Tap Out (15 page)

Marcus emerges with a shoe box–sized package wrapped in black plastic. He smiles before getting back inside.

“Box cutter's in the glove,” Dave says as soon as Marcus is settled. Marcus grabs the knife and carefully removes the plastic. It's a plain cardboard box sealed in packing tape.

“Want to check?” Marcus asks.

“No. Leave it. They won't want it if it's been opened. Think it's been fucked with.”

Marcus retracts the blade. “But what if it ain't all there or is shit?”

“That's
their
fucking problem.”

Marcus laughs that same unnatural squeal, and I go numb, as if already dead. I see the picture now. I'm worthless, expendable. I'd laugh if I could. It's all so ironic. Me thinking I'd somehow end up with a better life, only to be sitting in the back of Jensen's ride, headed toward the exact opposite.

We drive into the warehouse district, a landscape of sagging buildings, cracked pavement, and decay. Only a few streetlights still work, and their weak orange glow does little to ease my fear. We're going to drive into one of these shit holes, and I'm going to have to go into the dark and somehow come out alive.

Dave slows down and starts checking the signs on the fences that surround the old parking lots. He nods when he sees the one he wants and turns to Marcus. “Go roll back the door.”

Marcus nods, bends over in the seat, and grabs something from beneath. He tucks it inside his coat and then is out the door. Dave watches him every step of the way.

I could bolt right now. It's so dark, and there are so many places to hide. My chances are good. But somewhere there are dealers. Maybe watching? Maybe the kind who would kill me on sight? If not, Dave will find me eventually. Or he'll get my mother. I settle back into the seat and watch Marcus open the chain-link enough for Dave's car to pass through.

Once the car's inside, Marcus swings in, and Dave's lights illuminate two vehicles in the distance. “That's them,” Dave says, and he parks, positioned to fly straight back out.

“Here's how it will go.” Dave turns in his seat, and
Marcus keeps an eye over his back. “You take the box, walk up to the door and knock. They'll ask who you are, but they don't want your name.” Dave's worked up now, like I've seen him at the gym. If he's nervous, I should have already shit myself. “You say that you're with Agnostic Front. If they ask who from AF sent you, you say Chaz. If they ask for more, you fucking leave.”

Agnostic Front. Chaz. These facts makes all of this now so much more real than before. There's no room for me to fuck this up. My face is jumping, I know it, because Dave cocks an eyebrow and speaks real slow.

“Just chill. Cuz you can't afford to freak out now. It's too late.” He runs a hand over his face. “Most likely, they'll be happy to see you, will check the stash, and then pay.” He settles his eyes on me. “You just take the cash. Don't count it if they ask you to. Just tell them that you trust them. You have to use those words:
we trust you.
If it's short, we'll take care of it later.” He nods and slides back into his seat. “That's about it. You return with the cash, and I'll pay you tonight.”

Every part of me is vibrating in fear, swimming in my adrenaline. I feel like I could fight or cry. But I'm walking away tonight with more money than I've ever seen.
If
I'm allowed to walk away. Fuck. I can't pussy out now. “All right. Let's do this.”

Dave taps the clock on his dash. It's just after 9:00. “Perfect.”

Marcus hands over the box and smiles, looking like a Rottweiler. The box is dense but not heavy, and the contents shift inside. I don't look at Dave for last-minute advice or support. I force my limbs to move, to open the door and to stand outside the car.

The shutting door echoes across the lot, and I cringe, but nothing follows, no movement, no shouts. Doesn't seem
as if anyone is watching. I tuck the box like a football and head across the pavement, keeping my eyes on the large metal door.

I don't allow myself any time to hesitate. I knock and a hollow sound booms, followed by a shuffle of feet beyond. The door slides open a crack, and a soft light emerges, along with the edge of a face. “Who are you?”

My mouth moves but the words catch. “T . . . T . . .” I shake my head. “I mean . . .” I remember Dave's words. “Agnostic Front. I'm with Agnostic Front.”

The eye widens, and the lip curls. “You sure?”

