The Con (9 page)

"Sorry, man, but there's nothing you can say
that will make me change my mind on this. This is too big, even for
me."

Angelo leans back in his chair with one hand
on his thigh and the other flipping the cap of his beer on the
table. His eyes land on mine and we stare each other down, both of
us trying to feel the other out, neither of us willing to break
contact first.

After an eternity Angelo breaks contact
muttering, "Damien agreed to your terms. We'll do five instead of
two and split it fifty-fifty."

Well... shit.

I did not see that coming.

"When did Damien agree to that?" I ask
skeptically.

"This morning."

When Damien and Angelo approached me last
week with their plan to steal from the Esposito family, they wanted
to take two million and split it eighty-twenty, in their favor.
There was no way I was doing this job, being the one whose ass was
on the line doing all the heavy lifting, and getting that little of
the profit.

But...

Upping it to five million and splitting it
in half just might make me reconsider. So that's what I told them
when we were in Damien's warehouse in Phoenix, and they shut me
down immediately. I walked away never thinking Damien would change
his mind.

Only a week later and I broke him. I can't
help but feel a little victorious.

If I do this, if I actually try to pull off
what could possibly be the stupidest thing I ever do, I'll be two
and a half million dollars richer. I'll also have the Esposito
organization and possibly the Manchini cartel after me, and a giant
target on my back, but in all my years of doing this I've never
been caught. Angelo is probably right; I am the only one who could
pull this off.

My nephew Mason could go to college, Charlie
could get a place of her own, and I'll be set for the rest of my
life.

It's funny how money can mask pure
stupidity.

"So many things could go wrong," I say
trying to convince myself just as much as I'm trying to convince
him. Am I really considering doing this?

"Like what?"

"Do you really want me to list them, Angelo,
because we'll be here all day?"

"Do you need me to remind you how easy it'll
all go down? Because I will. I told you we already have our in.
I've been screwing the assistant manager at the bank for months
now. This has been thoroughly thought and planned out. Cheyenne is
in love with me. She's going to help us. She's not going to let me
go down for this."

"Cheyenne? See, this is the first and
biggest problem. Too many people know about the damn job. I don't
like it, Angelo. It only takes one guilty conscious to get all our
ass's thrown in jail."

Taking a swig of my beer I stand up from the
table and walk over to the sink to look out the bay window. The
trailers in this worn down trailer park are dirty and falling
apart. Although my grass is green because of the money Charlie
throws at our landscapers, the patches of grass in everyone else's
yards are brown, matching the surrounding patches of desert and
dirt. Kids are playing on the road and a group of them, who can't
be older than eleven or twelve, are over by the street sign
smoking.

I grab the loose cigarette from behind my
ear and light up, taking a drag and inhaling the nicotine that
keeps me sane day in and day out. I was about their age when I
started this bad habit. Now I can't imagine ever quitting. I want
better for Mason. He's going to be a teenager soon and I want him
out of this place before it can bring him down like it did me.

He's better than that.

I ask myself the same question I ask before
committing to any con.
Does the risk outweigh the reward?
While taking this job will be the riskiest thing I've ever done, I
can't say the risk of getting caught outweighs two and a half
million dollars.

"I have your word that Damien said we split
the pot in half? This isn't some Cracker Jack toy I'm playing for.
If we do this, I want my even share."

"You have my word, Jagger. We really need
you in on this with us. I hate being the one helping inflate your
ego, but you taught me everything I know and you're twenty times
better at it than I am. We need you for this to work."

"Why Esposito?" I ask him. It's been
bothering me all week. Stealing this kind of money is a huge
gamble; it's why I stick to the smaller jobs. So why does Damien
want this job so bad? Why steal from Matteo Esposito?

"Why not?"

I turn against the sink and face him. It's
pointless to ask him again because I'll never get a straight answer
out of him. I know it must be personal between Damien and Matteo
for him to risk so much on this, but it's none of my business as
long as he doesn't let his personal vendetta blow the job.

