The Amateurs

And after a moment the kid sneered, said, “ A’ight,” and turned back to the window. Mitch slid into the open seat.

The rest of the ride, he replayed that moment, how simple it had been. How simple it was all turning out to be. You just decided what you wanted, and you acted like it belonged to you. Why the fuck hadn’t he learned that years ago? Although, it occurred to him, the cooler move would have been to, after brushing the guy’s foot off the seat, turn to someone in the aisle, a woman, and offer it to her. Like, Jack Reacher, at your service. That would have been suave.

Rossi’s looked the same, and he had a claustrophobic moment as he remembered the last time he’d seen it, in the car with Ian, the guy playing weird music and drumming his fingers against the wheel, that manic intensity under skies saddening to dusk. He forced the thought away, replaced it with a memory of Je

Yeah? So why was Alex showing up at her place in the middle of the night?

Shut it down.

Thursday night, and the place was busy. The usual suspects, junior-corporate-whatevers, holding martini glasses and pints and longneck bottles, loosening ties and laughing too loud and leaning in to touch one another’s arms. He slid through them to the end of the bar, and was surprised to see everybody already there, Ian slumped on his elbows, Je

“Happy Thursday,” he said. He stepped toward Je

Mitch glanced back and forth, said, “Somebody die?”

Je

“Next round’s on me.” Mitch raised his hand, gestured to Alex, but the guy still didn’t seem to see him. “So.” He smiled. “Victory, huh?”

Ian nodded, not looking at him. Je

“Sure. That was the plan, wasn’t it? That when things were done, we’d celebrate?” He didn’t want to talk too openly, but figured he could risk that much in the noise of the bar. After all, this was the cherry on top, ripping Joh

But the others didn’t seem to see it that way. He looked around for another chair, but the place was full, and so he rocked from foot to aching foot, trying to think of something to say, wishing he had a drink. Finally, Alex came over, drying his hands on a rag. He had fresh butterfly bandages on his face and a dark bruise. “Mitch.”

“Alex.” There was a long moment, then Mitch said, “Can I get a beer and a shot?”

Alex reached for a martini shaker. “I heard from Chip over there,” pointing with an elbow, “that Joh

Mitch shot him a shut-the-fuck-up look.

“I guess whoever it was”-Alex bounced back a you’re-not-the-only-smart-one look-“they must have gotten a lot of money from the safe. Chip says Joh

“Did you talk to him?” Je

“He said he would. Right now he’s a little distracted.”

“The people that did it are probably in another state by now,” Mitch said, getting into the spirit of it. “Besides, the police are after them. What’s a bar owner going to do?”

“You never know.” Alex grabbed a bottle of single malt from the back bar, poured Ian a generous double. “He seems pretty motivated. I tell you”-setting down the bottle and staring at Mitch-“I wouldn’t want to be the guy who robbed him. If Joh

A bloom of frost flowered in Mitch’s belly. He was suddenly conscious of his breathing. Was Alex threatening him? Was that what this was?

Je

“Huh?” His skin was pallid and sick, and he’d finished half the scotch in a gulp. “Umm. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have a game?” Her tone light as May. “What’s the world coming to?”

“Fuck if I know,” Alex said.

“You have a bad day too?” Mitch put his jacket over the back of Je

“I guess I just got up on the side of the wrong bed,” Alex said. “You ever do that, Mitch? Get up on the side of the wrong bed?”

“You mean the wrong side of the bed.”

“Yeah. Right.” Something in his eyes an accusation. What was that? Did the guy actually think he’d be ashamed for being with Je

Question: Who shows up at a woman’s house at two in the morning?

It came in a flash. All the looks between Alex and Je

Answer: Someone who’s sleeping with her.

Something twisted in him. Alex with his broad shoulders and muscles and sensitive stories about his daughter. All this time, even while he knew, he knew, that Mitch was carrying a torch. All that time he’d been fucking Je

He felt dizzy, hot. The air in the bar was close and thick. He had a panicky feeling, like the world was slipping, or like he was. Like he was a little kid again, gawky and shy and falling down in gym class. In just a moment the laughter would start.

That’s not you anymore. It’s not.

“Come on, guys. Let’s not be like this. This is a celebration, remember?” Je

“What are we celebrating?” Alex had the look of a man vibrating inside. “Everything is falling to shit.”

“Hey, man.” Ian looked up from his empty glass. “Keep it cool, OK?”

“Cool? Why?” Alex shook his head. “I’m a thirty-two-year-old bartender. I live in a one-bedroom in a crap neighborhood. My ex-wife is taking my daughter away. This is not the way my life was supposed to be.”

“Everybody feels that way sometimes.” Je

“Yeah, well, not everybody has detectives calling to talk to them about a robbery, do they?”

“You saying that’s somebody’s fault?” Mitch asked.

“It’s the Jolly Green Fucking Giant’s fault. It’s whoever robbed this place and shot someone out in the alley’s fault.”

It was like the guy wanted them to get caught, the way he was pushing the envelope, hinting too broadly. If anyone heard this, told Joh

“Get back up on the sumbitch,” Ian said in a startlingly realistic Te

“Huh?”

“Something my dad used to say. He was a big one for clichés, my pop. Cleanliness and godliness, early birds and worms. ‘Son, it ain’t about falling off the horse. It’s how fast you get back up on that sumbitch.’ ”

“That’s what I need. Platitudes.” Alex shook his head. “All due respect, but fuck your dad right now, OK?”