Page 42 of The Wives of Hawthorne Lane
“Where the fuck is my money, Dean?”
Maggie has never seen Mike like this before, his nostrils flaring, his teeth clenched as he glowers down at Dean.
“I don’t know what you mean, man,” Dean replies.
“See, the thing is,” Mike snarls, his hands gripping the edge of Maggie’s kitchen table so tightly that his knuckles blanch, “people don’t tend to pay when they don’t get their product. And so I’m going to ask you again—where the fuck is my money?”
“We made the drop,” Dean insists. “Just like you said.”
“We?”
“Yeah. I mean, Maggie was the one who drove it out there but—”
“You sentMaggieto doyourjob?” Mike slams his fist down on the table so hard that it makes the rows of empty bottles jump. One of them teeters a moment before crashing to the floor and shattering at Maggie’s feet.
Both men look at her now. She stands straight-backed and rigid, afraid to so much as breathe as she stares at the shards of broken glass, at the jagged pieces reflecting the dull overhead light. She can’t bring herself to meet their eyes.
“And did you do it, Maggie?” Mike asks her.
Maggie opens her mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a tiny strangled cry. She swallows hard and tries again. “Yes,” she manages to squeak out this time.
Mike shakes his head, sets his sights on Dean again. “Well,something went wrong, and I’m holdingyouresponsible. You have one week. One week to get me either my drugs or my money. The choice is yours, but if you don’t have one or the other by the time I come back here, we’re going to have a problem.” Mike curls and uncurls his fingers at his side.
Maggie watches the muscles in his forearm flex beneath his skin. She wonders what a man like Mike is capable of. It feels as though her insides have turned to liquid.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Dean replies. “We’ve been friends since we were five years old, we’re business partners, I’m sure we can—”
“We arenotpartners,” Mike snaps. “You work for me. And I’m not the top of the food chain either. The guys I answer to…they aren’t gonna care how long we’ve been friends.Ihave to pay up, which meansyouhave to pay up. That’s the only way this is going to go down.”
“I told you,” Dean insists, a wheedling tone edging between his words. Maggie can tell he’s scared now, and this, more than anything, frightens her. “I don’t have the package anymore, and I definitely don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then you’d better find a way to get it,” Mike growls. “Fast.”
He storms out of their kitchen, and the aluminum door rattles on its hinges behind him.
Dean collapses into a chair, drops his head into his hands.
Maggie slowly backs out of the room and collects her keys from the ring. She has to get those drugs back. Why did she ever think she’d get away with this? She’d just been so panicked, she wasn’t thinking straight. And when she came home empty-handed, Dean looking at her expectantly, she’d been too afraid to tell him anything other than what he wanted to hear. And so she’d lied, let him believe that she’d done as she was told.
—
Maggie’s hands fumble with her key.They’re shaking so badly that she can’t manage to slide it into the lock on her car door.
Suddenly a shadow looms over her shoulder, large and menacing, blocking what’s left of the fading evening sun. “Going somewhere?”
Startled, Maggie drops the key. It lands on the dry dirt at her feet, sending up a small puff of dust.
Mike bends down and retrieves it for her. “I think you lost something.”
She can’t be sure if he’s talking about the key or if he’s somehow figured out what she did.
“Th-thanks,” Maggie stammers, teeth chattering. Mike presses the key, warm, into her palm.
“Listen,” he says as calmly as if he were talking to a small child, “I don’t know what happened here, but Dean roped you into something he shouldn’t have.” His eyes search her face before dragging slowly down the length of her body.
Maggie feels a shudder roll through her.
Mike reaches out a rough, callused hand, gently sweeps it along her cheekbone, and tucks a lock of her limp brown hair behind her ear.
