Page 68 of Baker

I stood and gave him an equally shitty look. “When?”

“The fifty-three thousand dollars you took from me when I accidentally shot at that bitch you’re keeping an eye on.”

I shook my head. “You fucked yourself on that one, Cash.”

“Just like everyone else on this deal, Bake. I’m excited.”

“We’re all excited,” I said. “Don’t worry. It’ll be pretty soon.”

I wasn’t excited. Not at all. Although I’d always found a sense of satisfaction with dispersing the cash to the MC’s members, my recent visit to Andy’s home had me viewing things differently. Seeing her sparsely furnished apartment made it clear that the victims of our robberies went far beyond the reach of the federally insured institutions we victimized.

“What’s the deal with the music?” he asked.

My thoughts had drifted far away from our conversation. I raked my fingers through my hair and looked around the room. “What do you mean?”

He flashed a side-eyed look at the ceiling and then shook his head. “Same fucking song keeps playing. Over and over. Normally it ain’t doing dumb shit like that.”

“Must be something wrong with it,” I said dismissively.

“It was a cool tune the first couple of times it played.” He turned toward the door. “Kinda sick of it now.”

I wasn’t sick of it at all. I went to the window and placed my hands against the cold stone of the ledge. “I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Who sings it?” he asked from across the room.

I peered down at Andy’s bike and grinned. “I don’t know.”

Then, as Cash pulled the door closed behind him, I allowed the sound of Amos Lee’s music to carry me away.

TWENTY-NINE - Andy

A knock at my door startled me, but not in the way a normal knock did. Holly beat on the door like she was seeking refuge from a mass murderer. Baker knocked in a unique manner: knock, knock…knock, every time.

This knock was different.

I tip-toed to the door and peered through the peephole. The guy from the phone commercials with the black horn-rimmed glasses stood on the other side, clutching a clipboard. Intrigued, I pulled the door open.

“Can you hear me now?” I asked.

He squinted. “Excuse me?”

“Can you hear me now?”

His face washed over with confusion. I must have been the first person to notice the resemblance. Either that, or he was tired of the jokes.

“You remind me of the phone guy,” I said. “The can you hear me now guy.”

He glanced at his clipboard. “Andy Winslow?”

I noticed there were two other guys standing behind him, both of which were grinning. After making note that they were all three wearing the same khaki pants outfits, I looked at the former Verizon rep. “Yes, I am. How can I help you?”

“Well.” He lowered his clipboard. “Michael’s and Jerome’s have partnered together in a Christmas Season Giveaway. They’ve picked two winners from credit card receipts of purchases prior to last Monday. You’re winner number two.”

I’d never won anything in my life. “Michael’s?” I asked excitedly. “Like Michael’s the craft store?”

He looked at the two men, and then at me. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I was picked as the winner?”