It was the warm kind of dark out. The kind of dark that was so thick and heavy it wrapped around you like a blanket. No haughty cold stars peered down at you.
I always moved comfortably in that sort of night. Conducive to work. No curious eyes to spoil my plans.
I stubbed out the cigarette butt on the brick wall of the bar I had just left, turned up the collar on my long canvas coat, and trudged down the melancholy avenue with a barely-noticeable satisfied smirk pressed between my lips. Inside my pocket my right hand played with the fifty cent coin I got from the barber earlier that evening, flipping around, knuckle to finger to knuckle and back. My hands always needed something to do in the moments leading up to a job.
I gazed through the large plate glass window streaked with fat vertical rivulets of rain, tonguing my teeth and wanting her. She didn’t know me yet but she soon would. My instructions didn’t say anything about getting the broad involved, but I said something about it. The first time I saw her sitting cross legged on the counter of that joint, thin smoke wisping around her like a veil, the decision arrived in my mind already made.
A small worn out bell tinkled a dull jangle as I stepped through the wooden door, the brass knob loose from overuse and undermaintenance. She didn’t even look up at me although I was staring at her. The cash register looked like it had been closed for the night, locked up with a key I happened to have a copy of in my pocket, if my information was correct. I sat down at the counter real casual like and looked at my watch. 1:50.
As she brought over the near-empty coffee pot and poured me a warm cup, I pinched the large coin against the small key in my pocket and rubbed them together for good luck, grabbing the coffee mug with my left.
She finally looked up into my face with tired eyes.
“We’re about to close. You can finish the coffee though.”
“That’s fine,” I said.
“Never seen you before, what are you doing in town?”
“Here for work” I told her.
“What line of work you in?” She was either curious or well-practiced at feigning interest in strangers.
“Work for a small outfit back in Cleveland.”
“Heard that city’s a rattle trap.”
“Pretty much. That’s why I volunteer for all the road work they’ll give me.” I tried a grin out on her, she wasn’t having it.
“Busy day?” I asked her. Knowing this was the day the register was fattest. The same day every month the boss cashed out the cash laundered through this joint. Every third Thursday this place held enough unmarked greenbacks for a guy like me to retire comfortably on an islands. She had to suspect to some degree that there were shady dealings passing through this place, but I doubted she had any deep involvement.
She played it off pretty coolly, “Same as usual.”
She caught my eyes dart over to the cash machine and that was a mistake. I saw a brief flicker of recognition pass across her eyes as her face creased ever so slightly and I knew I would have to make my move.
“Look, I don’t want to hurt you, so don’t make this hard on either of us. Your boss has this coming anyway.”
“It ain’t my money,” she said, lighting another cigarette and taking a stool at the far end of the counter.
“Good girl.” I walked over to the machine and pulled out the small key, sliding it into its slot and turning with a satisfying clank. Out rolled the drawer, stacked with large denomination bills, pretty as ripe fruit begging to be plucked. I gingerly placed the stacks in my inner coat pockets and closed the drawer back. When I looked up I half expected her to be grinning, but she was just as unimpressed as she could be. Like she’d seen it a hundred times.
