When the first lunch tone went off, I folded up the mats. Shored them behind the heavy bag. Then I went into the locker room and stripped off the extra layers of hoodie and shirts. Like shucking skin.
Came back out in one of my old shirts and thrift-store jeans. Walked back out to the heavy bag, taping my hands. Pulled on the gloves and began working the bag.
Didn’t stop when the door behind me groaned and then banged.
Michael edged into my peripheral vision. He watched as I put my shoulder behind a short jab, experimenting with flowing into the bag. Trying to deliver the most power in a tight move.
I stopped after three more hits. Waited for him.
“I thought you’d be here. Not the best idea, skipping class. If the cops come sniffing around, they might find that unusual.”
I shot a vertical fist into the bag. Then popped out two more.
“The second job’s tonight,” he said. “I can pick you up here or—”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I stood beside the bag, gloves up.
Michael frowned. “I’m sorry about last night. It got a little crazy. Trent said it was just dumb chance that the other guy showed up. But it’s okay. We’re safe.”
“What about the guard you shot?”
“I told you. Blanks.”
“Blanks don’t shatter glass.”
“That was the guard’s shot.” He started stretching, twisting at the waist, loosening his back. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s not even in the paper yet. Shows the priority the cops are giving it.”
He made a fist. Thumped it into the bag. “Tonight. Late. Around three in the morning.”
“Stop talking. I don’t want to know any more.” I squared off in front of the bag.
“I’ll pay you a hundred just to listen. And I’ll pay you a grand to come.” He dug out two bills. Laid them across the top of the bag, threading them under the chains.
I pulled a glove open with my teeth. “You have ten minutes.”
He took fifteen.
It was the second job for Cesare. He was quick to say that robbing his father’s practice had been for Cesare, too. That he did need the drugs to get to this point. To get Cesare to trust him. To see that he could do it. This one was personal. And a promise, straight from the man’s mouth, that this one would be the last. Would wipe the slate clean, and even set Michael ahead.
It was a robbery. Someone who’d pissed off Cesare more than Michael had. Someone who needed a lesson, and that lesson was going to come due at their strip club.
When Michael said that, my head rocked back, and for a moment I thought it was my dad. That somehow my dad had gotten into a pissing contest with Cesare. That in a strange, small-world way, it would be my dad we were knocking over.
But the hit was too late at night. And the strip club was out of town, just over the river. A few rungs down from even the jet-trash airport strip club where my dad ran his sorry little kingdom.
My father had nothing to do with it, and neither would I. I wouldn’t be going anywhere with Michael, and certainly not to a strip joint in the sticks, complete with its own jumped-up security and rackets.
And I wasn’t fool enough to trust Michael again. That this would be all. That he didn’t have some other little adventure up his sleeve.
And there was Florida, which I sure as hell wouldn’t be telling him about.
“You have to come,” he said, ignoring my refusal. “You inspire confidence in the others. Of course, they’re all little adrenaline junkies now.” He smiled like a proud parent. “And I’ll pay you a grand. Big money, for little risk. Then we’re clear. Completely clear of everything, and it doesn’t have to end. It can be just the start.”
His eyes glinted like he was holding Cyndra out to me. Like he sensed the radar of my heart looking for her, missing her when she was gone.
I threw the gloves aside. Drove a fist into the canvas.
Michael placed himself behind the bag, steadying it. I punched again. Visualizing my punch going through the bag and into him.
“Good,” he grunted. “But correct me if I’m wrong, here. It doesn’t matter how much you train or how good you hit. You’re outmatched. With your dad, I mean.” His eyes were innocent-wide, like how could he have been talking about anything else?
My shoulders knotted. I threw another punch, pushing against the tightness.
“Out of your class,” Michael continued. “It’s why lightweights don’t fight heavyweights. Not that you’re a lightweight. I don’t mean that as an insult.”
I bit through the tape that bound my knuckles. Tore it off. “The answer is no.”
“I didn’t hand over all the drugs. To Cesare.” Michael went on, as if I hadn’t said anything. “I could give you what I saved. I don’t have to help you, with your dad. I could give the drugs to you, and you could do it. It’d be like a tip. The money and the drugs.”
“No. It’s too dangerous.” I looked in his eyes, letting him read the accusation there. The gun. His adrenaline high. His addiction to risk. That every word he said was suspect.
And that although I may be outmatched, at least I understood that much. And it was enough to keep me from doing anything else.
You can’t be outmatched if you don’t play the game.
His voice cut. “So, what? You go back to your pathetic burnout life? No one will talk to you. Cyndra won’t even look at you.”
He didn’t know me if he didn’t realize I already knew that.
And I knew enough not to open my mouth about leaving town with Janie.
Michael lunged and shoved the bag out. I slid back before it could slam into me.
“Everything I’m offering. More money than you’ve ever had. Solving your problem with your dad. It’s all worth it.”
“No.”
Michael’s mouth pressed into a cancerous smile. “Then I hope he beats you to death.” His eyes shone, not with the manic glow, but with something else.
I wondered if anyone ever said no to him. If he ever didn’t get exactly what he wanted.
Of course it had happened before. It was why he’d targeted his dad’s office. Reciprocity for not giving enough. For making Michael invisible in his own home.