Taking another drag of my cigarette I exhale
out. "Okay, I'm in."

The legs of Angelo's chair drag against the
linoleum floor as he stands up. "I'll let Damien know. We'll be in
touch."

We shake hands and I walk him to the front
door of my trailer. I'm ready to start planning this thing out
meticulously in my head. While I'm sure their plan is a good one, I
trust no one when it comes to my safety and evading jail. I need to
find all the holes in their plan and fix them before we execute
this.

"One more thing." Angelo stops with his back
to me, his hand on the handle of the door.

"What's that?"

"Only way to get the money is to have both
parties in the bank. Matteo Esposito's account is with his wife.
Neither of them can make a withdrawal larger than fifty G's without
the other one signing off in the presence of a bank manager, so we
need to find someone to go in with you and be his wife, Giselle. We
have luck on our side though, because few people have ever seen
Giselle Esposito. Whoever you pick to do this with you should work
just fine."

I'm going to kill him.

"You're just telling me this now? Fuck, no.
That's adding yet another person on this job. No way."

He turns to face me, his back against the
door. "Two point five million, Jagger. You really going to turn
down a chance at that because you can't find some chick to charm
into this?"

Shit.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

He's right. I can't turn the money down. I
might never have another chance to get my hands on this kind of
money again.

"I'll see who I can find. Maybe Lola–"

"No, Ace. She's got to be classy and hold
herself highly. It can't be any of these trailer tramps you love to
hang around with. You need someone who can pull off being a cartel
and mob princess."

I only know one girl who can walk around
like her shit doesn't stink and can pull off classy bitch better
than anyone. She used to look at me like I was her only reason for
breathing. God knows she was the only reason for mine. Now she
doesn't look at me at all. I'm pretty sure she hates me.

She'll get over it though because she's the
only one who can pull this job off with me, and the only woman I'll
trust with it. I know I'll have to offer her something good to
agree to do something as crazy as this. I can give her ten percent
of my cut. It'll bring my earnings down, but it'll be worth it in
the end when we succeed.

I've got to go find twinkle toes.

Chapter Eight

Ronnie

It's three am on a Sunday morning. My
muscles are sore, my feet ache, and my bad ankle keeps stiffening
up on me. I don't know how much longer I can take working these
long hours on my feet.

It's decent money being a club promoter for
one of the hottest nightclubs in Phoenix, but there aren't any
perks. I'm forced to wear skintight tanks with spankie bootie
shorts, while dancing as I pass out flyers on the street. I feel
like the female version of Magic Mike, but thankfully I don't do
any stripping. I just work the streets, passing out flyers in the
evening, and then I get to go home while other girls dance in the
club.

My shift usually ends around one but getting
home at night takes another two hours. Every night I throw on
sweats and a t-shirt over my club clothes and walk to the nearest
bus stop, taking the bus to where its route ends. Then I walk a
half mile to another stop and hop on that bus that takes me all the
way down to the town over from where I live. Then I walk the three
miles home.

It's not an ideal job, but since I no longer
dance ballet it holds me over until I figure out what I want to do
with my life. I thought I'd know what I wanted to do by now. I'm
twenty, and most women at twenty are in college, traveling, or on
their way to finding their career. I can't even decide on what I
want for breakfast, let alone what I want to do for the next thirty
years of my life.

I sigh in relief as I see my trailer park in
the distance.

Just another ten more minutes and I'll be
home. I can put my feet up and rest my swollen feet and stiff
ankle.

My cell phone vibrates in the pocket of my
sweats and I pull it out to see who is texting me this late.

Pearl: They have me on shift the next
twenty-four hours. I should be home Monday morning. Clean up your
mess in the kitchen when you can.

My sister, Pearl, has worked her ass off
since our mom died, taking care of me and going to school to be a
doctor. She's thirty now and has finally started her residency at
one of the best hospitals in Phoenix. I'm happy for her, but I
never see her. Our schedules just don't line up.

As I'm approaching the entrance to the
trailer park I hear a crunch in the gravel up ahead. I stop,
squinting to see if I can see anything, but there's nothing but
darkness.

