The Smack Page 21

  “Have a nice day,” she said.

  Bernard and Patricia carried the piñatas out of the store. Big white clouds pressed down on them. The traffic signal across the street winked knowingly. It was like slogging through mud in someone else’s shoes to get to the car, like walking on another planet. Patricia smelled smoke, burning rubber. If something bad was going to happen, it would happen now.

  Bernard’s hand shook as he stuck the key in the ignition. The clouds, the traffic light, then a jackhammer, loud as a machine gun. The workers up the block. Patricia lit another cigarette.

  “Not in the car,” Bernard said. “I think it’s illegal.”

  “I don’t care,” Patricia said. “I’m a gangster.”

  Bernard pulled away from the curb laughing. He made the left his phone told him to, then the right. Patricia was laughing, too, by the time they reached the freeway. She threw her arms around Bernard and kissed him on the cheek, then lowered her window and screamed into the wind: “Fuuuuuuuck!”

  The Frenchies were waiting out on the walkway. The three piñatas they’d brought sat on the bed. Tinafey stood against the dresser, tapping her foot. She was still mad at Petty for sending Bernard and Patricia to the shop.

  Petty picked up one of the clown heads. There was a hole in the back where the candy was supposed to go. Petty stuck his hand into the hole and came out with a banded stack of hundreds. His heart hammered as he flipped through the bills. Ten thousand dollars. He reached into the hole again. Another stack. And another. And another. Tinafey’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, hell, no,” she said.

  Petty pulled twenty stacks out of the first clown. Two hundred grand. He’d never seen so much cash before, never smelled so much cash. He’d half expected this would turn out to be a bust, that Tony was either lying or crazy. But no: there it was.

  Before going any further, he grabbed one of the stacks and stepped outside to pay off Bernard and Patricia. Bernard tried to act like it was no big deal but revealed how flustered he was when he couldn’t figure out where to put the money. He tried to slip the stack into his pocket, but his jeans were too tight. Patricia took the bundle from him and put it in her bag. Eager to get out of town, they headed for the stairs, wheeled suitcases click-clacking behind them.

  “Get the convertible!” Petty called.

  Back in the room he emptied the other two piñatas and stacked all the money on the table. Six hundred and forty thousand dollars.

  “Check that out,” he said to Tinafey.

  “Pretty proud of yourself, ain’t you?” Tinafey said.

  Petty shrugged. “I did what I had to do,” he said. “But it is a big fucking score.”

  Tinafey sat on the bed and picked up one of the bundles of bills.

  “Don’t it make you nervous, though?” she said. “It makes me nervous.”

  Petty’s burner rang, someone calling about one of the condos.

  “It’s booked for the rest of the year,” Petty said.

  He grabbed his laptop and went to work taking down the listings. He could leave that penny-ante grind behind for good now.

  An hour later he drove to a Public Storage facility near MacArthur Park and put down a month’s rent on a three-by-three locker. He bought a cardboard box from the woman on duty in the lobby, stacked all but twenty thousand of the money in it, and deposited the box in the locker. His next stop was a Rite Aid, where he bought a padlock. He opened the package, threw away the lock, but kept the keys.

  He went to Tony’s motel. As soon as the kid answered his knock, he said, “Think fast,” and tossed a stack of hundreds at him. The kid managed to catch it, even though, judging by the empties on the nightstand, he’d been guzzling beer since breakfast.

  “Is my mom okay?” he said.

  “She’s fine,” Petty said. “Everything went great.”

  “Where’s the rest of the money?”

  Petty reached into his pocket for one of the padlock keys. He handed it to Tony.

  “I got you a locker at a storage place,” he said. “That’s your key to it.”

  “What storage place? Where?”

  “SoCal Self Storage in Hollywood,” Petty said, naming a place he’d looked up earlier, in case the kid asked. “The money’s in locker 376. Write it down. We’ll leave it there until this is all sorted out. It’s as good as a bank, twenty-four-hour security and everything.”

