Tough Luck by Jason Starr Page B

robbed?”
    “It’s two houses in two totally different neighborhoods in Brooklyn,” Chris said. “Filippo’s grandmother was Canarsie, his cousin’s Manhattan Beach. The only connection is Filippo, but how would the cops figure that out? Besides, that’s why we waited a month. So the two robberies would be spread apart. I’m telling you, we got all the bases covered.”
    Mickey imagined what it could be like—winding up with more money than he’d had before Angelo made his first bet, moving out of his father’s house into his own apartment, maybe in Manhattan.
    After thinking it over for about a minute, Mickey said, “So you’re sure Filippo’s cousin’s gonna be in the Poconos, right?”

8
    CHARLIE WAS AT the counter, cutting tuna steaks with one hand, his other arm with the cast by his side. Rap music was playing at a low volume from the boom box on the floor next to him.
    “We’ve got two hands between us,” Mickey said, holding up his hand with the bandaged finger.
    “Don’t bother me,” Charlie said. “I got one hand, I do half as much work, that’s all.”
    Working very slowly, Charlie continued to cut the tuna with one hand.
    “How’s your cousin doing?” Mickey asked.
    “He got out of the hospital yesterday,” Charlie said. “He had a concussion and a skull fracture, broke some bones. He has trouble remembering shit right now, but the docs say he’ll be all right.”
    “That’s cool,” Mickey said. “I hope they catch the bastards who did it. “
    “I ain’t keepin’ my fingers crossed,” Charlie said. “Till we get a black mayor in this city, black people won’t get shit from the police.”
    “Hey, I need to talk to you about something else,” Mickey said. “It’s something Harry said to me yesterday.”
    “If that asshole wants me to start coming in earlier, tell him forget it. I told him—I gotta take my little brother to school in the morning.”
    “It’s not about that,” Mickey said. “It’s just there’s kinda been a problem in the store lately. At least that’s what Harry says.”
    Charlie stopped working, holding the knife by his side. He said, “What kinda problem?”
    “Harry said there was some money missing from the register.”
    “Don’t surprise me,” Charlie said, turning back away from Mickey, slicing into the fish again. “The guy’s the dumbest motherfucker in the world—he probably don’t even know his times tables yet. You think he can count money from a cash register?”
    “I don’t really care,” Mickey said, “but Harry said it’s happened twice.”
    “So maybe he made a mistake twice,” Charlie said. “Wouldn’t be the first time that man had his head up his ass.”
    “Yeah,” Mickey said, “you’re probably right.”
    Later, Harry returned to the store to close up and Charlie left before Mickey.
    “So,” Harry said to Mickey as soon as Charlie was gone. “Did you find anything out?”
    “He said he didn’t do it,” Mickey said.
    “Figures,” Harry said. “The guy’s a born thief and a born liar. Well, you did your best. I guess we’ll just have to catch him in the act.”
    MICKEY HADN’T THOUGHT much about Rhonda since getting off the phone with her the other day, but when he arrived home from work he was surprisingly nervous about their date tonight. He showered, washing his hair twice and scrubbing himself with soap and rinsing off several times, trying to get the fish odor off of his body. He thought he got most of it out but he put on extra Old Spice, under his arms and all over his back, chest, and stomach just in case.
    He cut himself shaving in a few places and had to cover the cuts with tiny pieces of toilet paper to stop the bleeding. In his room, he was about to get dressed when he realized he didn’t have any nice clothes to wear. He wished he’d thought about this sooner—he could have gone shopping, bought a new pair of pants at least. He put on a red pin-striped shirt, which was too tight