I did a quick shake of my head. “That’s neither here nor there. It doesn’t affect anything to do with us.” When he didn’t look convinced I said, “It was a very, very long time ago. It has nothing to do with Camden McQueen. It has nothing to do with Ellie Watt. I promise.”
The last thing I wanted was for Camden to get cold feet about this whole thing and then decide to turn me over to the cops after all. There was no way he’d just let me go free when I had all the knowledge I now had.
He nodded.
“So when were you thinking about doing this? In other words, how much time do we have?” I asked.
“A week,” he said. “Actually, six days.”
“Six days?” How the hell was I going to round up a fake life for him in six days?
“Yes. Non-negotiable.” He got to his feet and threw the dishtowel in the trash. “In six days, one of Vincent’s partners will come by and make the drop. I want to take that money, as well as all the money in the safe.”
“Whose money is in the safe?”
“Theirs. They like to have some of the cash on hand.”
I felt a wash of ice go down my spine. “What would have happened if I had actually robbed you, Camden?”
His smile was sad. “If I hadn’t stopped you? They probably would have killed me. No, scratch that. They definitely would have killed me.”
Shit. In some backwards way, I was glad that Camden had been smart enough to see through me. This alternative was much better than the other. I would have never been able to live with myself if he ended up dead because of me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, looking down at the wounds on my wrists.
“Yeah, well it’s a good thing I’m not one of those guys, because apparently your head would already be blown off.”
I gave him a small smile. “It is a good thing.”
He sat back down in his seat and stared at me for a few moments before saying, “So now that you know what I want, can you do it in six days?”
“Yes. I can.”
“Then I guess you better get started.”
I nodded. “What about Uncle Jim? And my stuff, I need the stuff in my car. This basketball jersey is starting to smell.”
“Where is your car?”
“Just a block away, by the dog-walking park.”
He sucked on his lip in thought. “I’ll go with you. I know you’re not stupid enough to run but I can’t be sure. As for your uncle, I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to drop him a line telling him you’re still in San Diego, or whatever place you lied about, and that you’re not coming back. I know you love your uncle, but I have a feeling he’ll be relieved.”
I hated that he was probably right about that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was Wednesday when Camden told me the details of his plan, six days from the scheduled drop. It’s a good thing most con artists don’t have banking hours, or we would have gotten screwed over the weekend.
Aside from walking over to Jose and getting all my gear out of the car, I didn’t get to leave the house until Friday. Until then, I was holed up in his living room, the couch my new bed. In the living room, I felt open and aware. His spare bedroom was too dark and cramped for me. Like a cell.
It wasn’t a bad place to have house arrest. Camden stayed out of my way and spent as much time as possible in the shop or in the office, either inking the occasional client or dreaming about his new future. He was cordial to me when we did cross paths, and whenever he made himself dinner or ordered take-out, there was always enough for me. He had even offered me a beer at one point but I made a point of saying no. I needed to think clearly, more clearly than I ever had to before.
He had put away his gun somewhere and stopped throwing pots of coffee. He seemed a little embarrassed about that to be honest, but I probably would have done the same thing if I were in his shoes. Sometimes you have to shock someone to get them to see how serious you really are—I knew that all too well. And I saw that Camden was serious beyond reproach. I missed the days we had before this mess, when he was flirting with me and everything was fun. But, I guess all of that was a lie anyway.
There was no fun in the truth.
On Friday, while my friend Gus in Pismo Beach worked on securing Camden some fake Social Security Numbers, I was in the middle of making him a fake driver’s license. In order to get it done properly, we would have to go to a place to get his picture taken.
“I don’t see why I can’t go alone,” he said while we ate our All-Bran cereal like the world’s most fucked up married couple. “There’s a few passport photo places on the strip and in the mall.”
“Look,” I said pointedly, “You can’t keep me cooped up in here forever. I have to go out sometime. I’ll go crazy otherwise.”
“Too late for that,” he mumbled under his breath.