Matchstick Men: A Novel About Grifters With Issues (15 page)

Chuck’s got it. “So if we exchange it here, just us …”

“Then they don’t need to know. You can take these pounds and go change them anywhere you want. Hell, there’s an exchange booth right inside the airport here.”

“Wouldn’t recommend that,” says Frankie.

“ ’Course not,” adds Roy. “But I’m saying, for him, it’s safe. No scrutiny.”

Chuck thinks it over, but Roy knows he’s ready to go. “Okay,” he says. “How do we do this?”

“Nothing too hard,” says Roy, pointing down at the table.
“We’ve got two briefcases here. When we stand up, you take mine, I take yours. Then you walk out, we wait here a bit, and I walk out. Done.”

“Seems … easy,” says Chuck.

“It is.”

From the far side of the bar, a sudden commotion. Loud conversation, incoherent. Shouting. A high-pitched voice. A young girl. “I don’t need no goddamned ID,” she’s yelling. “This is a fucking
airport
bar, whattaya gotta see my ID for?”

The bartender is trying to talk to her, trying to keep it down, but it’s no use. The girl grabs a tumbler and screams, “I’ll break every fucking glass in this place. I’ll do it, too, don’t think I won’t.”

When the glass starts flying, crashing along the floor, everyone in the bar turns to see the commotion. Chuck included. Frankie, too. Roy takes the opportunity to yank the briefcase with the pounds off the table and exchange it for the one Angela brought in. He slides the first briefcase under his chair, out of sight. The switch takes less than two seconds.

As quickly as the scene began, it comes to an end. Roy watches Angela put on the capper to her show, tears streaming down those cheeks. She storms out of the bar, cursing at the top of her lungs, tossing a final shot glass back over her shoulder for good measure. The bartender catches it before it hits the ground. The crowd applauds.

Things return to normal in the bar. Silence for a moment, filled in by the rush of average conversation. Roy looks at his watch. “We’d better finish this up. Chuck, it’s been good doing business with you.” They shake hands, and Roy nods down to
the briefcase on the table. “Go ahead,” he says. “Take it, have fun. Go on vacation. I hear London’s lovely this time of year.”

Chuck smiles nervously and grabs the black briefcase. “I should … go first?”

“Better to give us some time,” says Frankie. “So we don’t walk out together.”

“Of course,” says Chuck. He thinks of himself as a master money-launderer now. “Sure, of course.”

He grabs the handle of the briefcase and lifts it to his side. The heft is good, weighing down his shoulder. Fingers shaking a little. Arm shaking a little. He sets his sights on the entrance and makes his way out of the bar, knees wobbly.

When he’s gone, when a good minute has passed by, Frankie turns to Roy. “How long you figure before he opens the briefcase and finds the newspapers?”

“Parking garage,” Roy says. “Inside his car.”

“Then we’d better get going.”

“Meet you at the diner?”

“At the diner,” Frankie says. “And Roy—that … distraction. Was that yours?”

Roy nods. He knew Frankie wasn’t going to like it. “Yeah, partner, that was mine.”

Frankie nods. He looks away from Roy. Won’t meet his eyes. “At the diner,” he says. “Let’s meet at the diner.”

A
ngela is still giddy over the afternoon’s events. She eats her turkey sandwich, barely able to remain seated. “I threw that one glass,” she says, “and it shattered hard. I mean, I didn’t think I threw it hard enough to break that much, but did you hear it? It was like an explosion.”

“You did real good,” says Roy. It’s hard for him not to smile. She’s excited. She did a good job. But Frankie’s not happy. Frankie’s not happy with it at all. He came into the diner once they were already sitting down, barely registered Angela’s presence. Roy tried to introduce them, tried to get Frankie to acknowledge his daughter, but there wasn’t much. A handshake. A grunt. Angela tried, but Frankie just ordered his burger and shut up.

“Almost got cut by some of it,” Angela continues. “I jumped back, though. Did you see that old chick by the counter? The one with the makeup? She almost died when I threw that glass.”

“You did good,” Roy repeats. Turns to Frankie, tries to include him. “Didn’t she do good?”

“Yeah,” he mutters.

“Hit her cue, right on time.”

“Was it okay I yelled so loud?” Angela asks.

Roy nods. “ ’Course. Loud’s the way to go. I said have a fit, hell, you had a fit.”

Angela says, “Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Was it okay?”

“Yeah. Sure, loud. It was great.”

Roy can’t have this. Frankie and Angela not talking. Frankie never shuts up, and now, tonight, he’s a clam. He can’t operate like that, not tonight. Not if she’s around. He leans over the table. “Take it easy, okay?”

“Take what easy?” says Frankie. “I’m easy.”

“What’s your problem?”

Frankie looks away. “No problem.”

“Thirty-G take, I hope there ain’t a problem.”

Frankie starts to talk, then stops himself. Closes his mouth. Looks to the girl, to Roy. Digs in his pocket, comes up with a bunch of quarters. “There’s some video games a few stores down,” he tells Angela, tossing the quarters onto the table. “Why don’t you go play?”

“If you’re gonna talk about me—”

“We’re not.”

“—I’ll stay.”

“We’re not gonna talk about you. I got business to discuss with Roy.”

Angela shakes her head. Folds her arms across the table. “So I’ll sit here and eat. I won’t bother you.”

“I ain’t saying you’re bothering me, I’m just saying … Roy?”

He doesn’t want to be in this situation. Not a decision he wants to make. “Let the kid stay,” he says. “She’ll sit there, eat her turkey. Go on, eat your dinner.”

