Bedtime for bonsai, p.16
Bedtime for Bonsai, page 16
He scoffed at himself. A fairy tale. They couldn’t sustain closeness for even twelve hours straight. She’d left coolly that morning. Miffed, he could tell. No doubt because he’d been yanked away from her and she felt it, but there was nothing he could do about it. Not a goddamn thing. He owed the favor and it was up to him to either do it or figure out how the hell to get out of it. Either way he was probably toast.
He guided the clay back into a cone. He hadn’t wanted to get into it with Pinky, not while she was sleeping in his bed barely ten feet away. He hadn’t wanted Pinky to give him even one detail, because once that conversation began he couldn’t tell Pinky to go to hell. He’d know something he shouldn’t. He’d be complicit.
So he’d cut him off, but not before seriously pissing him off.
The second conversation, once Penelope was safely away, had been the kicker.
“I can’t do it,” Dylan had said, careful as always not to use Pinky’s name on the phone. “I’d help you for old times’ sake, but I’m not doing anything illegal. The cops already watch me, they know my past and they’re ready to jump down my throat if I so much as park in a loading zone. Which wouldn’t do you any good either. Don’t ask me to fuck things up here. I’ve worked hard.”
“You’ve worked hard,” Pinky said. His voice was low, deadpan. Dylan remembered Pinky using that same tone of voice on a guy who’d tried to stiff him on profits from some stolen stereo equipment ten years ago. This is all you got, Pinky had repeated the fence’s words, waiting a mere beat before slipping the knife from his sleeve and slicing the guy’s cheek open. “I work fuckin’ hard too. I worked hard when I saved your ass in the pen, you forget about that?”
“I believe I thanked you for that,” Dylan said mildly. He wasn’t going to get into that, not if he could help it.
Pinky made a sound like spitting. “So you’re saying you don’t trust me. I’ve known you since we were kids, you forget that? You forget playin’ kick ball in the street? Knockin’ over newspaper boxes? C’mon, man. This is safe, I’m telling you. I just need you to hold some stuff ’til I can get it picked up.”
“Look, the way my luck’s been running, the second it hits my hands the cops’ll be all over it. You want to lose the stuff? ’Cause that’s the only thing likely to come of it being here.”
A long silence on the other end didn’t bode well for Dylan. It was Pinky working up another tack to take, Dylan was sure.
Finally, Pinky exhaled. “Shit, they told me you were gonna do this. That’s why they made me take out a little insurance.”
That spark lit the fuse of Dylan’s fury. “What are you talking about? Who told you I wouldn’t do it?”
“I can’t say. My partners. They said you’d gone soft, but I said don’t worry, he’s a buddy. He’ll trust me. That’s what I get for fuckin’ trusting people.”
“Turns out I’m the one who shouldn’t have trusted you.”
“What’re you talking about? I’ve always had your back. Had your mom’s back too, you know. Remember that money she owed?”
Dylan’s teeth ground together so hard he thought they might crack. “I paid that back. With interest.”
“Yeah, but she run it back up again. Not with me, man, with them. And you know they ain’t the kind that take Visa.”
Dylan suddenly felt cold. “Are you threatening my mother? What about all she did for you, growing up? You have turned into one ugly piece of shit, you know that?”
“Listen to what I’m telling you. It ain’t me. I’m just warning you, they want their dough and you could get it back for her, you just do this one thing.”
“I’ll get a loan.”
“You think there’s time for that? Besides, who’s gonna give you money?”
“I’ll find a way. But I’m not risking jail again.”
“This ain’t no more risk than anything else you do. You know how easy it would be for someone to turn you in for possession? Candy, ice, they could fuck you over either one without lifting a finger.”
“I don’t possess shit, and you know it,” Dylan said.
Pinky laughed, a sound chilling in its confidence. “Guess again, my friend.”
Say what you wanted about Pinky, he didn’t make idle threats. So much for childhood friends.
Dylan’s throat closed. “Look, I haven’t done anything to you. I just want to get out,” he said, his voice low.
