Two hours later, the money divided up and hidden
— for the moment under a pile of sweaters in Nikki's closet — the two are sitting in the cellar of Siberia Bar, leaning forward,
heads close, talking.
"What's the matter?" asks Lenny, bothered by Nikki's stunned expression, the way she keeps shaking her head.
"I'm alright."
"No. Really. What's the matter?" he repeats.
Nikki slams back her third vodka shot, her eyes beginning to fill up. "Everything is different now, isn't It?"
"What do you mean?" says Lenny, playing the tough guy.
"I mean . . . How do we go to work tomorrow? It's gonna be a shit-storm in there. How do I look anybody in the eyes? They'll
fucking know."
"Who are you worried about? The Chef? Ricky? What? Nobody's gonna think it was us! Who would think it was us?"
"There was so much. There wasn't supposed to be that much. I'm worried. I admit it. I'm worried."
"Fuck them. They're idiots. They'll never find out as long as we don't tell them."
"I'm worried about Bobby. I don't want him to lose his job."
"Bobby!? Bobby!! That security goon? Fuck him! He's not a cook! He's not one of us! What do you care about that asshole? Are
you fucking that guy?"
"Yes," says Nikki. "Yes. I'm fucking that guy. I've been fucking that guy for months!"
"I can't believe this!" shrieks Lenny. "You're doing the head of fucking security?!" His hands trembling, Lenny takes a pull
on a beer, missing his mouth and slobbering on his chin. "You're not going to tell him anything? You're not that stupid."
"I won't say anything," says Nikki.
"You better not!" Lenny thinks about this for a while. "In fact . . . In fact . . . if it looks like he's getting close to
figuring anything out — you better tell me. You will tell me, right?"
Nikki waves him away, dismissing the prospect. "I think you should bug out tonight, Lenny. You can have the money. Okay .
. . maybe I'll keep some . . . but you can have most of it. Go to fucking Florida or something. But you should go. That's
a lot of money there. You should be fine."
"What are people gonna say, I disappear the day they find somebody cracked the fucking safe? They'll know!"
"We didn't think this out too good, did we?"
"What do you mean? Stick with the plan. We stick with the plan. That's what we should do!"
"The plan? There was no plan, Lenny. You know what my fucking plan was? You know how stupid I am? My plan was to take the
money and get out of the fucking business for a while and maybe rent a nice place somewhere where there's water and maybe
a beach and buy some clothes and a TV and like . . . live like a normal person for a while. That was what my plan was, Lenny.
You know . . . a nice boyfriend . . . hole up behind some white picket fucking fence with a garden and like, live like a regular
person. You know . . . he goes to like . . . work . . . wherever that is . . . and I putter around the house. I order shit
outta catalogs . . . make myself a midday martini . . . watch soap operas . . . cook, like, tuna noodle casserole. Friday
nights he comes home, we get dressed up, go out to dinner and maybe a movie — after which we go home and he throws me on a
big four-poster bed and fucks me till my nose bleeds."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Are you nuts? I feel like . . . it's like Invasion of the Body Snatchers!! What is with you? My fucking partner is going Suzy Homemaker on me? What the fuck!?"
"I always wanted to putter," says Nikki, glumly, not looking at Lenny when she says it.
"Putter? You want to putter?"
"You know. Do normal shit. Whatever it is people do. You know. When they're not like us."
"This is great," says Lenny, returning from the bar with a Jager shot and two beers. "This is great. I don't even know you
anymore. You couldn't a said this before? You're going out with the head a fuckin' security . . . you got some weird-ass idea
you're gonna turn into some kinda suburban housewife or some shit. We put down the biggest
— for the moment under a pile of sweaters in Nikki's closet — the two are sitting in the cellar of Siberia Bar, leaning forward,
heads close, talking.
"What's the matter?" asks Lenny, bothered by Nikki's stunned expression, the way she keeps shaking her head.
"I'm alright."
"No. Really. What's the matter?" he repeats.
Nikki slams back her third vodka shot, her eyes beginning to fill up. "Everything is different now, isn't It?"
"What do you mean?" says Lenny, playing the tough guy.
"I mean . . . How do we go to work tomorrow? It's gonna be a shit-storm in there. How do I look anybody in the eyes? They'll
fucking know."
"Who are you worried about? The Chef? Ricky? What? Nobody's gonna think it was us! Who would think it was us?"
"There was so much. There wasn't supposed to be that much. I'm worried. I admit it. I'm worried."
"Fuck them. They're idiots. They'll never find out as long as we don't tell them."
"I'm worried about Bobby. I don't want him to lose his job."
"Bobby!? Bobby!! That security goon? Fuck him! He's not a cook! He's not one of us! What do you care about that asshole? Are
you fucking that guy?"
"Yes," says Nikki. "Yes. I'm fucking that guy. I've been fucking that guy for months!"
"I can't believe this!" shrieks Lenny. "You're doing the head of fucking security?!" His hands trembling, Lenny takes a pull
on a beer, missing his mouth and slobbering on his chin. "You're not going to tell him anything? You're not that stupid."
"I won't say anything," says Nikki.
"You better not!" Lenny thinks about this for a while. "In fact . . . In fact . . . if it looks like he's getting close to
figuring anything out — you better tell me. You will tell me, right?"
Nikki waves him away, dismissing the prospect. "I think you should bug out tonight, Lenny. You can have the money. Okay .
. . maybe I'll keep some . . . but you can have most of it. Go to fucking Florida or something. But you should go. That's
a lot of money there. You should be fine."
"What are people gonna say, I disappear the day they find somebody cracked the fucking safe? They'll know!"
"We didn't think this out too good, did we?"
"What do you mean? Stick with the plan. We stick with the plan. That's what we should do!"
"The plan? There was no plan, Lenny. You know what my fucking plan was? You know how stupid I am? My plan was to take the
money and get out of the fucking business for a while and maybe rent a nice place somewhere where there's water and maybe
a beach and buy some clothes and a TV and like . . . live like a normal person for a while. That was what my plan was, Lenny.
You know . . . a nice boyfriend . . . hole up behind some white picket fucking fence with a garden and like, live like a regular
person. You know . . . he goes to like . . . work . . . wherever that is . . . and I putter around the house. I order shit
outta catalogs . . . make myself a midday martini . . . watch soap operas . . . cook, like, tuna noodle casserole. Friday
nights he comes home, we get dressed up, go out to dinner and maybe a movie — after which we go home and he throws me on a
big four-poster bed and fucks me till my nose bleeds."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Are you nuts? I feel like . . . it's like Invasion of the Body Snatchers!! What is with you? My fucking partner is going Suzy Homemaker on me? What the fuck!?"
"I always wanted to putter," says Nikki, glumly, not looking at Lenny when she says it.
"Putter? You want to putter?"
"You know. Do normal shit. Whatever it is people do. You know. When they're not like us."
"This is great," says Lenny, returning from the bar with a Jager shot and two beers. "This is great. I don't even know you
anymore. You couldn't a said this before? You're going out with the head a fuckin' security . . . you got some weird-ass idea
you're gonna turn into some kinda suburban housewife or some shit. We put down the biggest
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