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Blasphemy. He put something in those bagels. That’s the only explanation for these horrific thoughts.
“I can’t blame you.” He goes around behind the bar. “Want some coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
He starts brewing. “All right, baby girl, since you’re so keen on this job, why don’t you walk me through how it’ll happen?”
I make a face, because I really don’t like the way he calls me baby and darling, but if I have to suffer that small indignity to get ten percent of this score, then I’ll suck it up. “I have it mostly mapped out. Here—” I pull a binder from my bag and flip it open.
He stares at me. “Is that paper?”
“Yes, I’m pretty sure you need paper in order to write things down.”
The coffee maker gurgles as he squints. “You realize we’re doingcrimes, right? And writing downcrimesis how you go to fucking jail?”
I roll my eyes at him and turn the binder around to face him. “It’s in cipher, first of all. Just a simple code my father came up with, and at this point I can read it without having to figure it out. But aside from that, I’ll throw it in the river the second we’re done with this. And yes, I’ll weigh it down so it sinks, you prick.”
He rubs his face but doesn’t argue. Once I’m sure he’s not going to keep making a fuss, I run down how I envision this operation will go down. As I talk, he pours coffee, adds milk, paces around and drinks it, starts doing pushups and sit-ups and insists that yes, he really is listening, and for a solid half hour he doesn’t sit still once.
I swear, it’s like explaining math to a toddler. He grunts from time to time and squints at my phone when I show him a picture from the surveillance videos I took, but mostly he’s wandering around the room.
“Would you please sit still for ten minutes and go over this with me?” I say, totally exasperated and out of patience.
He grimaces and forces himself into a stool. “I don’t do sitting around very well.”
“You’re the head of your family. Don’t you have to do planning stuff all the time?”
“There are constantly people coming and going,” he says, waving a hand in the air. “That helps. And fuck, I didn’t say Ilikedall that shit.”
I snap the binder shut. “You have to be the most absurd mafia Don I’ve ever met.”
“Not a Don,” he says, holding up a finger. “That’s an Italian thing.”
“Whatever. You know what I’m saying.”
“I’m more of an active member of the Hayes Group, if you know what I’m saying.” He walks over to the heavy bag and punches it. “We aren’t all great intellectuals such as yourself.”
“Clearly,” I mutter and chew on my thumbnail. “All right, how about this. For fifteen percent, I’ll do all the planning on my own.”
He hits the bag again and glares at me. “How about you stick with the original ten, keep working here until you have a good plan, then run me through it?”
That’s not as good as getting another five percent, but I can see when I’m being greedy. We come to an agreement and he goes back to working out while I buckle down and fill in the details. Timing, manpower, equipment, how to deal with potential law enforcement, potential problems and unforeseen circumstances. I’m as thorough as I can be, and for a little while I forget all about my terrible life.
Ilikedoing this. Heck, I’m good at it. At least, I think so. My father said I have a brain for this work and was always encouraging me to get more involved in the day-to-day operations of a big crime network. That wasn’t really easy whenI was younger, and now I wish I had applied myself even harder. Maybe I could’ve learned more before it was too late.
Instead, I’m stuck glancing over at shirtless Ronan getting all sweaty again while he punches stuff.
But eventually, I’m finished, and he mercifully sits still for long enough to hear me out. He makes some suggestions, which aren’t terrible even though it pains me to admit it, and in the end we have a workable plan.
“All right baby, now how do we seal this deal? Should we go for a kiss? Maybe a lap dance?”
“How about I get up and walk out of here without kicking you in the crotch and we’ll call that a win?” I give him a sweet smile as I stuff my binder back into my bag. It has fishing weights glued onto the interior covers, and it’ll drop like a stone when I toss it into the water on my way home.
“Wonderful. I look forward to making some money with you.”
“Just don’t fuck it up, okay?”
He pretends to look hurt. “I could never, not with such a thorough mastermind running the show.”
