The Retirement Plan

Chapter 19

"Oh, wow, that was super exciting," Miley said. Face flush, she flopped onto the cream couch.

"Exciting?" Ricky said with a small grin. Her ubiquitous use of super as an adverb, and general naïveté, emphasizing the age gap between them.

"Aren't you buzzing?" All Ricky wanted to do was blaze a fat one, the last of his nervous energy long since frazzled out, and he was crashing, big time. But Miley, hands moving frenetically like a Duracell bunny on crack, couldn't contain herself. "Oh my God, the way that cop studied my ID, I was sure he was going to search the car. And you, with the gun in your pocket, I don't know how you did it. You were way cool."

Ricky lifted the DVD case with the bud and papers inside from atop the portable TV. "You know how to roll a joint?"

"Sure," Miley said giving him a cute grin. Ricky handed her the case and dropped onto the couch beside her. "Have at it."

Miley giggled. "Okay, hoss," before breaking into another fit of giggles. "That's so American."

Ricky nodded. "I lived in Boston for a bit."

"Didn't he look so sinister with that black mask? I just kept thinking of that old horror movie, Maniac Cop." More giggles.

"I thought masks were all the rage in Asian culture. I remember seeing them on the news-reports, back in oh nine, when Bird Flu was the virus du jour."

"How would I know," Miley said. "I'm Bromley, born and bred. I've never even been to Japan. My dad always promised to take us, but he never had the time. Or the money." Her pink tongue darted out to lick the gum on the cigarette paper. "Closest I've gotten to Asian culture is when I saw BTS at the O2 arena. Must be great for you, being so close to Ireland?"

"Haven't set foot in the place in almost twenty years," Ricky said.

"By choice, or...?" Miley said.

"Or."

"Are you wanted? You're, like, a total outlaw, aren't you?"

"I don't wear a black stetson, or ride a horse with no name, but I operate outside the parameters of normal society."

Miley lit the joint and took a hit. Blew out a column of grey smoke. "Huh, I must be an outlaw myself." She took another hit and handed the joint to Ricky.

"What the hell is normal, anyway?" Ricky said, inhaling deeply. Allowed the smoke to settle in his lungs before exhaling through his nostrils. "Genocide, wars, racial inequality, poverty—is any of that shit normal? We live in a world governed by chaos. It defines our existence. Ain't no normal up here in this bitch."

They shared the joint in silence.

"So, how many people have you kidnapped?" Miley asked. Curious to know.

"You're my first," Ricky said, before adding, "and last."

"Ooh, you know how to make a girl feel special." She nudged his knee with hers. "Although you're being disingenuous there. I mean, technically, you didn't physically kidnap Vic, but you—"

"Who's Vic?"

"Are you being serious right now? What kind of kidnapper doesn't know the name of the person they're kidnapping. You and your pals just go out for a drive, play eeny, meeny, mini, moe? Land on Vic's house?"

"I keep telling you," Ricky said, crushing the roach in the ashtray. "We're not kidnapping anyone. We got hired to deliver some guy we don't know to some other guys we don't know."

"Seems to me," Miley said, doing an eye-roll. "You don't know much at all."

"I know enough that I'mma be sitting on ninety grand before this night is through."