Twenty-Nine
Billy, wild-eyed, had snatched the gun up off the table and was pointing it straight at Lucy.
“What did you do?” he shouted. “What the fuck did you do?”
Still sitting, she had her hands partly raised, palms forward, like she was about to be arrested. “Billy, please, put down the gun. You’re freaking me out.”
The gun did not go down. He kept it trained on her forehead, his arm shaking. “Just tell me what you did,” he said, trying to bring some calm to his voice. But he still looked ready to blow her head off.
“It was only a little,” she said, slowly lowering her hands and placing them palms down on the table. “A few pills or candies or whatever. I didn’t think anyone would notice. There was so much of it.”
“How?”
“I took your key, copied it, put it back on your ring,” she said, shrugging, like it was no big deal.
“The bag was locked,” he said.
“I YouTubed it,” she said. “How to open it, zip it back up like it never happened. You should tell your guys it’s pretty easy, they might want to try something a little more secure. I got into it like it was nothing. If I could do it, anybody could do it.”
Make him think she’d done them all a favor, a little demonstration that would prompt everyone to up their game. “I can show you, if you want.”
“Goddamn it, Lucy. What’d you do with it?”
“Sold it. Billy, please, I’m begging you, put the gun down. If you’re gonna shoot me, shoot me and be done with it. But I swear, I’m gonna piss myself if you don’t put it down.”
He considered the request a moment, then lowered the gun, pointing it more at the table, but hanging on to it just the same.
“Sold it to who?” he asked.
“Some patients. Current ones and former ones, and this one guy at work. He became my best customer pretty fast. Thing is, I only dipped into the stash once, and he’s already leaning on me for more. I told him it was all over. I swear. I said I couldn’t get any more. I’m done. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry,” he said, sneering, the word leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “Is that what I should tell them? That you’re sorry?”
She pushed back her chair and stood. “I will, I’ll do it. I’ll take the blame. I’ll tell them you had nothing to do with it. That it was me. That I’ll find a way to make it right. I’ll hit my mom up for it, make up a story.”
“Don’t you get it?” Billy said. “Doesn’t matter if it was you. It’s still my fault. They trusted me with their shit. I’m fucking toast.”
He started waving the gun around in frustration, pointing it nowhere in particular. “Shit shit shit shit,” he said under his breath. Then, “How many times?”
“I told you. Just the once.” She was thinking. “Maybe... maybe there’s some way we could make them think it was at their end. I’ll show you how to get into that carry-on case, then you can show them. Tell them maybe someone on the plane got into it.”
But Billy wasn’t listening. His eyes had glazed over, like he was looking into his own future and didn’t like what he saw.
And then Lucy said something she’d been holding back. “You should have shared,” she said.
“I what?”
“Coming into all this cash, but still sending me off to my shit job every day. I mean, not like I would have quit, but it would’ve been nice if you spent some of that money on me instead of on yourself.”
Slowly, he fixed his eyes on her. “Just like Stuart. Everyone wants a piece of my action. You both think you’re entitled.” He pointed the gun at her again. “Fuck you.”
“Okay! Okay!” she said, hands in the air once more.
She moved slowly over to the counter, not sure whether Billy was going to pull the trigger or not. Grabbed her car keys and said, “I’m leaving, okay? I’m just going to get out of here for a while. When you’ve cooled down, text me or call me or whatever. But right now I’m out of here.”
And she was gone. A moment later, Billy could hear her car start up and drive off.
He decided to head out to the garage and see for himself how easy it was to get into the carry-on bag.
Taking the gun with him, he unlocked the side door, put the gun on the worktable, and used his key to open the locker. Took out the carry-on bag, set it on the bench.
Billy found, if not the same video Lucy had watched, one very similar, which illustrated how easy it was to get into a locked bag. Working a pencil between the zipper teeth made a joke out of the small lock that held the two zipper ends together.
“Fuck me,” he said to himself when he realized how simply it could be done.
