“I can’t, Cookie. I need your help.”
“What else is new?” America sneered.
Mick narrowed his eyes at America, and then returned his attention to his daughter. “You look awful pretty. You’ve grown up. I wouldn’t’ve recognized you on the street.”
Abby sighed. “What do you want?”
He held up his hands and shrugged. “I seemed to have gotten myself in a pickle, kiddo. Old Dad needs some money.”
Abby’s entire body tensed. “How much?”
“I was doing good, I really was. I just had to borrow a bit to get ahead and . . . you know.”
“I know,” she snapped. “How much do you need?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Well, shit, Mick, twenty-five hundred? If you’ll get the hell outta here . . . I’ll give that to you now,” I said, pulling out my wallet.
“He means twenty-five thousand,” Abby said, her voice cold.
Mick’s eyes rolled over me, from my face to my shoes. “Who’s this clown?”
My eyebrows shot up from my wallet, and instinctively, I leaned in toward my prey. The only thing stopping me was feeling Abby’s small frame between us, and knowing that this skeevy little man was her father. “I can see, now, why a smart guy like yourself has been reduced to asking your teenage daughter for an allowance.”
Before Mick could speak, Abby pulled out her cell phone. “Who do you owe this time, Mick?”
Mick scratched his greasy, graying hair. “Well, it’s a funny story, Cookie—”
“Who?” Abby shouted.
“Benny.”
Abby leaned into me. “Benny? You owe Benny? What in the hell were you . . .” She paused. “I don’t have that kind of money, Mick.”
He smiled. “Something tells me you do.”
“Well, I don’t! You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you? I knew you wouldn’t stop until you got yourself killed!”
He shifted; the smug grin on his face had vanished. “How much ya got?”
“Eleven thousand. I was saving for a car.”
America’s eyes darted in Abby’s direction. “Where did you get eleven thousand dollars, Abby?”
“Travis’s fights.”
I tugged on her shoulders until she looked at me. “You made eleven thousand off my fights? When were you betting?”
“Adam and I had an understanding,” she said casually.
Mick’s eyes were suddenly animated. “You can double that in a weekend, Cookie. You could get me the twenty-five by Sunday, and Benny won’t send his thugs for me.”
“It’ll clean me out, Mick. I have to pay for school,” Abby said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
“Oh, you can make it back in no time,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.
“When is your deadline?” Abby asked.
“Monday mornin’. Midnight,” he said, unapologetically.
“You don’t have to give him a fucking dime, Pigeon,” I said.
Mick grabbed Abby’s wrist. “It’s the least you could do! I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!”
America slapped his hand away and then shoved him. “Don’t you dare start that shit again, Mick! She didn’t make you borrow money from Benny!”
Mick glared at Abby. The light of hatred in his eyes made any connection with her as his daughter disappear. “If it weren’t for her, I woulda had my own money. You took everything from me, Abby. I have nothin’!”
Abby choked back a cry. “I’ll get your money to Benny by Sunday. But when I do, I want you to leave me the hell alone. I won’t do this again, Mick. From now on, you’re on your own, do you hear me? Stay. Away.”
He pressed his lips together and then nodded. “Have it your way, Cookie.”
Abby turned around and headed for the car.
America sighed. “Pack your bags, boys. We’re going to Vegas.” She walked toward the Charger, and Shepley and I stood, frozen.
“Wait. What?” He looked to me. “Like Las Vegas, Vegas? As in Nevada?”
“Looks that way,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“We’re just going to book a flight to Vegas,” Shepley said, still trying to process the situation.
“Yep.”
Shepley walked over to open America’s door to let her and Abby in on the passenger side, and then slammed it shut, blank faced. “I’ve never been to Vegas.”
An impish grin pulled one side of my mouth to the side. “Looks like it’s time to pop that cherry.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
You Win Some, You Lose Some
ABBY BARELY SPOKE WHILE WE PACKED, AND EVEN LESS on the way to the airport. She stared off into space most of the time unless one of us asked her a question. I wasn’t sure if she was drowning in despair, or just focused on the looming challenge ahead.
Checking in to the hotel, America did all the talking, flashing her fake ID, as if she had done it a thousand times before.