The Amateurs

Of course, he’s doing this for you.

Not true, she argued with herself. Well, maybe a little bit true, but it wasn’t like she had asked him to, had batted her eyes or put on a simpering voice. She’d even told him it was all right if he didn’t want to go along, and she’d meant it.

Still.

Well, OK, so what? Certainly was a contrast to what she’d grown accustomed to, the emotional distance so many men cultivated. Alex was a good guy, but he’d gone out of his way to make sure they stayed a secret. It was kind of nice to have someone not just wanting her, but also doing something for her. Risking himself. Another feminist paradox-the last thing she was after was a man who didn’t respect her strength, but what woman didn’t secretly relish knowing a guy would stand up if called on?

Enough. First things first. Once they were done with Joh

The tingle hit again. She smiled.

THE YMCA SPEAKERS were playing dance crap, but Alex had headphones on the Hold Steady singing how some nights the painkillers made the pain even worse. He leaned back on the bench, hands behind to catch the bar. He pressed it firm and smooth off the cradle and started his third set, the grip rough against his hands, timing each move to his breath, down slow, up smooth, no wavering or wobbling. The first ten were easy, the second ten a strain. He thought of the phone call from Trish, of her new husband moving to Arizona. And what was he supposed to do? Hang out here in a shitty apartment? Move to the desert, trailing after his ex-wife and her new husband like a puppy? Give up his daughter?

No. Lift. Goddamn. Lower. Way. Lift.

Working out calmed him, burned off the stress. He was in the mood to hit it hard, tear all his muscles and wake up with that good, deep ache, but tomorrow night was too important to be slow or hurting. He limited himself to another half hour, then showered and walked home through summer streets.

“Alex.”

The voice came from the darkness behind him, and he spun, the gym bag slipping from his shoulder. Squinted. “Mitch?”

The man stepped away from the tree he’d been leaning against. “We need to talk.”

“Jesus, you scared me.” He bent for the bag. “Come on up.”

“No.” There was something unfamiliar in his tone. “I’m not staying. You and me, we have to clear something up. I know what you’ve been doing.”

“Huh?”

“With Je

Shit. He thought they’d been careful, had kept it from everyone. Not that it mattered, exactly, but it had just seemed simpler to not make an issue of it. Je

Still, why bring it up now? Unless… double shit. If Mitch knew about him and Je

“No, you listen. I know you think you’re the big man, our fearless leader, but that’s bullshit. And I’m tired of you treating me like I don’t exist.”

“What are you-”

“Using her to get me involved. You knew that I wouldn’t let her go in there with just Ian to protect her, and you used that.”

“Mitch-”

“Admit it.”

Alex sighed. “Yeah.”

“That ends now. All of it. Trying to tell me what’s what, that there’s no changing my mind, that everything runs the way you want. Joh

Confusion was turning to anger. “Watch it.”

“Or what? You’ll kick my ass? This isn’t middle school. I’m smarter than you. And you need me tomorrow, and afterward.”

“Look, ease up. I didn’t mean any harm. I just needed your help, man.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired of being ignored, man. Tired of you thinking you’re better than all of us. I’m going tomorrow night. But I’m not doing it for you, and I’m not doing it because you manipulated me. I’m doing it for me. And yeah, because I’m worried about Je

“I am.”

“Bullshit. You’re only thinking of yourself.”

“I’m doing this for my daughter.”

“She’s not my daughter.”

Alex took a deep breath. He had the strongest urge to tell Mitch where to cram the tough-guy act. But he couldn’t risk it. Everything depended on tomorrow night. “Is that it?”

“One more thing. You ever try to play me like that again, you ever lie to me, and we’re through. At very least.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that if you want to be my friend, start acting like one. Or I’ll start acting like we’re not.” With that, Mitch turned and walked away, a quick, nervous step.

Alex watched him go. Part of him wanted to run after the guy, apologize, remind him that they were buddies, that he was sorry if he’d been a dick. Another part wanted to tell Mitch about the noises Je

Get through this first. Then we’ll see what’s left to say.

Alex shouldered his bag, turned, and walked up the steps to his empty apartment.

THE CONDO WAS COLD, the AC cranked all the way. Ian sat on the couch in just a pair of briefs, a bag of frozen peas between his legs. The flat-screen was on HBO, some monster movie, a screaming heroine ru

Ian leaned forward, picked up the mirror, held it to his nose, sucked in a long rail of white, and then another in the same nostril. His left had started bleeding earlier, and he had a Kleenex twisted into it, the end hanging out like a tail. He wiped the bitter coke residue on gums gone numb, then set the mirror on the coffee table. Beside it, three pistols lay in a neat line, the metal gleaming dull.

Outside the windows, the city burned.

CHAPTER 10

“JESUS. You look amazing.”

Je

“Like all of them,” Mitch said. “Rolled into one.” The words came unpla

“Let’s get to it,” Alex said from behind her. “I have to be at work soon.”

Mitch followed them into the living room. Ian’s condo was spotless as ever, something out of a magazine, except for the table in the center of the room, where masks and gloves were piled alongside a brown paper bag.

“Mitch,” Ian said. He wore baggy black jeans, a bowling shirt, and brown work boots. “Thanks for suggesting the outfits. I look like an idiot.”

“You do not,” Je

“Suits are real-people clothes.” Ian gestured at the table. “Yours are there. You can change in the bedroom.”

“Hold on,” Alex said. “Let’s see the rest of it.”

Ian walked to the table, picked up the bag, and held it out. For a moment, everyone stood still. Then Je

“It’s heavy,” she said.

Mitch stared at her. The dress she wore was designed at the intersection of elegance and sensuality, something he imagined a two-thousand-dollar-a-night call girl might wear, strappy to show off bare shoulders and cut to mid-thigh. With the gun in her hand and the intense look on her face, she was the single sexiest thing he’d ever seen.