I'm just being paranoid.

Moving forward again, I try to be more aware
of my surroundings, but then I hear the gravel being pushed around
again and a figure walks out of the shadows.

I'm about to scream but something stops me.
The silhouette looks familiar and when I hesitantly take a step
forward I see the long brown hair I love so much and I know it's
him. It's Jagger.

My right hand comes up to cover my chest as
I inhale a deep breath. "Jesus, Jagger. You scared me half to
death."

He smirks and I swear my ovaries do a little
dance. "It's not safe to be walking alone at night. You never know
who could be out here lurking in the dark."

"You're right. A psycho with long hair and
boots might come attack me. Better get my pepper spray," I reply
sarcastically. "I walk home late every weekend and I've yet to meet
anyone in the dark, besides you."

I brush past him and continue walking until
I'm on the main street of our neighborhood. He catches up quickly
and walks beside me, not saying a single word and it makes me
uncomfortable. He’s pretty much ignored me since I was fifteen and
now, when I'm sweaty and gross from a long shift and commute home,
he decides I exist again.

Either he has shitty timing or I just have
bad luck.

When we pass Juniper and he doesn't turn off
to go home, I'm instantly curious to why he's walking with me. I
turn on Cedar and spot my trailer and he follows.

"What do you want, Jagger?"

He makes a whistling sound between his
teeth. "Oh, nothing. I just want to make sure a pretty lady gets
home safe, that's all."

Tilting my head I give him a look of
disgust. "A pretty lady? Since when do you look at me that way?
Isn't that a bullshit line you should be feeding Lola, or the
trailer trash you sleep around with."

"Aren't you trailer trash?"

Stopping in front of my house I turn and
slap him across the face for calling me trash. It may be true. God
knows I feel that way sometimes and I did sleep with him once, but
that doesn't give anyone the right, including Jagger, to call me
that.

"You can go, asshole."

"Oh, come on twinkle toes. I was just
kidding around. You could never be trailer trash."

Twinkle toes. He called me twinkle toes. And
just like that I forget the previous comment about me being trash
and remember why I loved him so much.

I'm so pathetic.

"Well, it wasn't funny." I take the hair tie
around my wrist and pull my long red hair up into a messy knot on
the top of my head. "It's late. I better get inside and you should
go."

Jagger takes a step closer to me and his
proximity has me in a lustful haze. I haven't had a real
conversation with him in years but my breathing weakens as I stare
at his perfectly beautiful face, thinking indecent thoughts, and
hoping he'll leave before I do something stupid like kiss him.

He takes another step, and then another. His
face now inches from mine. "Do you really want me to leave, twinkle
toes?"

I swallow hard, biting my lip as I try to
hold back the moan at the back of my throat that's about to escape
from hearing his rough, sexy voice call me twinkle toes again.
"Yes," I pant.

His hand comes up to brush my cheek and my
eyelids flutter closed. It's like he is completely aware of how my
body reacts around him and he's using it to his advantage, and I'm
letting him because... well, he's Jagger.

"You don't mean it, twinkle toes. Besides, I
need to talk to you and I was hoping to talk now."

Peeling my eyes open I look up at him and
nod my head, silently giving him permission to stay as I turn and
walk up my driveway.

Once we're both inside my trailer I
instantly regret letting him in. The kitchen is a mess. I haven't
done a dish in three days and I left the ingredients from the lunch
I made today out on the counter.

Pulling out one of the steel bar stools I
pick up my copy of Colleen Hoover's new book along with today's
newspaper, and place them on the counter so Jagger has a place to
sit.

"Sorry about the mess. I've been crazy busy
and was meaning to clean up the place tomorrow." I take the peanut
butter and bread from the counter and put it in the cabinet filled
with dry goods. Then I head over to the sink and wet a wash cloth
before going back to the counter and wiping it down, getting rid of
the crumbs. I'd wash the dishes right now, but then I'd be ignoring
Jagger completely and I don't want to be rude.