4
I found a parking spot by the ferry terminal and checkedthe time on my phone. 12.48 PM. Good. It’ll take me ten minutes to walk to Rockford Park, a green space by the lake with a children’s play area. Once seated on the bench, I can relax and breathe a little. Honestly, I’ll probably be worse until the deal ends and I’m back home in my tiny apartment.
I checked for the tenth time that I’ve still got the $200, and it hasn’t vanished, and yes, thankfully, it’s still there. Climbing out of my hatchback, I feel the heat of the midday sun on the back of my neck and fix my golden ponytail. I now wish I wore jeans or sweatpants rather than shorts because I don’t know what type of man Blake is. However, Zara wouldn’t set me up with a hitman, mafia boss, or someone dangerous. Or maybe she would.
With my bag over my shoulder, I lock my yellow speedster and start walking across the road to the lake, glistening from the sun as small peaks of white pop up and down. There’s a small boat out on the water with a man sitting back in a chair with his fishing rod, surrounded by shags bobbing on the waves dipping down now and again to catch a fish.
All along this side of the lakefront are three-story Georgian architecture apartments, each painted a different color. But my stomach is too churned up to enjoy the view, as today marks the beginning of a new me. Walking past the playground, a group of mothers chat as their kids play on the swings and slides, and I stop to re-check my text conversation with Blake.
He said to wait for him on the park bench overlooking the jetty. Right. I’m in Rockford Park now, and every ten feet, there is a park bench, but the one that overlooks the jetty is down by the bumper boat rides, another two-minute walk. I still have eight minutes, so I’m all good for time.
As I approach the bench closest to the jetty, an elderly couple is occupying it, eating sandwiches. I can hardly ask them to move, so I walk to the next bench and sit there, placing my bag on my lap.
There are many people about because the day is so sunny and beautiful, so it seems like a strange location to choose to make an illegal trade, but I guess Blake knows what he’s doing.
A man approaches my bench, and I hug my bag tightly, expecting him to be the one. He’s about fifty years old, with a protruding stomach, and finishing off a tub of ice cream. I also noticed he doesn’t have a bag to carry a gun in. Maybe it’s not him. He smiles at me before dropping his empty ice cream carton in the trash can beside the bench and walking off. Okay, that’s not Blake.
1.02 PM Blake is still not here, so being the charitable person I am, I’ll give him another eight minutes. That should be sufficient enough. I will leave if he hasn’t shown up in eight more minutes. I gaze down at the bench I should be waiting on that overlooks the jetty, and the elderly couple is still there. I don’t see anyone hovering around waiting for me.
My eyes are pulled toward the bumper boats zooming about the pool, people screeching in laughter as they crash into each other, and water flicking up and saturating them. It looks like a lot of fun, but it”s not fun to do alone. Perhaps I could bribe Z one weekend.
“Rae?” I jump in fright as a smooth voice chants my name and gaze up at him, shielding the sun from my eyes with my hand.
“Yes,” I breathe as my heart slams against my ribcage. I’m doing this. I am actually doing this.
“Rae?” he repeats, sounding confused.
“Yes,” I answer again.
“Friends with Z?” he asks, perplexed.
“Zara? Yes. Why, what is the matter?” I glance behind me, expecting to find something out of place, like a firing squad or a lit canon, but everything is as it should be.
“I”m sorry,” he says, sitting on the bench beside me. “I expected a guy.”
“A guy?”
“Yeah, your name is Rae. I have an Uncle Rae, so I was expecting not a girl.”
He’s not quite what I expected either, and the more I look at him, the more attractive he becomes. Messy wavy black hair, soft chocolate eyes, unshaven chin, and his soapy scent has a hint of engine grease. He’s maybe a couple of years older than me, and his fit body is adorned in black jeans and an old white T-shirt with a faded print that looks like it’s seen better days.
“Not a girl?” My body tenses, and I make my hands into fists to stop them from trembling. “Your uncle’s name is probably spelled with a Y.”
“I’m Blake,” he says, holding his hand out for me to shake. I notice engine grease marks as I take his hand and wonder if he works with cars when he’s not selling guns.
“I’m Rae, obviously.” There’s an awkward silence between us before I add, “I know I was supposed to sit on that bench, but the lovely old couple beat me to it.”
“Yeah, I figured that out,” he answers, “but then I was looking for a guy so…”
In an attempt to calm my racing heart, I make stupid, irrelevant small talk. “Are you a mechanic or something? I mean…when you’re not stealing stuff.”
He grins and combs his raven hair with his fingers, and it springs forward again. “I don’t know if it’s wise to talk about my personal life.”
“Sorry. Of course. You’re not what I expected either,” I tell him, lacing my fingers over the bag on my lap.
“Don’t tell me. You expected a hardened criminal straight out of prison covered in tatts and scars,” he croons as his eyes find my lips.
“Actually, yes.”
“Anyway,” he places his bag on his lap, “the hardware. Do you have the cash?”
I exhale before opening my bag and shoving my trembling hand inside. “There’s a lot of people about. I expected our meeting place to be a lot more private.”
“We look less suspicious sitting here, though, don’t we,” he explains. “Like we’re having a romantic picnic or something. Besides, the Rae I thought I was meeting was a man, and I’d rather keep those exchanges public in case he’s packing.”
“Okay,” I say, finding the four $50 notes and taking them out of my bag. He takes the money from my hand, doesn’t count it, shoves it in his pocket, and then slips the handgun wrapped in fabric into my bag. “Are you going to count it?”
He shrugs those shoulders nonchalantly. “I trust ya. The gun is unloaded, but I added a box of nine-millimeter bullets free of charge,” he explains as he watches a man ride by on his trail bike. “If you need more bullets, pick them up from any regular gun store.”