Angela smiles and tucks in, pointedly turning her body from the other two. Frankie shakes his head. “This—this is what I’ve been talking about all along.”

“You have a problem me bringing her into this thing. Understood. It was dumb.”

Angela cuts in. “But I did real good, you said it.”

“Shush. Eat.” Roy turns back to Frankie. “It was dumb, but it couldn’t be helped. You called me outta the blue, I had her with me, what was I supposed to do?”

“That’s the thing, you’re the one screaming no partners all the time.”

“Different situation,” says Roy.

“Same situation. Exact same situation. She’s just as much of a liability to us as any other guy we bring in. Saif, Howard from the water plant, whoever.” Frankie’s not paying attention to Angela now. She’s watching them argue, and he doesn’t seem to care. “We got just as much exposure ’cause of her as we do with anyone.”

“You’re wrong,” says Roy.

“What if Chuck goes to the cops?”

“He won’t.”

“What if?”

“They never do. We’ve run this six, seven times, right? Same thing happened there will go down with Chuck. He’ll leave the airport, get into his car, he’ll open the briefcase, he’ll find ten pounds of old newspapers instead of the money. Twenty seconds later he’ll figure out he’s been had, but he’s not gonna run
to the cops, because it was an illegal trade in the first place. That’s why the switch works so good.”

“But it doesn’t
have
to work that way,” says Frankie. “He did nothing illegal. No funds were actually traded. He was robbed, plain and simple, and maybe he realizes that. Maybe then he doesn’t mind a trip to the local sheriff’s office.”

“So?”

“So maybe he faces us.”

Roy’s not swayed. “They’re gonna sketch a pair of bunco dealers? For one take? Forget it.”

“Right. And we’ve never been arrested, so our mugs aren’t on the books. We’re safe.”

Roy takes another bite of his sandwich. It’s good tonight. “So we’re safe, what’s the problem?”

“I’ll tell you what the problem is. Maybe he remembers a commotion at the bar. Maybe he realizes that’s when the bags were switched. Maybe he remembers the face of a little girl. Maybe he adds two and two and gets four.”

Now Frankie’s got a bead on Angela. Staring her down. She gives it back. Neither one flinching. “And maybe he faces her. And maybe the law’s got some picture of that little girl. Maybe she’s been in trouble before. So they track down her mother, who tells them where to find her. And then they come knocking on your door. Worse still, then they come knocking on
my
door.” Talking to Roy, still staring at Angela. “That’s why I got a problem. Partner.”

“Glad you shared that,” says Roy. He feels like Dr. Klein. Understands now what it is to listen to a rant. “But you don’t have to worry about that. If that’s your concern, we’re in the clear. Angela’s never been mixed up with the law.” He turns to his
daughter, who has scooted a few inches farther down the booth. “Go, on,” he says to her. “Tell him and let’s get this over with.”

Angela smiles at Roy. At her father. Not her usual grin. Forehead tight. Raised. Heather had that look. He doesn’t remember what it meant. “Come on,” he says, “let’s finish this thing so you two can be friends. Tell him you’re clean, Angela. Go on, tell him. Angela?”

She takes another bite of her sandwich. Suddenly, Roy is very tired.

“I would have told you,” she says on the car ride home, fighting through a veil of tears, “but it didn’t come up.”

“Come up? Come up? You’re
fourteen
—when did you have time to get arrested?”

“I forgot to pay for a pack of cards, that’s it. I bet when you were fourteen, you were in trouble.”

“You’re a girl, for chrissakes. When was it?”

“I dunno, two years ago.”

“And they called the cops on you.” Roy’s feet are leaden. He can barely keep his arms on the steering wheel. “They called the cops ’cause you stole a single pack of cards.”

Angela shrugs. “I mighta put up a fuss when the security guy nabbed me.”

“Angela …”

“Jesus, Roy, he was groping me. He was grabbing at my tits, what was I supposed to do, let the little fuck cop a free feel?” She’s shaking now, angry.

“No—no, that’s not … You just should have told me, that’s all. These are the kind of things I need to know.”

She curls up on the seat, bringing her knees up to her chin. Sniffling. “It’s not the kind of thing I like to talk about, okay? Forget about it.”

“What’s done is done. But it’s Frankie I’m worried about.”

“What about him?”

“He doesn’t like you.”

“Good,” she pouts. “I don’t like him, either.”

Roy shakes his head. Clears it. The road ahead is fogging up. “Can’t have that. Can’t have that at all. He’s my partner.”

“I can be your partner.”

“He’s
my partner. You’re … along. And I can’t have my partner and my … you … eyeing each other. Even if you and him never see each other again, I can’t have that. Got enough going on in my life without a feud. Just … be cool with him, okay?”

Angela comes out of the fetal position. Puts her feet up on the dashboard. Roy doesn’t mind. Recognizes the action, but doesn’t mind. “If he’s cool with me, I’ll be cool with him.”

“Thank you. Any other arrests I should know about?”

“In this country?” asks Angela, blinking her eyes rapidly, innocently.

“Angela.”

“Felony or misdemeanor?”

“You’re a funny girl. You know that? You should have a show.”

“Arrested or booked? And convicted or acquitted? You’ve got to be a lot more specific about your questions, Officer.” Angela laughs and pounces on Roy, throwing her arms around his big shoulders. He holds tight to the wheel, tries to keep the car straight. She plants a firm kiss on the side of his head and plops back in her seat.

“I’ve screwed up before,” she says, “but I’m a pretty good person,
Roy. That’s what my mom says. So till you teach me otherwise, I’m a pretty good person.”