"I don’t think she’s all that fat." Laz turned away from the window and leaned one arm over the back of the seat.
"I’m just tellin’ what I heard, Laz." Jeanie held out her hand for a cigarette, nodding to the faded pop star as she boarded her tour bus across the street. "I heard they gotta shoot her music vids with a special lens that kinda stretches her out so she don’t look so fat."
Laz shook a Salem out of the pack for her. "Well, she don’t look all that fat to me, kid."
Jeanie smiled and used the end of Laz’s smoke to light her own. Laz always called her "kid." Probably ‘cause that’s all she’d been way back when Laz had killed that son of a bitch Mark right in her own bed, right in front of her.
She never knew her dad. Probably her mom didn’t know him too good, either, being something of a hellraiser herself. He was long gone by the time Jeanie came around, anyway. Then Mom left, too, and all she had was Mark, Mom’s son of bitch boyfriend who was drunk all the time and couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
And Laz was just small-time, then. He was just hittin’ the neighborhood, by pure coincidence, lookin’ for cash and drugs and wedding rings and stuff like that. He probably wouldn’t’ve even come into her room if Mark hadn’t yelled.
"Who the hell is out there?" Mark’d held his hand over her mouth so’s she’d stop cryin’.
Then Laz busted in on them–kicked that door so hard the knob knocked a hole in the wall. And he just looked down at Mark. And he looked down at Jeanie. And he said, "Close your eyes, kid."
Then he tore that son of a bitch’s head right off and ate it.
So, whatever else Laz’d done, or was about to do, wasn’t no problem with Jeanie. She’d follow Laz straight into hell, if that’s where he was going. Truth was, there were a hell of a lot worse things than "kid" that he could call her, but he didn’t. That was another thing she liked about Laz.
"There it is. She stuffs all her jewelry into plain ol’ suitcase, can you believe? And only one old pig to guard it, too." Laz turned back to the window in time to see the case get loaded onto the bus. T.J., their inside man, didn’t even look back over at them as he hoisted his fat ass up the steps. "It’s callin’ to us, kid. Hear it?"
"I hear it, Laz." Jeanie reached across the front seat and squeezed his shoulder. This was the part she liked, the beginning. Laz liked the end of a job, the part when it was all over and what’s done was done. He liked to dump all the cash in her lap and then go off down some dark alley with some old whore after the job was over.
But Jeanie never got jealous about that, ‘cause afterwards, Laz’d just bite that bitch’s head off and eat it. What her and Laz had was better than that.
And anyways, Laz’d always take her out someplace nice after that. And that’s how it would go–restaurants and clubs and nice hotel rooms, until the money was gone and they had to get started all over again.
Gettin’ started was Jeanie’s favorite part. ‘Cause that was the part when it was just her and Laz and nobody else. Sure, this time T.J. was in on it. And sometimes there were others, but mostly it was her and Laz.
"Sloppy." Laz pitched his cigarette out the window and blew the smoke through his nose. "That’s what money’ll do for you, kid. Make you forget there’s some that don’t have any."
Laz waited until the bus was out of sight. He didn’t need to follow them. Laz’d set this thing up with T.J. a week ago, after T.J.’d told him about the suitcase. So he already knew where to go, without havin’ to keep the bus in sight.
They’d just have to head out to where T.J.’d stopped the bus, grab the case, and pick up T.J. Then they could all go someplace to split the take and it would be back to her and Laz again.
But still, they didn’t want to get too far behind. So they gave T.J. and the pop star a couple minutes, then Laz started the car and calmly merged the Ford into the evening traffic. Jeanie butted her cig in the door ashtray and watched out the back window for anything that looked like cops. Laz hummed a short snatch of one of the pop star’s old songs and kept his eyes on the road.
"Whatcha gonna do with the money this time, Laz?" She glanced up at the rearview mirror, their eyes meeting for a split second.
"Don’t know." He shook his head and hummed a bit more. "Maybe we should go some place for a while? Y’think?"