  “We’ll leave it there?” Tony said. He sat on the bed, lifted his prosthetic onto the mattress, and slid back so that he was leaning against the headboard. “It’s my money, you know.”

  “Yeah. And?” Petty said.

  “And don’t forget it,” Tony said.

  “You know I’m not the guy trying to take the money from you, right?” Petty said. “You know I’m the guy trying to help you keep it.”

  Tony picked up the Tecate he’d been nursing and had a swig. He stared at Petty like he was sizing him up all over again, like he thought his gaze would break him. The heater came on, noisy, the fan clattering against something. Petty decided to shift gears.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “You’re the boss. I’m working for you. If you don’t trust me, give me my two hundred and fifty grand right now and let me get the fuck out of here.”

  Tony continued to stare at him, his jaw clenching and unclenching rhythmically.

  “Just so we’re straight, though,” Petty continued, “if that’s your choice, we’re no longer partners, and I’m no longer obligated to you. If Avi—the cops, whoever—come down on me, I’ll tell them whatever I have to in order to save my own ass.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Tony said. “Well, what if I tell them you were there when that dude got shot and that you helped me bury him? That that whole thing and this whole thing were your ideas?”

  “So then what? Both of us are fucked?” Petty said. “Doesn’t it seem like there’s a better way to go, one where we both come out all right?”

  Tony looked away. He shook his head in frustration.

  “I don’t even know your name,” he said. “Ronald? Ronan? That’s what the cowboy called you.”

  “Rowan,” Petty said. “My name’s Rowan.”

  “What kind of name is that?”

  “It was my dad’s dad’s name. It’s old.”

  “Old man Rowan,” Tony said. He scoffed at this and reached for a fresh beer.

  “Listen,” Petty said. “We’re on our way. Everything’s going good. Let’s make sure your money’s safe and then show Avi he can’t fuck with us.”

  “How exactly are we gonna do that?” Tony said. “Tell me.”

  Petty had a lie ready.

  “I’ve known Avi for close to twenty years,” he said. “I used to work for him in Chicago, which is where he still lives. I know where his office is, I know where his house is, I know where he eats lunch and where his kids go to school. What we’re gonna do is take this thing right to his doorstep.”

  “We’re going to Chicago?” Tony said.

  “That’s right,” Petty said.

  “Like on an airplane?”

  “We’re gonna get right in Avi’s face. We’re gonna stick a gun in his mouth and tell him enough is enough.”

  Tony thought this over. He picked up the stack of hundreds and slapped the bills against his palm a few times.

  “It’s cold up there, ain’t it?” he said.

  “Where? Chicago?” Petty said. “Colder than shit.”

  “I’ll need to get a coat.”

  “We’ll set you up,” Petty said. “But first, tell me about your uncle’s place. Where’s the money hidden? What’s the layout?”

  Tinafey went with him again to visit Sam that evening. The surgery was scheduled for eight the next morning, and Sam was a little out of it. There was a slight but noticeable lag between Petty’s questions and her responses and a sleepy drawl in her voice when she did answer. Petty wondered if they’d given her a pill to keep her calm.

  “Grandma called,” she said,
like she was recalling something from the distant past.

  “I talked to her, too,” Petty said. “She really wishes she could be here.”

  “I’m glad she’s not.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want people to see me like this. It’s bad enough you and my mother are here.”

  “You look fine,” Petty said. He turned to Tinafey. “Doesn’t she?”

  “Sure,” Tinafey said. “But still, I bet it’s hard bein’ in here. You’ve got to smile and laugh for the people comin’ to see you when you don’t feel like smilin’ at all.”

  “You don’t have to entertain me,” Petty said to Sam. “I’m fine sitting here.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “Watching me sleep.”

  A nurse came in to check on her, to see if she needed anything. She asked for ice water.

  “They didn’t give me any dinner,” she said to Petty and Tinafey. “They want my stomach empty for the operation. Which doesn’t make any sense. They’re cutting my head open, not my belly.”

