Devil You Know

TRY IT ONCE

MALICE

"IS IT just me, or do these things keep getting heavier?"

I shake my head at Tigger, and heft the legs of our latest job into the trunk of Tigger's car. "Man, if you stopped smoking so much of the green stuff, and maybe took care of yourself, you wouldn't be wasting away."

"We can't all be blessed with an uncanny ability to build muscle in our sleep like you." He slams the trunk closed, and leans against it. "Some of us are destined to be lanky whether we like it or not."

"All I'm saying is get some exercise, Tig. In your current state, you'd have fuck all hope of outrunnin' the cops if you needed to."

He chuckles, and nods toward the trunk. "What we doing with this one?"

"Drop-off in Frisco."

Tigger slaps a hand on the trunk and pushes off. "Fucker's goin' to be sorry he spent the cash."

"Yeah," I say, "except I don't think he ever had it."

"Why do they do it?" he asks, getting in to the driver's seat. "I mean, if you know you can't repay a loan from those assholes, why take it?"

"Desperation," I remind him, dropping in to the passenger side. "And the fact Carlos's guys make it pretty impossible for them to back out once they make the enquiry." A person can't expect to ask about cash advances from a known drug lord and get cold feet without consequence.

"That guy's a fuckin' asshole."

"It's what makes him who he is," I say as Tigger pulls away from the lay-by we're in.

Our ward wakes up half-way to drop off and starts banging around in the trunk. I rest my temple against the cool glass of the window and let my thoughts drift as his yelling turns to panicked screams. How did I let myself get to this point in life? Did I ever really try to find another path, or did I take this one because the payout was so easy? Years have passed quickly since my first job, and the truth blurs with the lies after so long.

"What do you think Carlos will do to him?" Tigger asks, breaking our silence.

"Not sure. I've heard lots about the guy, but who knows what's true and what's bullshit created to boost his image."

"Yeah," Tigger laughs unconvincingly, "it's probably all shit."

I take a look at him as our ward starts to cry in the back. Tigger's eyes are trained to the road, but his thoughts are clearly elsewhere. "What's up? You look lost."

He shrugs, hands gripping the wheel. "Just choices, man. I've got some hard thinking to do and I ain't really looking forward to it." He glances across at me, and lifts his chin. "What about you? You were pretty deep in thought a moment ago."

"I met the woman next door the other week." Tigger drops a low whistle as I look back to the road, resting my head on the window again.

"She as hot as you thought she was?"

I chuckle—trust that to be his first concern. "Yeah, but that's not what's bothering me."

"Spill."

"I've got her dog. The asshole tried to kill it."

"That's a problem, because . . ."

"She hasn't come back again. I mean, I told her I'd look after the dog, but I kind of expected her to at least come over when the douche went to work."

"Maybe she's afraid to. I mean, from what you've said of the guy . . ."

I nod. I've spoken to Tigger about the people next door before. He came over for beers and the subject became unavoidable after he heard the asshole going off at her.

"Maybe," I agree. "I'll give it time." Although with every day that passes my panic rises at what he's doing to her, what she's suffering. Those eyes, so sad, are the last damn thing I see each night when I drift off to sleep. I'd love to say that my fascination with the woman next door is purely in the interest of helping another human being, but it's not.

There's something more.

There's something there.

Our ward goes quiet. Tigger exchanges looks with me before the dull thud of the guy's feet on the inside of the trunk resumes. We both relax; the bill was to deliver alive.

"If you don't hear from her in a few more days," Tigger picks up right where we left off, "then make the first move. It could be what she's hoping for."

"I don't get it," I say, twisting in my seat to face him. "Why does she stay?" Tigger's mom endured years of abuse at the hands of his step-father before she pulled the kids from his house. If anybody has a hope at explaining this to me, it's him.

"It's fear, man." His brow furrows and his hands tighten on the wheel. "Fear of the unknown, fear of the consequence, fear of facing the truth mostly."

"I don't like it; the way he treats her."

"Neither does she," he says, flashing me a knowing look, one eyebrow raised.

"I guess I'll give it a few more days then."

I just hope it isn't a few days too many.