Manny looked at her, a half smile brightening his face. He was giving her an opening.
“Okay, so, it’s still a little rough,” she said. His eyes, so bright and direct, made her stammer. “I—I don’t know . . .”
Manny looked intensely at her. “Don’t humble yourself,” he said. “You know. Now say it.”
Kit took a deep breath and shook out her trembling hands.
“Okay, so, I think we should go to Houston for this one. Find a grocery store near one of the oil money neighborhoods. We find a Mercedes or a Jaguar or something and wait for the owner to come back. Just as they’re backing out, I get hit.”
“You get what?” he said, turning toward her. Now she had him. She had never been this direct with him before, going for what she wanted.
“I get hit. I throw myself behind the car and get hit. Not too bad, but bad enough that there’s blood or scrapes or something they can see.”
“This is wild, Kitty Cat,” he said, thumbing the stubble on his chin like he was thinking it all over, then waved at her to keep going. “But I’ll save my questions for the end. Go on.”
She was doing her best to act cool, but she could feel the blood in her cheeks and the nerves in her voice.
“I figure most decent people will get out and try to help,” she said. “That’s when you slip in and grab whatever they left behind. Handgun, jewelry. If there’s a purse, take some money, but leave the bag.”
He nodded as he considered her plan.
“I like your thinking, Kitty Cat. Rich people never know how much money they have on them,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “What next?”
Encouraged by his reaction, Kit stopped hedging and carried on more confidently.
“Right, so you take what you can from the car. While you’re in there, I’m talking to the person who hit me. I make them feel sorry for me and try to guilt them into giving me money for the damage. They cough up a few hundred bucks thinking they got off easy, and you get to carry me off looking like a hero.” Her heart thumped and she was grinning with pride.
The opening credits began to roll, and Manny didn’t even notice.
“Okay,” he said. “But I can’t have you injured for real. How can we be so sure they don’t take you out seriously?”
“It’s not a problem. I don’t get hurt.”
Manny laughed and stuck his hand into the bag of popcorn. “I know you’re a tough little bitch, but what the hell do you mean you ‘don’t get hurt’?” He looked skeptical.
She had not specifically told him about her condition before; she hardly understood it herself and was worried he might think she was some kind of mutant. But he would need to know if she was going to convince him to try the con.
“Ever since I was little and something happens to me, like I break a finger in a car door or something, it doesn’t hurt. I can tell something’s wrong, but I don’t feel the pain.”
Manny seemed to be mulling the implications of this new development.
“You can’t feel pain,” he said. The movie had begun, but instead of tuning in, he cranked up the window to block out the sound. Then he pulled out a lighter and held it out for her.
Thinking he wanted a smoke, Kit fished a cigarette from its pack on the dash and handed it to Manny. He stuck it behind his ear.
“Give me your finger,” he said.
Kit understood now that he didn’t believe her. She hadn’t expected him to ask for proof, and she felt uneasy that he would be willing to risk hurting her if she was lying. But she wanted a chance to run this game so he could see she was worth keeping around. She took the lighter from him and flicked it aflame. She hesitated, her heartbeat quickened. Though she knew she would not feel the burn, she had never tried to do herself harm. The light winked in the reflection of Manny’s eyes and his smile egged her on. She sucked in a breath and split the flame with her finger.
“Hot damn, little sister!” Manny said.
Kit glanced at him and kept her finger there until it blistered and she could smell her skin.
He slapped his thigh and laughed out loud.
“Kitty Cat, you are bad to the bone!” He removed the plastic top from his soda and plunged her finger into the icy drink.
Kit smiled, relieved that she seemed to have won him over. “Can we try it out tomorrow?”
“I can hardly wait,” he said, and rolled the window back down.
Kit’s idea turned out to be a cash cow. Except for a few tweaks, they followed her plan and it worked every time. Kit even got into the theatrics of it, and the more she could play the part, the less guilty she felt about ripping these people off when they’d done nothing wrong.
“I’m so clumsy,” Kit would say. And of course, the woman (women usually had more stuff to steal in the car), feeling terrible, would be moved by this and correct her. “No, sweetie, I’m clumsy. You poor thang.” They would ask where it hurt and Kit would point a shaking finger to the point of impact, which often had scrapes and emergent bruising. “I’ll be okay, though, I really have to go.” Kit would try to stand up and collapse. The woman would shriek and fuss over her, then Kit would grasp the fine silk blouse, look up into the woman’s eyes, and deliver the lines Manny had written for her.
“Please, ma’am, I’m so worried about my daddy, if he has to stay home and take care of me, he’ll lose his job. And he won’t be able to pay our bills. Can you help us? Please, don’t tell him I asked you, he’s too proud.” Some seemed to feel real compassion for Kit; others acted like they wanted to make the problem go away. But Kit and Manny always got paid.
Then Manny would show up, horrified. “My baby, what happened?” he’d moan. The woman would be emptying out her purse to help the poor family. Manny would refuse, at first, then Kit would take the money and thank them kindly. One man wrote a thousand-dollar check made out to cash. Even if they could only do it every month or so to give Kit time to heal, the game was a jackpot. Better than the money, though, was the way Manny carried her away and spoiled her afterward. Sweets, movies, roller rinks. One time he had even taken her to a nice hotel, the kind with room service and fresh flowers in the lobby.