“Yeah, well, I want a million dollars. Maybe you haven’t done anything to me, but you haven’t done anything for me either. Do this and I’ll let you out. You’ll be free, I promise. Freer than you ever been.”
“If you keep threatening me, you’re going to learn a thing or two about me you might not know,” Dylan said, his resolve hardening. “I’m cleaner than you think. Don’t push me into doing something you’ll regret.”
Pinky’s voice rose, in both octaves and volume. “Cleaner than I think? What are you saying? You gonna turn me in?” He laughed.
“I know an awful lot about you.” Dylan’s voice went soft with his anger. “And I’m not afraid of you. You could screw me over, you could do me some harm, but don’t ever make the mistake of thinking you control me. Got it?”
Silence.
“It’s a small thing,” Pinky said finally. “And I promise I’ll protect you. This is the last time. And you do owe me, remember?”
“I remember.”
“Then do this one thing. Make it easy. I’m askin’, man.”
“Tell me about the insurance.”
Pinky inhaled. “The shit’s on its way, man. It’s coming to you whether you agree to it or not.”
Dylan’s mouth opened but nothing emerged.
“But you’ll agree to it, ’cause these guys I work with, they got shit on you. I can’t go into detail, but they do.”
Dylan shook his head. “I haven’t done anything. There’s nothing they could have.”
“Doesn’t matter. It just needs to look like you done something. And they got that covered.”
Dylan exhaled. Fuck. “You’re lying.”
Pinky’s voice got curt. “Don’t be stupid. I don’t have to lie. Now, the stuff’s on its way. Be ready for my guy on Friday.”
“Where is it now?”
Pinky didn’t answer.
“Where the fuck is it now?” Dylan demanded, knowing even as he said it he was betraying how powerfully Pinky had gotten to him.
Pinky stayed silent. Stonewalling.
Dylan put his head in his hand. “You don’t have anything on me.”
After a minute, Pinky continued. “Look, I don’t wanna ruin your fresh start. I just want you to remember what I did for you. Remember how grateful you said you were? It’s a matter of fuckin’ honor, man. Do this for me and we’ll be square. End of story.”
It was the kiss of death. He’d threatened, he’d reasoned, and now he appealed to Dylan’s honor. Ironically, this last was the one that stung. It was a debt Dylan owed.
When Dylan had gone to prison, his mother had been left without anyone to support her. Dylan had feared for her safety, with no one and nothing to live on. He’d been young, with an exaggerated sense of his own importance.
Now he understood she’d have been fine. She was an innocent, an idealist, a kitten among bobcats. But like a kitten, she always landed on her feet. He knew that now.
Pinky had made it possible for his mother to keep her apartment. He’d swung some kind of deal with the landlord, who apparently owed Pinky a favor, and he’d had his guys lend her a couple thousand dollars. Money that Dylan had paid back once he got out of jail.
It was pretty simple, but it was no small thing to Dylan. He had always fully intended to pay back the favor, in addition to the debt, but to pay it back with his life…not his breath, not his beating heart, but the life he’d built here. The future he was just beginning to see.
It was too much. Wasn’t it?
“All you gotta do is get the stuff and hand it over to the guy I’m sending. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“Why do you even need me? Why can’t your two guys exchange it?”
“Look,” Pinky snapped, “I’m not getting into the nitty-gritty details with you. They’re none of your goddamn business. Just be ready Friday. Call me when he gets there and I’ll make it happen.” They both were silent a minute, before Pinky added, in a slightly more conciliatory tone, “If you do, I’ll make sure they lay off your mother about the dough.”
Dylan ground his teeth, gripped his hand into a fist so hard it threatened to cramp. It sounded so simple, but he was all too aware it wasn’t. “I could call the cops right now, you know. Tell them what I know, what’s happening. They’d watch out for Mom and I wouldn’t be risking jail.”
Pinky burst out laughing. “You? Trust the cops? Gimme a break. Besides, if these guys wanted? They could get her busted.”