"For real, Laz?" Jeanie snapped around in the seat, her arm coming around Laz’s chest in as close to an affectionate hug as they ever got.
She’d been with Laz five years now. That was longer than most married couples nowadays. And they’d been lots of places, that was for sure. They went from one job to the next, as soon as the money ran out. But her and Laz’d never been anywhere, just to go.
"Yeah, for real." He jerked his head back at the rear window. "Watch the road for me, willya kid?"
Jeanie eased back into the seat and trained her eyes on the darkening road as they left the city behind them. "We should go someplace warm. Right, Laz?"
"Right, kid." Laz shook another cigarette out and handed the rest of the pack across the seat. He scanned the road ahead, squinting into the dark. "Bus should be around here someplace. Make sure nobody’s comin’ up behind us."
"California." Jeanie leaned over the seat for the light Laz held out to her. "How ‘bout that, Laz? We could swim in the ocean."
"Aruba." Laz’s teeth gritted together when he talked. That meant he was gettin’ excited about it, too. "That’s where the rich people go. That’s what money will do for you."
"Man." She let out a sigh. "That’s what I want, then."
Laz’s eyes winked at her from the rearview mirror, a ribbon of smoke drifting up from the cig between his teeth. Jeanie smiled broadly, then turned back to watch the road in silence.
That wasn’t really what she wanted. When you got right down to it, what she really wanted was just to be with Laz. But Laz wanted to do right by her, give her a good place to live and good food to eat, the kind of things only money could do for you. So she wanted what Laz wanted, too.
She didn’t know what else Laz wanted. He never spent any of the money on himself, except when she bought stuff for him, a new suit, a new car, some silk pajamas. One time, Laz’d taken a diamond earring off of some chick who’d walked in on a convenience store hit in Milwaukee.
He’d already taken care of the scrawny old hag at the register when Diamond Girl walked in. There was Jeanie, with all the money and a package of SnoBalls stuffed into a plastic "Thank You" bag. And there was Laz, comin’ around from behind the counter, covered in cashier blood and brains and pantin’ like a dog. And this lady just stood there, fresh from some fancy party or somethin’, and looked. She didn’t even start screamin’ ‘til Laz ripped her earring out and pushed it through his own ear.
"They get a little money and they forget what goes on in the real world." He’d said, after he ate her head and they were driving away.
Jeanie’d just nodded and spoke around a mouthful of SnoBall. "That’s what it’ll do for you."
So, besides that one earring and the occasional head, Laz didn’t seem to get much out of life, except maybe the satisfaction of knowin’ he wasn’t a slave to the almighty dollar.
"This stinks." Laz’s tone dropped all of a sudden and Jeanie whipped around to see what was wrong.
At first she didn’t see it, maybe ‘cause Laz’d turned off the headlights all of a sudden. He swore softly and slowed the car way down.
"Greedy mother." He stopped the car on the shoulder and cut the engine. "C’mon, kid."
She scrunched up her eyes and tried to see what it was that made Laz so mad. But she didn’t see nothin’. Least, not until she got out of the car. Then she saw it–the tour bus–way off the road in a field of weeds. Another set of track ran parallel to the bus’, headin’ back up to the road.
Jeanie ran after Laz, the wet greenery wrapped around her ankles like snakes and she could smell the dirt and wildflowers as she broke stems and pulled up plants with her steps.
Laz’s big legs got him there sooner, though, so he was already comin’ out of the bus by the time she got there. He glared off toward the road like fire was ready to come out of his eyes or something.
Jeanie climbed the bus steps to look for herself.
The driver’d been shot from behind. That was pretty obvious, since the shell had gone out the front window after that. Three blonde girls sprawled across their seats, blood soaking the front of their clothes. Their matching backup singer dresses, dark blue velvet gowns that clasped at one shoulder with a rhinestone star, hung on the window hooks beside them. Red and brown crap had splatted all over the plastic travel bags, but the dresses inside remained like new.