I nod, and the movement is exhausting. Now that I've got the words out, I feel weak and incapable of any more. If they're going to kill me, they might as well do it now. The eye hesitates, watches me, but then lingers on the box. The door slides open enough for me to walk through. I step inside, and the door is bolted behind me.

The owner of the eye is six-three, thin, and wiry. He lifts the box from my arm and crosses the room to a card table with a lantern and portable heater. Seated at it is a large fuck, like Marcus, but white, who's just set down his glass of vodka, the bottle at his elbow. He doesn't speak, just stares at me.

I don't move, just let my eyes adjust and try to take in the rest of the room. It's impossible. There's nothing but shadows, and the random speck of moonlight through missing sections of the roof.

“He's with the Front, so let's find out, eh?” The guy from the door places the package on the table and takes a knife from his pocket. The other turns to him, leaving me be. I'm torn between watching him open the box and finding an escape route. Even if they are happy with the contents, who knows what the fuck they'll do? There's light pouring in from
the far corner. Can't be more than thirty yards. I could make it in seconds, but I can't see the ground. I could trip and fall, and then I'm fucking toast. But I've come this far. My chest tightens as the knife slices through the packing tape.

“Ah,” the tall one says to the other. He reaches in and grabs a sealed plastic bag, then cuts a small slit with a flick of the wrist. The lean one dips in his finger and then runs it across his tongue. My heart pounds faster than I have ever felt it move, but his face transforms into a smile, and I can't help but do the same. The big man tastes as well and appears as pleased. My heart skips a beat, and my body relaxes a notch.

“Come, have a drink. We will take care of you now.” The tall one waves me over. His accent sounds like it's from one of those cold European countries. The big man pours himself a vodka and then fills two other glasses. They grab theirs and look at me so I grab the third. “To success,” the tall one says, and the big one mutters something in another language. They tilt their heads back and take the shot. I stare at the liquid and know I have no choice. I'll piss them off if I don't, and so far so good. The vodka burns down into my stomach, but I nod and pretend to enjoy. They set their glasses down, and the tall one stoops, reaches beneath the black of the table, and emerges with a brown shopping bag that he sets next to the lantern. “Fifteen, as agreed.”

Even with the weak light, I can see inside the bag, and indeed, rubber banded stacks of cash lie inside. I can smell them, and can't help but smile. They laugh. “You see, he smiles. He must be one of them, they always smile once they see the money.” He pours another drink. “Yes. Good business with the Agnostics.”

We drink and then I pick up the bag.

“Count it first, please.”

I shake my head. “We trust you.” The words come out a hell of a lot smoother than I expected.

Both men go still and then the big one stands. My heart slams around, and I lose some of the grip on the bag. Fuck, was that what I was supposed to say? The vodka and the relief of them being happy made me too loose.

“Yes, okay.” The wiry one nods and moves to the door. “Yes, I understand.”

I nod to the big one and do the same to the other as I pass through, back into the cold. Holy fuck. I did it. I hug the fifteen thousand dollars in my arms and then run like the fucking cops are behind me.

Halfway to the car the taillights flash and the engine comes to life. For a second I think Dave's going to take off, but no, I have the money. He needs me. I grab the handle and am safe. For now.

Dave drives and takes a tight turn out of the lot. “You got the money, right?”

I'm breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now pull back the middle of the seat.”

Marcus turns to watch me. I fumble around the top. He snorts.

I find a tab and pull. The seat back flops forward, and I'm looking into the trunk.

“Now, pull up the trunk bed and stick the cash in there,” Dave says.

I do and it fits tight and secure. I reset everything and sit back.

“Not bad, trailer trash.”

Normally, I'd tell Dave to fuck off, but right now I don't give a shit. I succeeded and that feels good.

“Yeah, muthafucka,” Marcus says.

“Tell me, how close you'd come to shitting yourself?”

“I may have. I don't know.”

Dave laughs and speeds up. “Two Hungarian guys, right? Talk. Like. Dis?” His impersonation is spot on, and I wonder how long he's been dealing.