Dylan exhaled. “So you’re saying I’ve got no choice.”
“You got no choice, man.”
Dylan’s mind spun, figuring all the ways he could get caught. The cops would have to be watching him, suspecting him already. Or watching the contact. Both things were likely. They’d have to know the day it was happening. Nothing hard about that.
The only thing on his side was the fact that if Dylan didn’t know he was involved until today, the cops might not either. And Friday was only four days away.
He bent his head to the clay, his thoughts turning over again, like a blanket being folded over and over onto itself. The one thing he’d been trying to forget, since it was nothing he could control at this point, was the one thing that might matter the most.
The last time.
He pictured Penelope’s face when she’d pulled out those condoms and revealed she was not on the pill as he’d foolishly assumed. The last time, which was the first time, actually, that they’d had sex. If he was bathing in worst-case scenarios, he could wallow in this, too.
What if she was pregnant? What if he became a father?
In the soup of emotion that followed, he could think of only one thing. If he were to be a father, he’d never do what Pinky asked. He wouldn’t risk one more moment on illegal behavior, no matter who he owed what to.
With that thought, the penny dropped and something became dreadfully clear. He couldn’t do this and be done with it. If he was available to Pinky and his cohorts for this, there was nothing to stop them using him again. If he really wanted out, if he was serious about ridding himself of the past and becoming someone new, he needed to screw them. He needed to make enemies he’d have for the rest of his life and ensure that they’d never try anything like this again.
His mind ran over the things Pinky had said. Needed to let the ice cool. Dylan was his only contact outside Maryland. His buddy’d knocked over a jewelry store a couple weeks ago. A couple weeks ago.
For no reason he could think of, the image of the guy with the chicken, who’d delivered his mother’s pottery, flashed through his mind. That had been a week and a half ago.
Mutual friends, Chicken Man had said when they left. They knew his mother through mutual friends.
Dominoes fell, clicking against each other in his mind, connecting things he’d never even considered. An idea—no, the truth—entered his head and took root. That guy, the chicken guy, had disappeared for damn near fifteen minutes while Dylan and the other guy had unloaded the van.
That guy, Dylan suddenly knew, had planted something here, in the shop. The stuff Pinky now needed picked up.
Someone was coming on Friday. Pinky would call to say where the stash was. It wasn’t somebody bringing it, as he’d led Dylan to believe. It was already here.
Dylan shot to his feet, eyes scanning the room as if he’d be able to see it, an Easter egg in an obvious place.
He had to search.
He had to find what they’d planted.
“You ever notice how no one talks about nipple sensitivity?” Georgia asked.
They sat in the dog park on this blustery Tuesday with the smell of wood fires and fallen leaves in the air. Sage, her massive Great Dane, lay at her feet, too old these days to be running around the grass enclosure with Mr. Darcy, Lily’s Doug, and Megan’s Twister, who was playing keep away with an ancient, mud-blackened tennis ball.
“It’s true,” Megan said with mock sobriety. “I never talk about it.”
Lily laughed. “Okay Georgia, what do you have to say about nipple sensitivity? Are we talking a medical condition?”
“No, I’m talking sexually. It’s an important issue. Some women have very sensitive nipples and some, I imagine, don’t.”
“I guess that tells us which category you’re in.” Lily pulled her hood up over her hair and tied it. The wind was whipping everything about, keeping the dogs ebulliently chasing one another, the ball, leaves, trash, whatever was moving.
“Why do we need to talk about it?” Penelope watched Twister cut and run right, then left, then right again, tempting both Doug and Mr. Darcy with the ball. A minute later a springer spaniel entered the park and the contest, giving Twister much more of a run for her money.
“Because…” Georgia beamed, clearly glad someone asked. “More men need to know about it. If they’re not going to follow through, they should know they can offer a great deal of satisfaction to those with high sensitivity without ever going downstairs.”
Megan laughed. “Downstairs? You’re being very discreet, Georgia, considering the only person who could possibly overhear is twenty yards away.”
