'You know the combination?'
'No, of course not. He wouldn't trust me with something like that. But you can…
'Fifty–fifty split?' I asked her.
'Yes,' she said. 'I'm going to have to leave as soon as it's done anyway. It won't take me an hour to pack— it's not like I ever needed a lot of clothes for
'So how do you collect your half?'
'You can mail it to me. At my girlfriend's place in the Village. He doesn't know about her. When we get the money, Sybil and me, we're going to take off. Rent a car, load up everything we can stuff into suitcases, drive right to the airport. It's a quick flight to L.A., then a nice jump over the water to home.'
'What if the safe's empty?'
'I guarantee it won't be, honey. Believe me, this is a rich flower, just
'Let's do it,' I said.
She threw me a mega–watt smile, turned her back, wiggled her butt gently as she rooted through the nightstand drawer for another condom.
'She's got the key, huh?' Michelle's voice, her creamy–silk trademark, the voice that made her a ton of green on the phone–sex circuit. She was perched on the edge of my desk, just past where I had my feet propped up on the battered surface. I was tilted so far back that all I could see was her flashy legs if I looked straight ahead.
'Sure does,' I told her.
'And she wants you to go in when the guy's
'Yeah.'
'So you can make him open the
'Un huh.'
'And she's going to split the take with you fifty–fifty—?'
'Right again,' I interrupted.
'And trust you to
'Yes.'
'Oh baby, I don't mean to sound nasty, but…could she
'No, I don't scan it that way. She's had a lot of experience. With men. Listening to them, sizing them up. That's the way she made her living, not just dancing. Her story's so bogus…it's like an open invitation to double– cross her.'
'What…not give her an even split?' Michelle sneered.
'The best suckers are half–smart,' I said. 'I think that's the way she has me played. Let's say I believe
'Use the key when the
'Yeah. Go in with my own safe man, pop the thing, and walk away with the cash. Only…'
'Only they'll have you on tape doing it. Or they'll walk in when you're red–handed. Or there's a dead body in the bedroom. Or…whatever.'
'Sure,' I said quietly. I interlaced my fingers behind my head, closing my eyes.
I went so quiet I could hear Michelle breathing, hear the faint rasp of her nylons when she shifted her position slightly.
Time passed. 'You aren't any different,' I said. 'Even Pansy didn't notice anything.'
'That mutant mutt of yours wouldn't notice Godzilla so long as the lizard left her Alpo alone,' Michelle mock– snarled. 'She's not exactly Rin Tin Tin.'
I flicked my eyes open, shifted them to the left where Pansy reclined on the couch. Pansy's a Neapolitan mastiff. Long past the svelte hundred and thirty pounds she'd been when she was young, she tips the scales nearer to one sixty now. Sure, nobody'd confuse her with a genius—but Pansy would die for me as casually as she'd scarf down a quart of honey–vanilla ice cream, her personal favorite. And whatever she bites, God forgets.
'Don't mind her,' I told Pansy. 'Michelle gets cranky when she hasn't been shopping for a few days…you know how she is.'
'I'll tell you what I
'It really…worked?'
'Oh don't be so squeamish!' Michelle snapped. 'Yes, it 'worked,' okay? Funny, all my young life, I thought it would be Denmark for me. And it turns out to be Colorado instead.'
Michelle was a transsexual—a woman trapped in a man's body, she always called it. She wasn't the freak in her family—her scumbag bio–father filled that slot. So she ran. Ran
I'd known her forever. She was my sister and I loved her, but I'd been hearing about the sex–change operation so long I'd stopped listening. Michelle would take it just so far…then some excuse would come up. She had to detox from the black market estrogen she'd been using. Or the doctors had to remove the cheesy implants from her chest first. Or the electrolysis destroyed the outer epidermis of her face so they couldn't risk surgery. Always something.
But this last time, she got it done. I went down into the Zero chasing ghosts—Michelle went over the wall. When we both got back, I was me, and she was herself. For me, it was a return. For Michelle, it was the first time.
The real difference was: Michelle liked what she was.
'I'm walking it backwards,' I told her, getting down to business. 'But I can't see who's calling the shots.'
'I got it from Harry,' Michelle said. 'He's never burned us.'
'Harry the painter?'
'No, Harry the CPA. You know, one of my old customers from…before.'
'Yeah. He profiles, right?'
'Yes, he
'Yeah,' I told her, telling the truth. She had the voice of the wiseguy wannabe down perfect. Michelle has a four–octave range—anything you want, from sandpaper to velvet. She has the purest heart of anyone I know, but she was born to steal. That proved she was my sister better than any DNA test could.
'Oh,