  Petty thought he should ask if she was scared, but he didn’t want to upset her with stupid questions. Of course she was scared. He was glad when Tinafey took over the conversation. She picked up a gossip magazine and soon had Sam talking about the Kardashians and The Bachelorette. Sam was laughing when they got up to go fifteen minutes later.

  Petty stood next to the bed and held her hand, which was more bones than flesh. “Try to sleep,” he said. “I’ll be here early, before they take you in.”

  “You don’t have to come,” Sam said.

  “I know,” Petty said. “But I’m going to.”

  Tinafey took his arm as they walked down the long white corridor and rode the elevator and stepped through the automatic doors into the cold, rackety night.

  “You’re good with her,” he said. “Way better than me.”

  “It’s different,” Tinafey said. “You’re her daddy.”

  “You know what she was upset about yesterday? The scar from the surgery.”

  “And what’d you say to that?”

  “A scar nobody’ll see? I told her it was silly.”

  “To you, maybe, but not to her.”

  “I was trying to make her feel better.”

  “Is that right?” Tinafey said. “Well, if you want to do that, next time she tells you she’s upset about somethin’, don’t tell her it’s nothin’.”

  Petty stepped off the curb. A flash in the gutter caught his eye. A candy wrapper. Sloppy. Everything was sloppy. Sam, Carrie and Hug, Tony, Tinafey. He was tending ten fires at once, beating back the flames with his bare hands and praying the wind didn’t gust.

  He dropped right off to sleep when they got back to the room but woke an hour later from another nightmare about the cowboy. He felt like he’d run around the block a couple times and couldn’t catch his breath.

  Tinafey was sitting up in bed, staring at him.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “You sure were moanin’ and groanin’ like it was somethin’.”

  “A bad dream.”

  “About what?”

  “That guy who got killed.”

  A train whistle hooted in the rail yard by the river, rode the breeze all that way to make Petty shiver. Tinafey lay back down and scooted over until she was right next to him.

  “One time, a lotta years ago, I was partyin’ with some friends,” she said. “Someone had a motel room, some dope dealer we knew, and we all went over there to get high. Weed, crack, tar, the brother hooked everybody up. It went on and on. First it was midnight, then it was three in the mornin’, and then all of a sudden the sun was comin’ up. I was high as shit, feelin’ no pain. My boyfriend at the time was there, my girlfriend, and we was dancin’ and talkin’ and jokin’ around.

  “Then we hear, ‘Oh, fuck!’ and some motherfucker came runnin’ out the bathroom and kept on goin’ out the front door. There was a girl layin’ on the bathroom floor, not breathin’, not movin’, OD’d on somethin’. My heart was tellin’ me, ‘Help that girl. Do somethin’. Call someone.’ But my brain was tellin’ me, ‘You’re goin’ to jail, bitch, they catch you here.’ So when everybody up and left, pushin’ each other out the way to get out the door, I ran with ’em, ran and didn’t look back.

  “I heard later they had trouble figurin’ out who the girl was because someone stole her purse on the way out. That’s the kind of cold-blooded motherfuckers there is in this world. Seriously. She laid in the morgue for a week before her family knew she was dead.

  “And you know what? I still dream about it. I see the bathroom, I see the girl, I see me doin’ nothin’, and I wake up cryin’. That’s my punishment, and it’s gonna be my punishment for the rest of my life. Whenever I get to thinkin’ too much of myself, I’m gonna have one of those dreams and remember what I really am.”

  The train whistle wailed again. Petty wrapped his arms around Tinafey. She was as stiff and cold as an iron bar.

  “You’ll be all right,” she said. “You won’t never be the same, but you’ll be okay.”

  23

  PETTY WENT TO THE HOSPITAL ALONE THE NEXT MORNING. Carrie was going to be there, so he told Tinafey it would be better if she didn’t come along. Tinafey was fine with that, said she wasn’t in the mood for any drama.

  Petty walked to Good Samaritan. The streets already had traffic on them at seven. The homeless had broken camp, and flocks of ragged pigeons were on the wing, wheeling against a mass of dark clouds rolling in from the north. Petty watched the clouds swallow the sun as he waited for a slow-moving bus to pass.

