Five Dollar Wrench

Sisters

The future is a promise.

The past is just a lie.

A guy told me that over a bottle of bourbon, on a train. And when I say, "on a train," I mean it. We were riding hobo-style, on a flatbed, making our way across Northwest Indiana. He was a drifter, but I wasn't. I was just a kid who thought she was grown up.

Then again, maybe I was. A drifter, I mean.

Do it once, it's a thing you did.

Do it twice, it's a thing you do.

Do it enough, it becomes what you are.

The drifter's name was Lester. The bourbon made him think he was profound. Being eighteen made me think I was profound.

I'm sure you know what I mean.

I asked him what the promise was. The promise of the future. He said, "Fuck if I know what yours is. That's a promise you make yourself about where you're goin'. Only you know that. I'm goin' somewhere better, but not today."

I told him the liquor tasted foul, and he said, "That is its intention."

Thanks for the memory, Les. I hope you got there.

Three years later, and with similar intention, I swooped into a shitty bar on Broadway, in downtown Gary.

I was at The Lakeside Saloon, trying to get a girl.

She had dark hair and darker eyes, but pale skin. She wasn't pretty, but neither was I. I could tell she could be, though. She was maybe twenty-two.

I chose her for everything I'm not. Tall. Slender. Redeemable.

I needed her because she was desperate. A desperate person will do desperate things, but I'd never say it that way. Not to her.

She ordered a drink. Whiskey. Neat. The way she nursed it said it was a luxury she couldn't afford.

I told the bartender her sister was buying the next round. It was a calculated move, but as she looked my way with a raised eyebrow, I knew she took the bait.

"So, you're my sister," she said.

"Let's grab a booth so we can talk."

"Listen, sister, I don't do girls, so..."

"That's not why I'm here. I just want to talk."

"What do you want?"

"I've got a proposal. By the time you're done with your drink, you'll know if you're..."

She downed the whiskey and slammed the empty glass on the bar before I could finish the sentence, but it was just for show. She was tired. Not the kind of tired you feel in your bones, but the kind you feel in your soul. I was too, but I was born that way. She earned it.

Didn't matter. I came ready for a challenge.

"Bartender! Another for sis, on me."

"Make it a double," she said.

As she followed me to a booth at the back of the bar, I could tell she was sizing me up.

Good.

It's good to know when somebody doesn't trust you.

It's bad when you think they do and you're wrong.

Whether or not they should trust you is a fact you keep to yourself.

I figured it made no sense to waste time with small talk, so I hit her with my pitch as soon as her ass hit the seat.

"I've got a two person job that's worth a lot of money. It requires a prostitute and a thief. I know what you are. I'm a thief."

That's a lie.

There's a difference between what you do and what you are. I don't deny what I did, but it's not what I am. And besides, what I am is better than what she is. Or, hell, maybe it isn't. Maybe that's a lie too.

Lots of lies were told. We'd just met and there'd already been two. The third came here. And maybe a fourth.

I said, "Look, I deserve better than this, and so do you. I mean, I don't know you, but I know you didn't wake up one day and say, 'Hey! I wanna be a hooker!' And I sure as shit didn't say I wanna rip people off just to get by, but you do what you gotta do. I know you know that too. People like us dream about a better life. Maybe buy a lottery ticket or something. Well I'm done dreaming and the lottery's a scam. I've got a better ticket out."

"Girl, you're so full of shit."

"Just listen. I've got a plan. What I need is a partner. Give me one year and you'll never have to do what you do for money again."

"One year, huh."

"One year or one million dollars, whichever comes first."

"Shit."

"Still listening?"

"Still drinking."

"Good. Here's pictures of five guys. What do you see?"

I laid photos on the table like a casino dealer slapping down cards. It's all part of the show.

She looked surprised. "Are those Polaroids?"

"Yeah. Old school. That's how it's done."

Always film. Never digital. Leave no trace.

"So," I said, "tell me about the guys in these pictures."

"Am I supposed to know them?"

"I'm not asking their names. I'm asking what you see. What kind of guys are they? I know you can tell. Say it."

"They look like bankers. Or lawyers."

"Worse."

"Well, they're not cops."

"Keep going. Worse."

"Worse than cops? Shit, I don't know. What's worse than that? I guess this jackass looks like one of those... What do you call 'em? Tech-bros."

"They're all tech-bros."

"Yeah, I knew guys like that back when I was in Chicago."

I pointed at the third photo. "This one's from Chicago."

"I bet he's not. He looks like he's from Naperville. No. Glencoe. One of the rich suburbs."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. He's a fuckin' Glencoe tech-bro."

"Is that a thing?"

"I don't know. I'm just sayin', he looks like a phony. Like old money tryin' to be new. Y'know, the kind of guy that goes into the city to show off, but he doesn't live there. Probably doesn't even work there."

"If you want, he can be first on our list."

"Our list for WHAT?"

"We're gonna rob them all, and they'll never know who did it. They won't even know how it happened."

"Bitch, I'm not robbing anybody."

"You won't. You and me? We're gonna pull off the ultimate magic trick. I'm the magic. You're the trick."

I know it was a shitty thing to say, but it felt right at the time.

And now feels like the right time to say why I'm telling you any of this.

This is not my story.

This is my confession.

A true one, if you trust the word of somebody who already admitted lying.

But I lied to her, not you, right? That's gotta count for something.