Maybe Lucy was right. He’d demonstrate what he’d learned when Psycho Bitch and Butthead came to call. Not that this made him any less angry with her. She’d landed them in shit up to their eyeballs, and damned if he didn’t nearly pull that trigger at one point.
Good thing he hadn’t. First of all, what a mess it would have made. And what would he have done with her afterward? What would he say when the hospital called and asked why she hadn’t shown up for her shift? Maybe he could’ve said she’d left him. He thought that was probably a tale he could sell, because even Billy had enough self-awareness to know he wasn’t the Porsche in a lot full of Pintos.
And the thing was, he loved her. Sure, in the moment he could have put a bullet in her head, but he loved her.
So, yeah, maybe Andrea and Gerhard could be persuaded that it might, just might, not be his fault. Or at least raise some level of doubt in their minds. And if that kept them from killing him, fine and dandy. If they wanted to get someone else to do what he’d been doing, find another guy at another airport, fine by him.
Frankly, Billy’d be glad to see the ass end of them. Especially the woman. His nipple still hurt like a motherfucker.
He closed the case back up, again following the tips he’d learned from the video, the zipper ends still linked together with the tiny lock. He was about to return it to the locker when he heard a rapping at the side door.
Had Lucy come back? Had she forgiven him for waving a gun in her face? The real question was, had he forgiven her for getting them into this mess? He didn’t think she’d be back this soon.
The pickup was set for tonight, so he shouldn’t be surprised if Andrea and Gerhard were here, although it was a little early. They usually showed up after nine, sometimes closer to ten. So Billy didn’t bother securing the carry-on bag behind a locked door.
He tucked the gun behind his back, under his belt. Didn’t think his associates would respond well if he opened the door with a gun in his hand. He took a deep breath, wanting to look as relaxed and unruffled as possible.
He opened the door. The bulb in the lamp above it had burned out, but it wasn’t so dark yet that he couldn’t see who it was.
Stuart.
Billy invited him in with a nod of his head.
“You look pissed,” Stuart said. “This a bad time?”
“Had a huge fight with Lucy. She took off.”
“What’s it this time?”
Billy shook his head tiredly. “You were right.”
“Fuck, no.”
“Yeah. It was Lucy. She dipped into the stash.”
“Oh man. What’re you gonna do?”
“Don’t know. Not so sure they’ll understand. Maybe take one last shot at trying to convince them there was a way someone else could have got into the case before it reached me. If Lucy could figure it out watching YouTube, anybody could.”
Heading over to his workbench, he turned his back to Stuart, who noticed for the first time what was tucked under the belt at Billy’s back.
“Uh, what’s with the gun, man?”
“Oh,” Billy said, like he’d forgotten it was there. He reached around for it, placed it sideways in his palm, and held it out for inspection. “Got it just in case. Wanna hold it?”
Stuart’s eyes went wide with wonder. Tentatively, he took it from Billy’s hand.
“Loaded?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t be much good otherwise. Just don’t fucking point it at me.”
Stuart raised the weapon as though getting ready to fire it, squinting over the barrel. “Pew, pew,” he said.
“It’s not Luke Skywalker’s blaster,” Billy said. “Give it to me before you do something stupid.”
Billy put the gun back on the workbench, turned around, leaned his butt up against it, crossed his arms, then placed his hand on his stomach. “So much shit going on, I forgot to eat. Stomach sounds like a cement mixer.”
Stuart said, “I could get some wings. Be back super-fast.”
Billy shrugged. “Sure.” He pulled out his wallet, handed over a couple of twenties. “Sorry for the way I’ve treated you, man.”
Stuart waved him off, slipped out the side door, and closed it behind him. Billy remained propped up against the workbench and gave the Camaro a long, defeated look.
“I really got no fuckin’ idea,” he said to himself.
Only a minute or two had passed before there was another rapping at the door. He opened it.
“Billy Finster,” said his latest visitor.
“The hell do you want?”
“This shit is over.”