They all looked over to the springer’s owner, a white-haired man with one of those plastic claws for throwing spit-swathed tennis balls.
“I’m protecting Penelope’s delicate sensibilities,” Georgia said. “She already looks annoyed with me.” Their gazes all shifted to Penelope.
“What?” She sat up straight on the picnic bench.
“I’m not annoyed. I’m just preoccupied. Go ahead. High sensitivity. I’m with you.”
“Are you going to tell us what happened with you and Dylan after the party the other night?” Lily kept her eyes on Penelope even as her dog, Doug, charged over and leaped onto the bench between them. His tongue curled in the middle of his doggy grin as he panted and wheezed.
“Boy, Sutter really took a shine to him Sunday night.” Megan reached over to pet Doug. “He liked him before, of course, but he was impressed with him this time.”
“Brady liked him too,” Lily said. “I have to say, it seemed like Dylan really rose to the occasion.”
“Or did he?” Georgia raised an eyebrow at Penelope’s dark expression.
“Oh I don’t know,” Penelope blurted, exasperation in her sharp exhale. “The guy’s a mystery to me, a total mystery. One minute he seems like he’s coming around and the next he does something completely off-putting. I just don’t know what to make of him!”
She told them the story of what had happened Sunday night—omitting the more salacious details—culminating with his “nobody important” conversation the next morning.
“It had to be a girlfriend, don’t you think?” Penelope finished. “What else could that mean? And the ‘I’d never do that’ part. Surely he was telling her he’d never cheat on her. Lying jerk.”
“Penelope,” Megan said, “you’re making up a whole story around two comments. It could have been anyone. It could have been his mother, for heaven’s sake. How many men tell their mothers that the woman they’re seeing is ‘nobody important’ until they suddenly pop up with a fiancée?”
“That wasn’t even the worst part,” Penelope continued, heart heavy with the memory. “He completely disappeared on me after that.”
“He left?” Georgia’s mouth gaped open. “Weren’t you at his place?”
“He didn’t leave.” Penelope picked at the splintering table with a fingernail. “Not physically. He just withdrew, like it was guilt. He could barely look at me.”
“Why didn’t you ask him who it was?” Lily wrestled a stick out of Doug’s mouth and tossed it across the grass. The dog took off after it. “I sure would have. You don’t call me ‘nobody important’ and not explain it.”
“He didn’t know I heard.” Penelope’s shoulders slumped. She leaned her elbows on the table. “And I had too much pride to bring it up. I was hoping once he got off the phone he’d explain, or at least act normal to me, but I’m starting to think there is no ‘normal’ between us.”
“You two looked pretty normal the other night,” Megan offered.
“He looked great,” Lily said. “I mean, I thought he was cute before, but once he loosened up and got social he was really cute.”
A leaf blew into Georgia’s hair and she pulled it loose, nodding. “Shower-worthy, you might say.”
Three heads swiveled to hers.
“What?” Penelope asked.
“You know, the attraction test.” Georgia pulled her scarf up and over her hair, winding it around her neck. “You meet them, they’re nice-looking, but would you want to take a shower with them? You can think all kinds of people are nice-looking, but unless you want to take a shower with them you don’t feel the right way for a relationship.”
The three of them went silent a minute, thinking, while Georgia smugly arranged her scarf.
“She’s right,” Megan concluded. “There aren’t many people I’d want to shower with.”
Penelope could hardly get the image of showering with Dylan out of her head. In fact, in her current state of mind it seemed like the very thing they needed to do, be alone in a confined space, warm water, slippery soap, naked bodies…
“Wow,” Penelope murmured. Her fingers twitched with the desire to run down his drenched abdomen.
Doug leaped up on the seat between Penelope and Lily again, slobbery stick in his mouth, and Penelope was shaken out of her reverie.
So, apparently, was Lily.
“You need to ask him what he meant,” Lily insisted. “Ask him who he was talking to and if he really considers you ‘nobody important.’ We’re too old to be playing these games. Just flat-out put it to him. Ask if he has a girlfriend. Get it all out on the table.”