Jeanie turned at the sound of a gurgling gasp. She made her way to the back of the bus, where the pop star slumped down on a built-in couch.
The diva’s eyes waggled back and forth like she was trying to say something. She’d slid down in the seat and her knees had dropped open and her hair was plastered to the back seat cushion. A little red fountain bubbled up from her silk blouse and pooled in the seat between her legs.
The case was gone. Jeanie grabbed one of the velvet dresses as she passed and fled the bus after Laz.
"That greedy son of a bitch." She threw the dress in the back seat and slid in next to Laz.
Laz just started the engine and tore out onto the road like he was chasin’ the devil himself.
"We’ll get ‘im, Laz." Jeanie pulled the pack of Salems out of her back pocket and lit one. She took two drags and pressed it between Laz’s lips. "That greedy asshole won’t get a chance to spend our money."
Laz laid down the pedal and the Ford flew down the road like a bat outta hell.
Jeanie lit a cigarette for herself and drew the menthol deep into her lungs. T.J. was about the stupidest, most ungrateful son of a bitch. After all, he’d worked, off and on, with Laz on jobs like this for even longer than she’d been around. T.J. never had the kind of relationship Jeanie had with Laz, but he still had to know what Laz’d do to him if he ever crossed him.
"There he is." The dark shape of another car came into view ahead and Laz gunned the engine again.
Jeanie watched T.J. glance worriedly over his shoulder as the Ford gained on him. She pointed, in case Laz hadn’t seen. "He’s goin’ for his gun."
T.J. got off one shot before they drew even on him. That shot went wild and didn’t even hit the car. Then Laz jerked the wheel and slammed into T.J. The other car went onto the shoulder, then back onto the road ahead of them. Jeanie braced herself, one hand on the ceiling and the other on the dash, as Laz sped up and slammed him again.
That time, T.J.’s car went off the road completely and down into a drainage ditch. Laz slammed on the brakes and jumped out after him.
"Get out of the car." Laz ordered. But T.J.’d hit his head on the windshield and was almost unconscious. He didn’t move.
"Get out of the damn car!" Laz reached in through the open window and hauled T.J. out by his shirt. Laz held him off the ground and bared his teeth.
Some kind of awareness must’ve suddenly come back to T.J. , ‘cause he started shakin’ and blubberin’ like crazy. His feet pedaled and kicked in the air and his fingers scratched at Laz’s hands, tryin’ to make him let go.
"That was wrong, Laz!" T.J. bawled. At least he didn’t try to lie about it. "I know that now!"
Jeanie reached in through the window and pulled the suitcase off the seat. She held it up. "I got it, Laz."
"I’m sorry." T.J. was actually cryin’ real tears. Of course, Jeanie couldn’t blame him for that, considerin’. "I’m sorry, Laz! Please?"
"Greedy, fat slob." Laz gave T.J. another shake and Jeanie turned away. "Let me show you what that money will do for you."
The rest was sickeningly familiar to her, only this time the screams were T.J.’s and the crunching and slurping sounds were someone she actually knew. Jeanie walked back to the car and slid into the passenger side to wait. She lit another cigarette to kill the taste of puke in her throat and snapped on the radio to drown out the sound.
In a few minutes, Laz got in behind the wheel and started the car. She handed him a couple of napkins from the glove box and watched the tall grass at the side of the road whiz by while he got himself together again.
"You okay?" Laz’s voice was thick and wet. He reached for the empty Salem package on the seat between them.
"Yeah." She sucked in another Menthol breath and handed the half-gone thing to him. "You?"
"I’m good." He drew deeply on the cigarette, smears of dried blood still streaking his chin. He blew the smoke at the windshield and handed it back to her. "Aruba then?"
Jeanie stuck the pink-stained filter into her mouth and nodded. "Someplace warm."
 |
Pat Ewick lives in suburban Indianapolis with her husband and two children. When she is not writing, she works in sales and fights the effects of her midlife crisis. "What Money Will Do For You" is her first fiction sale. |