“Thank you,” I say politely, feeling the weight of pressure on me to follow through with the task.
I expected him to get up and leave at this point, now that the trade is done and he’s received his money. But he relaxed into the seat and gazed across the glistening water.
“Am I supposed to leave first?” I ask, wondering if there’s a system or ritual. “Sorry, I don’t know how this works.”
He looks at me under those black eyelashes that turn my legs to rubber. “Do you know how to use it?”
“Yes, I’ve shot a few things in my lifetime,” I lie, sounding like a dick.
“Really? Like what?” he questions, sliding his hand into his pocket, taking out a brown paper bag of Raspberry Twists, and offering me one.
“No, thanks,” I decline, even though they smell nice.
“Go on,” he encourages, chewing on the end of the twist. “What have you shot?”
“Oh, just cans and bottles lined up on the fence when I lived on my aunt’s ranch,” I answer, trying to sound convincing. But the truth is, my aunt and uncle kept the firearms locked up because they were concerned that my failing mental health might prompt me to do something stupid. The truth is…I’ve never touched a gun once.
He nods and rests his elbow on the bench back, dangerously close to draping his arm around my shoulders. I’m unsure how I’d feel about that if he did. His legs are spread wide, and his knee almost touches my bare leg, but those warm, mischievous eyes are fixed on the lake. “Z tells me you want to pack for protection,” he begins, and I’m aware that’s a loaded statement, so I deliberate before answering, “Yes.”
“From who?” he persists, and my stomach stirs.
“Bad people. You know, women on our own, we need to look after ourselves,” as soon as I speak, I realize I’ve set myself up.
“You’re on your own?” he asks the question I expect him to ask, dropping his eyes to my hands, probably searching for a wedding ring. It’ll be nice to go through an entire day without a man hitting on me.
“Yes.” I panic and have to double back. “I don’t live on my own. I’m in a house with five guys, but when I’m out driving at night, I worry about carjackings and walking to my car when I’m alone,” I lie through my teeth.
“Five guys?” he crows, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “But none of them are your boyfriend. There must be something wrong with them. And we haven’t seen any carjackings around these parts for a couple of years. But you’re still wise to want to protect yourself.”
I exhale, becoming irritated with this Spanish Inquisition. “I never said none of my roommates are my boyfriend. Anyway, I”d better go. I have a class I don’t want to miss this afternoon.”
“Fine,” he mumbles as I stand up to walk away.
“Thank you again,” I say, throwing the bag over my shoulder and stepping away from that smoldering artifice.
“Just let me know if you want someone to teach you how to use it,” he calls after me, and I turn back to address him.
“Someone? Like you, you mean?” I quip fiercely, standing over him.
He grins unabashedly and shrugs his shoulders. “Why not? And you’ve basically admitted that you can’t shoot.”
“No, I didn’t,” I argue.
“Yeah, you did. Do you know how to load it?” He’s enjoying making me mad, which is making me madder.
“Yes,” I snap.
“Show me, then,” he challenges. “Prove to me that you know how to load it.”
“Here in front of everyone?” I wave my hand about, realizing that the closest people are the elderly couple several feet away on the park bench overlooking the jetty.
“Look, Rae,” his voice flipped to sternness that’s difficult to interpret because I don’t know him. “If you don’t know how to maintain your hardware, then that thing could backfire and mess up that pretty face of yours. So, why don’t you sit back down and show me how you load it.”
I hesitate and glance about, pretending my concern is that too many people are around, and I don’t want to frighten anyone, let alone get arrested.
Reading my body language, “I’ll stand over you to shield you from prying eyes.” He points his Raspberry Twist to the space on the seat beside him. “Take a seat.”
My entire body is tense, split between whether I should walk away on a lie or stay to tell him the truth. Either way, I need to know how to use the fucking thing so I don’t accidentally shoot myself in the face.
“I don’t know how,” I finally confess.
“I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hand up to his ear. “I didn’t quite catch that. Would you mind repeating it?”
I clear my throat before repeating, “I don’t know how. There, I said it. I’ve never touched a gun before, let alone loaded it or shot anything. Satisfied?”
That grin is wider than the lake he sits in front of. “Now that wasn’t too hard, was it?”
“You knew?” I clench my jaw in annoyance.
“Of course, I knew. You had gun virgin written all over ya,” he states, straightening his posture. “This is what we’re gonna do, Rae. You go to class, and we’ll meet up tomorrow at the shooting range at Milson Gun Club down by the river, and I’ll give you some shooting lessons. How’s that sound?”
“Lessons?” I’m a little dumbfounded and seriously conflicted. Part of me wants, no, needs to go, but another part doesn’t trust him. Perhaps I should speak to Zara first.
“Yeah, lessons. Tomorrow,” he states, tapping his finger on the back of the bench seat.
“Okay,” I resign. “I’ll have to check my class schedule.”
“You do that and message me with a time we can convene tomorrow,” he says. “Do you need a ride?’
“No, I have a car. I’ll Google the location before I leave. Tomorrow,” I repeat under my breath and turn to walk away from him.
“Yeah, tomorrow. It”s a pleasure doing business with you, Rae,” he calls after me, and I don’t dare look back to see if he’s watching me go. It’s not until a woman walking her dog by the playground smiles at me that I realize I am smiling like a goofball, and she thinks I am grinning at her and her delightful little dog.
Once back inside my yellow speedster, I check myself in the mirror to see how bad I look. Hair pulled from my face in a tight ponytail, blushing cheeks making the soft sprinkling of freckles stand out, lively green eyes, and smiling rose lips.
Oh hell, I’m blushing over a thief.