice.
 

I leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t.”
 

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “But come back soon, okay? I still need to talk to you.”
 

“About what?”
 

She just shook her head. “After your important thing. I want your complete attention.”
 

I glanced at the clock.
7:10
now. Then I looked at her again, sitting up in my bed. Her hair tumbling down the front of her shoulders. Not long enough to cover her perfect breasts. Her eyes looking at me like I was it, man. I was the only person in the world. No one else mattered.
 

Christ, how did I ever shake this woman in the first place?
 

“I’ll come right back,” I promised. “Don’t go anywhere.”
 

“I won’t.”
 

I tore myself away, grabbed my keys, and hurried to my car.
 

TEN
 

I whipped into the Safeway parking lot at
7:17
, and found an open slot in the center of the parking area. Then I turned off the ignition, and waited.
 

He didn’t keep me waiting long. Less than two minutes later, a black Ford with flames painted on the hood pulled up behind me. Randall was driving. Ozzy slid out of the passenger seat and waved me over.
 

Reluctantly, I got out of the car and walked toward him.
 

“Get in,” Ozzy said.
 

“Where we going?”
 

“Fucking Disneyland. Get in.”
 

I hesitated, then climbed up into the truck. The odor of Armor-All permeated the cab. Randall gave me a short nod as I sat down.
 

Ozzy got in after me and slammed the door. Without being told, Randall gunned the engine and pulled away.
 

“Where are we going?” I repeated deliberately.
 

“First off, the fuck you care?” Ozzy shook his head. “Second off, you’re late.”
 

“I’m sorry.”
 

“The whole world is fucking sorry,” Ozzy said. “Why don’t you try to be original?”
 

I didn’t answer.
 

Randall jetted across the street and through a McDonald’s parking lot. Then he stopped behind the Swinging Doors Tavern.
 

When he’d put the car in park and killed the engine, Ozzy turned toward me. His large frame twisted and he leaned back against the door. “So we got problems?”
 

“No.”
 

His brow furrowed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but your guy brought the money, but your other guy didn’t pick up the product, right?”
 

“Right.”
 

“That sounds like a problem.” He smiled, his lips looking like two stretched sausages. “’Course, it’s more of a problem for you than it is for me. I got paid.”
 

“It’s not a problem.”
 

“See, I think it is. Not so much because you don’t have your shit, because honestly, I don’t care about your cash flow a whole lot. But I think it’s a problem because it’s unprofessional. It raises questions. Like, why the fuck didn’t your guy show?”
 

“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry the logistics got screwed up, but—”
 

“See, I heard he didn’t show up because he got picked up by a patrol cop. That true?”
 

I hesitated. Then I nodded. Obviously, he knew, so why try to lie about it?
 

Ozzy lifted his chin inquisitively. “And you didn’t think to tell me this?”
 

“It’s not your problem.”
 

He scratched his chin. “Not my problem, huh?” He leaned forward, glaring at me. His voice lowered. “Are you telling me this is none of my business, motherfucker?”
 

“No. I’m telling you it’s not your problem.”
 

“That sounds like the same thing.”
 

“It’s not.”
 

“Well, why don’t you break it down for me, professor? Before I snap one of the bones in your hand or something.”
 

I took a breath. “It’s your business, all right? It’s your business because it seemed to involve our business together. But it doesn’t. He got popped on a bullshit
misdemeanor warrant out of Idaho. Completely unrelated. So that’s why it’s not your problem.”
 

Ozzy stared at me for a while, not blinking. Waiting.
 

After a while, I shrugged. “What else do you want to know?”
 

Quick as flash, his right hand lashed out and caught me on the tip of the nose. The force of the blow wasn’t overpowering, but stinging pain shot through my senses. My eyes immediately teared up. I grabbed for my nose with both hands.
 

“Next one’s to the throat,” Ozzy said, still low and mean, but matter of fact. “Now tell me the rest.”
 

“What rest?” I asked, my voice thick. Anger churned in my gut.
 

“There’s more. I can tell.”
 

I blinked. Blood was starting to flow into my hands. I pinched my nostrils shut. I wanted to lean back, but I believed what Ozzy said about my throat, and I didn’t want to make it any easier for him.
 

“Spill it,” he growled.
 

For a moment, I considered telling him about Falkner. If he knew Matt got arrested, he might know about the conversation with Falkner, too. But I doubted it. And if I told him, I might graduate from someone he did a little business with into a loose end. A risk.
 

Plus, he hit me. So fuck him.
 

“You got a rag or something?” I asked.
 

“You’re stalling,” Ozzy snapped. “And I swear to Christ, if you don’t start talking –”
 

“I want my money back,” I said shortly.
 

He blinked at me. Slight surprise registered on his face. Then he shook his head slowly. “You…what?”
 

“You heard me. I changed my mind about this line of product. I want out.”
 

Ozzy leaned back again, regarding me with curiosity, as if I were some new kind of weed that had grown up in his lawn. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
 

“No.”
 

He glanced up at Randall. “You believe this shit?” Without waiting for a reply, he returned his gaze to me. He shook his head. “This isn’t fucking Walmart. I don’t take returns. You bought the product. It’s yours. You don’t want to buy any more, the fuck I care? You don’t want it at all, I’ll keep it. But I don’t give refunds.”
 

“You can always sell it to someone else,” I told him.
 

“I can always…” He shook his head at me again. “I oughta go ahead and hit you in the throat, just for trying to tell me my business.” He pointed at the silver tool chest in the bed of the truck. “Your package is in there. Your money ain’t. You want your package, or not?”
 

“I want my money.”
 

“You can’t have it.”
 

“Why not?”
 

“I already fucking told you. The deal’s done. I don’t give refunds.”
 

“Let’s undo the deal, then.” I stared at him, and tried for that happy medium between not appearing to challenge him enough to piss him off, but still not looking like a pussy to him. The first part was hard because of the anger that was fighting to get out of me. The second part was hard because I was pinching off the bloody nose he gave me.
 

“
Un
do? Like a do over? What are we, in fifth grade?”
 

“No. But the deal was never actually completed, right? The money and the product didn’t both change hands. So it’s not a refund. We’re just calling off the deal.”
 

Ozzy sat quietly, staring hard at me. I could sense Randall’s gaze on me, too. The muffled sound of traffic was all I could hear except for Ozzy’s heavy, labored breaths.
 

Finally, he raised his hand and motioned to Randall. “Back to his car.”
 

Randall started the engine. He drove more carefully on the brief return trip. When he stopped at the rear of my car, Ozzy made no move to exit the cab. Instead, he cocked his head at me and asked, “Who are you connected with, Jake?”
 

“What do you mean?”