Debbie
I finished my shift early, disappointed that once again my Luke hadn’t come into the Minimart. I’d only seen him three more times in the three weeks since I’d learned his name. Was it odd that I labeled him my Luke? This morning, I’d decided I was ready to ask him for a ride if he came in today, but no such luck.
When I arrived home to get changed for pizza night with Annie, the lack of cars told me I was the first one here again. Upstairs I shucked off my black work pants and pulled on jeans and a better blouse. Downstairs in the kitchen, I started a load of laundry and unloaded the dishwasher. Getting these chores done before I left was the price of pizza night.
While putting cups back in the cupboard, I noticed the lid off one of the cookie tins on the upper shelf Mom had rearranged the other day. It felt heavy when I slid it to the side to reach the lid that had fallen.
I pulled it down.
And gasped.
It was filled with cash—bundles of bills with paper wrappers around them, like in the movies. One had been torn open. I picked up an intact bundle. It felt heavier than I would have guessed—a big stack of one-hundred-dollar bills, all stiff and fresh.
Why didn’t Dom have his winnings in the bank like everybody else? Leaving this much money lying around the house was stupid. But then Dom’s middle name was either mean or stupid, depending on the day.
The wrapper of the bundle I held said ten-thousand dollars—more money than I’d ever seen before, and the tin was half full of them.
The temptation was almost too great to resist. That much money would make my escape plan a breeze, and I could leave this minute and be free of Dom tonight.
I put the bills back in the tin. After replacing the lid, the cookie tin went back up on the shelf. I closed the door to the cabinet and shivered for a moment at what I’d done.
I’d actually contemplated taking the money and leaving.
It wouldn’t be fair. The money wasn’t mine. It was theirs. I couldn’t take it from Mom. Or subject Mom to Dom’s wrath when he found out.
She wouldn’t leave him and come with me; that much I knew for certain.
I vowed I’d never be that woman—the one who’d settle for someone who landed on the scale between disappointing and bad. I’d be sure to have more respect for myself than that. I couldn’t make her see it, but maybe someday she’d come to the realization on her own.
A few months ago, I’d heard about a bus driver shooting on the radio, and I’d wished for it to be Dom while I drove home. Did that make me a bad person? If it would keep Mom safe, I’d accept that label.
The shooting had been on his route, but another driver had been the victim. The incident had only resulted in him telling us every week how he risked life and limb to bring home the money to support us.
I kept my eye rolls to myself on that one.
Luke
It was Tuesday night, and that meant wings at Pete’s Country Club, which was a lot country and zero club. No asshole, entitled rich kids in polo shirts here, only real people. The outside screamed seedy, and the inside matched, but the peanuts were free.
Pete had died years ago and left the place to his son, Jules. Pete’s didn’t have big-screen TVs with sports playing or happy hour for the business weenies getting off work. The place was more old school: three pool tables in the back, an assortment of guys nursing beers between the tables and the bar, and always a few smokers out by the door if it wasn’t raining too hard. Pete’s was the kind of place that didn’t mind customers like me to keep the hipsters away. As an ex-con who worked with his hands and hadn’t graduated from college, I fit right in with this crowd.
After entering, I surveyed the scene and grabbed a bowl of peanuts from the bar. I found my usual spot near the pool tables.
“The usual?” Cindy, my waitress, asked after she swooped by and dropped a refill at a nearby table. She wore a top even lower-cut than usual. She made a point of leaning over when she talked to the customers, me included, and I got an eyeful of good-tip-inducing cleavage as a result. She was tougher than she looked and perfectly capable of keeping most of the customers’ hands in line.
“Sure, Cyn.”
She winked and scurried off.
Early on, I’d considered hooking up with Cyn, but after seeing the caliber of the customers she left with, I lost my appetite for dipping my wick in that particular petri dish.
Mike, one of the regulars, spotted me. “Hey, Wrench, ready for a rematch?”
I worked on his bike on occasion, hence the nickname.
“Not unless you got a twenty to put up.”
“How about ten?” he countered.
“Not worth it. Twenty.”
He shuffled his feet and pulled out a bill. “Okay, but I’m ready for ya this time.”
I pulled out my wallet and added my bill on top of his.
Mike was always challenging me to arm-wrestle him. I let him win one time in four so he’d keep coming back and supplying me with beer money. This wasn’t due to be his night.
He pulled up a chair.
As we settled into a grip, a small crowd formed.
Cindy came back with my order and was smart enough to keep it off my table until we were done.
“On three,” he said. “Three… Two… One…” And we started.
I grunted and groaned for an appropriate time before forcing him over onto the table. Just like that, I was twenty bucks up for the night.
“I wasn’t ready,” Mike complained. “I want a rematch.” He made too much of my groaning.
I swiped the money off the table. “You know my rule, Mike. Only once per night.”
“I’ll take a piece of that action,” Cliff said as he set down his pool cue.
Cliff was an unpleasant vision from my past. He’d transferred to my cell block a week before my release and had been in two nasty fights in that short time—and that was just what I’d seen.
“I’m done for tonight,” I told him.
Several of the onlookers stepped back as Cliff approached.
He was big in all dimensions, with a hell of a belly, thick arms, and a neck wider than his head. The scar running down his left cheek spoke to the fights he’d been in. He took the chair Mike had vacated.
“I only take one person’s money a night,” I said before grabbing a wing. “Sorry.” I smiled and started eating.
He placed his elbow on the table, his hand up in the air. “Won’t be a problem, because you’re not taking mine.”
I shrugged. “Not interested.”
Cliff stood quickly, and the chair fell over behind him. “No balls?” His fists clenched at his sides.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Jules rushing our way.
Only an idiot would take on a guy Cliff’s size, but my time behind bars had taught me there were times when backing down was the more dangerous alternative.
I stood and pulled down my fly.
That action caught him by surprise.
I lifted a wing. “I said I only wrestle once a night. Now, you wanna share some wings or kiss my balls to see how big they are?”
Jules arrived with his ax handle in hand, ready to break both our heads if anything started.
I offered Cliff the wing.
He stared at me for a second before breaking out into a laugh. He took the wing. “You got brass ones. I’ll give you that.”