a job.”
I nodded and left it at that.
When my feet began to throb and the heaviness from life took hold of me, I sat down on the sofa and initiated the app that connected to the police monitors. I hoped Jackie would go into the bedroom, but she came over and sat down on the sofa. I struggled to get comfortable on one end and she relaxed on the far end, pulled her feet up under her body, took a very feminine position, and faced me. It was awkward being there with her. Over the last six months, it had always been four of us hiding out. And she had always ended up drinking and resting in Sammy’s lap after a job was done.
She finished her vodka, then poured another tall glass of the same and sat next to me. This time she positioned herself on the worn pillow next to mine. Her skirt rode high and she undid another button on her blouse. She sipped her drink and rested her left hand on my leg. When I looked in her light brown eyes, she didn’t move her hand away from my thigh. Her smile widened. She winked and rubbed my leg.
She asked, “When was the last time you were with a woman?”
“Let’s not go down that road, Jackie.”
“Maybe we could help each other out.”
I moved her hand away. “Let’s go get that four grand, Jackie.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I’m not Sammy.”
She gave me an unembarrassed smile. “Give me twenty minutes.”
“Then you’re going to make that call and we’re going to go get the four thousand.”
She took her cellular, staggered into the bedroom, and slammed the door.
My duffel bag rested at the end of the sofa. I grabbed my toiletries and hurried inside the bathroom. I threw a ragged towel down in the tub and stood on top of that while I showered, then I wrapped a towel I had brought with me around my body. I borrowed a lime-green plastic bowl from the kitchen, one of the few things that hadn’t been destroyed during Jackie’s rage, then filled it with hot water and added shaving powder, stirred it until I had made a decent amount of foamy shaving cream. I always shaved after a job. Always showered and shaved. It was my ritual. I didn’t need to break that now. While the lather was hot I used my shaving brush and swirled the wet tips of the brush, used the same motions my father had taught me, then I painted my face, again emulating the strokes he had used. I used a straightedge razor and shaved the way men had shaved for hundreds of years. I’d used Noxzema Lather Shave Cream, and this was a powdered version of the same, had the same scents, a mixture of coconut, eucalyptus, clove, and peppermint oils. When I was done I rinsed my face, inspected my injuries, packed up my shaving tools, and went back into the living room.
It was possible for a man to clean his body and not remove any filth from his soul.
I reached inside the bag and found a pair of black boxers, a white V-neck undershirt, and a fresh white shirt that had been starched—the way Henrick used to wear his shirts. I went back to the bathroom to dress and assess my reflection in the mirror. My face was Henrick’s face. And I’d always used the same brand of shaving cream. I used his watch, a timepiece that had been his father’s timepiece, a pocket watch that had kept time for decades.
I thought about my father. I thought about killing. I thought about Abbey Rose.
I whispered, “No witnesses.”
Once a man killed, he was never the same. One death changed a man’s world forever.
After I dressed, I went back into the front room. Jackie hadn’t come out of the bedroom yet. I stepped over the destruction and dropped my duffel bag near the front door, raised my antique watch and stood in the window, found enough light and checked the time. Twenty-five minutes had gone by. It was late by L.A. standards, a loud and traffic-filled city overpopulated with bad actors and deadly thugs. Last call was at one thirty and L.A shut down by two, but it was still early enough to handle a few things.
The
I nodded and left it at that.
When my feet began to throb and the heaviness from life took hold of me, I sat down on the sofa and initiated the app that connected to the police monitors. I hoped Jackie would go into the bedroom, but she came over and sat down on the sofa. I struggled to get comfortable on one end and she relaxed on the far end, pulled her feet up under her body, took a very feminine position, and faced me. It was awkward being there with her. Over the last six months, it had always been four of us hiding out. And she had always ended up drinking and resting in Sammy’s lap after a job was done.
She finished her vodka, then poured another tall glass of the same and sat next to me. This time she positioned herself on the worn pillow next to mine. Her skirt rode high and she undid another button on her blouse. She sipped her drink and rested her left hand on my leg. When I looked in her light brown eyes, she didn’t move her hand away from my thigh. Her smile widened. She winked and rubbed my leg.
She asked, “When was the last time you were with a woman?”
“Let’s not go down that road, Jackie.”
“Maybe we could help each other out.”
I moved her hand away. “Let’s go get that four grand, Jackie.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I’m not Sammy.”
She gave me an unembarrassed smile. “Give me twenty minutes.”
“Then you’re going to make that call and we’re going to go get the four thousand.”
She took her cellular, staggered into the bedroom, and slammed the door.
My duffel bag rested at the end of the sofa. I grabbed my toiletries and hurried inside the bathroom. I threw a ragged towel down in the tub and stood on top of that while I showered, then I wrapped a towel I had brought with me around my body. I borrowed a lime-green plastic bowl from the kitchen, one of the few things that hadn’t been destroyed during Jackie’s rage, then filled it with hot water and added shaving powder, stirred it until I had made a decent amount of foamy shaving cream. I always shaved after a job. Always showered and shaved. It was my ritual. I didn’t need to break that now. While the lather was hot I used my shaving brush and swirled the wet tips of the brush, used the same motions my father had taught me, then I painted my face, again emulating the strokes he had used. I used a straightedge razor and shaved the way men had shaved for hundreds of years. I’d used Noxzema Lather Shave Cream, and this was a powdered version of the same, had the same scents, a mixture of coconut, eucalyptus, clove, and peppermint oils. When I was done I rinsed my face, inspected my injuries, packed up my shaving tools, and went back into the living room.
It was possible for a man to clean his body and not remove any filth from his soul.
I reached inside the bag and found a pair of black boxers, a white V-neck undershirt, and a fresh white shirt that had been starched—the way Henrick used to wear his shirts. I went back to the bathroom to dress and assess my reflection in the mirror. My face was Henrick’s face. And I’d always used the same brand of shaving cream. I used his watch, a timepiece that had been his father’s timepiece, a pocket watch that had kept time for decades.
I thought about my father. I thought about killing. I thought about Abbey Rose.
I whispered, “No witnesses.”
Once a man killed, he was never the same. One death changed a man’s world forever.
After I dressed, I went back into the front room. Jackie hadn’t come out of the bedroom yet. I stepped over the destruction and dropped my duffel bag near the front door, raised my antique watch and stood in the window, found enough light and checked the time. Twenty-five minutes had gone by. It was late by L.A. standards, a loud and traffic-filled city overpopulated with bad actors and deadly thugs. Last call was at one thirty and L.A shut down by two, but it was still early enough to handle a few things.
The
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