“Yeah, one real tall and the other a grizzly looking fuck.”

“Sounds right. No problems though?”

I'm still alive, so in my book it went fucking perfect. “They did act weird when I told them I didn't want to count the money.”

“Did you say what I told you to?”

“Exact words.”

“What they do?”

“Just went stiff and then real polite. I'd count the money if I were you.”

Dave laughs, again. “No, it ain't like that. The cash's all there. It's something else, a respect thing.” He waves a hand. “You did good, Tone. Don't worry, you'll get your cut.”

I know I will, and that's fucked up. Maybe it's the vodka, or maybe it's just the thrill of the moment, but I trust Dave. He's been honest. He sure as shit isn't telling me everything, but I don't doubt him. Everything went as he said it would. He's the real deal, tight with the Front. Now so am I. And so is Rob. And Cam, too. We're all on the same side now, with
them
. Fuck, have I just made that decision? Am I really okay with this?

Dave turns on some music, and I just drift with the bass. I'm too exhausted to think. The lights outside the park appear in the distance and I feel like I could crash through my bed. We pull up to my trailer.

“Get out, Tone.” Dave's voice is low and even, but I can't tell if it's because he's tired or serious. Marcus opens his own
door, and I know that if I don't move, he'll do it for me.

I jump out and Marcus walks around the driver's door. Dave steps out, goes to the back and climbs in. Marcus nods at the passenger door he's left open. I get what he means and climb in. Marcus settles behind the wheel and watches me watching Dave count the money.

“It's all here.” Dave pats the fifteen stacks he's made. He then picks up one, fans it and hands it to me. “Fucking positive the most money you've ever held.”

I keep my mouth shut and take the cash. Of course he's right, and telling him to fuck off won't get me anywhere. I stick the wad into the front of my waistband while Dave puts the rest back into the bag and settles it into the trunk. “Tone, I'll let the guys know how good you did. Trust me.”

Fuck, that word again. I'm embarrassed to hear it. I don't want to trust or respect any of these guys, or to receive any from them. But I was told I'd make a grand and I did. There's something to that. I just don't know what. “All right,” I say and climb out.

Marcus whips the car around and brakes in front of Char's trailer. Bet they're going to hand off the score. Wonder how much Dave gets to keep? I exhale, touch the money, and turn toward my house.

I head inside, and a sweet smell fills the air. I flip the switch in the kitchen and nothing happens. The fuck? I step into the living room and trip over the chair. It's on its side and my heart moves up into my throat. “Mom?”

No answer.

“Mom, it's me.” I stand and move forward, only to get tripped up by the stem of the lamp, also lying on the floor. Something's not right. I've been here before. It's like a fucking snow globe version of white trash:
Domestic Abuse,
Trailer
. I move to the junk drawer in the kitchen and rummage through. I find a lighter and flick and flick until the flame dances a soft orange glow.

The house has exploded. Shit lies everywhere: cushions, the TV, garbage, knickknacks. Cameron's work, I bet. But where is he? A moan comes from my mom's bedroom and I stop dead. I light the doorway, but it's mostly shadow. This is like some horror movie, and I'm the kid about to get whacked. I know what I have to do. Just don't know if I can.

I move slowly into her room and step over the debris. Another moan sounds, and I drop the lighter. I sift around the carpet and filth until I find it. I try to restart it, but the metal singes my skin. I pocket it and blindly make my way toward the sound. The sweet aroma I smelled has grown. “Mom?”

I wait and inhale and the aroma has lost its fruity scent. It's metallic. I know that smell. I pull the still hot lighter from my pocket. It burns my thumb but doesn't light. Another moan, this time right next to me. I click against the burn, again and again, until the flame hisses to life.

There, beneath the shadow, lies my mother, half on, half off the bed, her shirt soaked through with blood. I move toward her, but then pull up short of the bed and spew. My stomach spasms and empties. I hack until I know I'm done, but I don't feel any better. Fuck, she might be dead.