Page 22 of Web of Lies
A greasy smile spreads across his face. “Done.”
As expected, Jesse doesn't like it; but it turns out that that doesn't matter. In a god awful turn of events, Jesse has been arrested. For robbing a gas station, of all things. I put money on his books, but he's going to be locked up for a while. We have a strict rule that we are to steer clear of each other if either of us ever gets arrested and this is the first time it's been implemented. And now I'm in a pickle.
Can I do this job alone? Probably. It isn't a particularly difficult job, I just don't care for the guy who’s paying for it; but whether or not I like him doesn't matter when it comes to getting paid. I just know that this is the type of job that looks easy but ends up being full of bullshit. It always is when women and children are involved.
This might end up being for the best. Grabbing the girl isn't the biggest issue, it's the part about making her miserable that’s off-putting. I can get someone in on it who isn't bothered by that kind of thing and let them handle the majority of that part while I handle everything else. I know a few people who know a few people. Finding someone for a quick job shouldn't be a problem. So I make the drive down to Rutgers Pawn because anybody who knows anybody in this area met them there.
I patiently wait my turn in line to ask about the pearl necklace under the counter, making sure to mention the matching earrings. Rutgers comes to take the clerk’s place and reaches under the glass top for the jewelry. “What's your time frame?” he asks quietly.
“Three days.”
He nods, spreading the necklace in a straight line across the cloth on the counter top. “Any preferences?”
“I'm not looking to babysit or be babysat. It's just a quick and easy, get it done and get on with it job. No theatrics.”
He nods again and runs his fingertips lightly across the pearls. “I have a guy.”
~
I meet the guy at the coffee shop on main street. So much for no theatrics. It looks like babysitting might be on the table, too. He's younger than I am by at least five years and covered in tattoos. Facial tattoos are bad for this line of work but apparently I'm the only one who understands that. Whatever. Rutgers wouldn't have sent him if he didn't think he could do the job. It's fine.
I watch the guy walk in and order a coffee and sit down at a table in front of the window. I've come to realize that there are typically two types of people in this line of work, hide in the shadows, or hide in plain sight. It's obvious which one he is. It's fine. This is going to be fine. I stand up from my cozy chair in the back corner of the shop and walk through the jumble of end tables, coffee tables, and cafe tables with all their associated seating options until I'm pulling out a chair at the brightly-lit table by the window.
The guy leans over and blows across the top of his...hot chocolate. My god. I'm about to do a job with a kid who drinks hot chocolate at a business meeting.
“I knew you'd be one of those.”
I sit down and put my coffee on the table. “One of those?”
“Hide in the deepest, darkest corner with your deep, dark black coffee like you're invisible.” He blows across the top of the cup again. “Everyone can see you. The deep, dark corner is where the weirdos and the creepers lurk and that's the first place people look.”
“Not all people,” I retort and take a sip of my deep, dark coffee.
“Smart people.”
“You're not wrong. We going with first names, last names, or fake names?” I don't care which, it doesn't matter for this. This is a one-and-done job.
“Shaun.” He reaches across the table to offer his tattoo-covered hand.
I allow myself a long blink before I shake it. “Wyatt.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Wyatt?”
I raise a brow. “Shaun.”
He laughs and takes a small sip of his hot chocolate. “Rutgers said I'd like you.”
Well, that's good I guess. It will make things easier. “Have you done a job like this before?”
“Loads. Have you?”
I sigh. “Not exactly like this one, but plenty of similar jobs.”
“What's different about this one?”
I sigh again, already feeling the strain this job will likely put on me. “It's going to be a more interactive job than I usually take on. I also don't typically take on jobs involving women or children.”
“Sooo,” he drags out the word and takes another sip. “Do you have some kind of hero complex or do you have mommy issues?” His mouth pulls to the side as he regards me. “Or both?”