  The hospital revved up early, too. There were breakfasts to be delivered and piss jugs to be emptied. Sam was sitting up in bed with an IV in her arm. The surgeon who’d be removing the tumor was there, explaining to her what would happen in the operating room. Petty waved at him to keep talking as he crept in and took a seat.

  The description of the procedure was similar to the one the neurologist had given them. Sam nodded along, stoic this time. When the surgeon asked if she had any questions, she said no.

  “This is my dad,” she said, gesturing at Petty.

  “How about you, Dad?” the surgeon said. “Questions?”

  Petty couldn’t think of any.

  “I’ll see you in about an hour, then,” the surgeon said to Sam. He looked like he was twelve years old.

  When he had gone, Petty got up and stood next to Sam’s bed. Sam grimaced and rubbed her forehead.

  “I want this to be over with,” she said. “I want them to cut the fucking thing out so I can go home to my cat.”

  “Soon,” Petty said.

  “I asked the neurologist if I’d be the same afterward, like if there was a chance they could damage something, and you know what she said? ‘We’re very careful.’ What’s that? That’s not a yes. That’s not a no.”

  “There are probably rules about what they can say—laws.”

  “And what if I have to have chemo or radiation?” Sam said. “That’ll screw up my job, my school.”

  Her hand slid down so that it covered her eyes. She started to cry.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Petty said. “We’ll work it out.”

  “Who? You?” Sam said. “You’re gonna work it out? Or my mother? Give me a fucking break.”

  She cried a little more. Petty stayed quiet, let her get it all out. When she finally calmed down, she pinched the bridge of her nose like she was trying to squeeze off her tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m being a baby.”

  “You want to see a baby?” Petty said. He took out his wallet and pulled a photo from it. It was Sam at three years old, wearing a Sesame Street T-shirt, her face screwed up like she was about to wail.

  Sam smiled at the photo. “What am I doing?” she said.

  “Look in your hand there.” Petty pointed. “That’s a lemon. You grabbed it off the table and bit into it, and I got a p
icture.”

  “Oh, my God,” Sam said. She coughed out a throaty laugh. “Do you have any more?”

  “That’s it,” Petty said.

  “That’s the only picture you have of me?”

  “It’s the only one I carry around,” Petty said. “It makes me smile every time I look at it.”

  Sam handed the photo back to him. “You’re crazy,” she said.

  Carrie swept in, coat billowing, purse bouncing, a frazzled cyclone that set everything spinning.

  “I’m late, I know,” she said. “We’re staying all the way out in Santa Monica.”

  “You didn’t miss anything,” Sam said.

  “I know, but I wanted to be here,” Carrie said. She slipped in beside Petty to stand at Sam’s bedside. Her pushiness annoyed him. He moved away and sat in one of the chairs.

  “You’ve been crying,” Carrie said to Sam. “Oh, no. Why?”

  Sam started to pop off with something mean but thought better of it. “I’m just tired,” she said. “How’s Santa Monica?”

  Carrie was in the middle of a story about how she’d scored a free night at her hotel because the kitchen had gotten a room-service order wrong when two orderlies came for Sam. They seemed to be in a hurry as they transferred her to a gurney and rearranged her IV bag, and their urgency triggered a spasm of panic in Petty.

  “Hugs and kisses, family,” one of the orderlies said. “Hugs and kisses.”

  Petty stepped over to the gurney. Sam’s face was drawn, her eyes jumpy. Petty bent to kiss her on the cheek. He was surprised when she wrapped her arms around him.

  “I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I love you, too,” she said.

  He stood in the corridor and watched her on the gurney until the elevator doors closed on it.

  “She’s a tough cookie,” Carrie said.

  Petty ignored her. He stepped back into Sam’s room and sat again, needed a minute to recharge.

  “How long are you planning on hanging around here today?” Carrie said.

  “Until she gets out of surgery,” Petty said.

  “Really?” Carrie said. “The whole time?”