Our goal is to
make our little corner
of the world a better place.
— Frustration
I returned from Tonawa still reeling.
Claire could tell something was wrong when I didn't text after finishing a job. No grapes. No bagels. No Maxi-Pads despite the fact the situation warranted it. I didn't tell her about the dead mark. Or Boogie. Or my trip to Tonawa. I only told Claire what she needed to know.
I didn't even check in when I got home, so she came to the basement to find me.
"You alright?" she asked.
"Yeah. I had a close call. It was bad, but I got what I needed. Now, I need a drink."
"I could use one too. And a talk."
"Oh?"
"Don't freak out, but... I've been thinking about Elliott."
"Who's Elliott?"
"He was a mark that turned out to be a bagel. The guy from the writer's group at the library."
"Why the fuck are you thinking about him?"
"It's more like, I've been thinking about how some of these guys aren't bad. It's great when we bring down somebody rotten, but what about the guys who aren't? I'm glad Elliott turned out to be a bagel. He was nice. It's good that nothing bad happened to him."
"What are you saying, Claire? You don't want to do this anymore? You want to go back to working the streets?"
"Come on! I didn't say that!"
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying, we don't talk enough about if guys deserve what we do. Some of 'em don't. And we never talk about the progress we're making. When we started, you said a million dollars each. How close are we to getting there?"
Actually, it was one year or one million dollars, and as the months passed, I regretted saying it. That was a fuckup.
"I think we're at a hundred thousand each," I lied, "but that's before expenses."
"That's it? What expenses?"
"Expenses, like, I bought a goddamn house for this. And because of what we're doing here, I had to buy it in cash. I also bought a top-of-the-line hot tub. That fucker was expensive. And we had to put a lot into the house, because it needed to look like the kind of place an elegant woman like Claire Jenkins would live. And by the way, it's not like you're paying rent. I keep cash in your pocket, right? And we're living large. So, we're ahead, but we've got expenses."
I didn't like where this conversation was going. She was a goddamn prostitute when I found her. I put her in a nice house. A house with a backstory I never burdened her with. I put her in nice clothes and fed her well. She went from being a streetwalker to living like a queen.
"I'm just asking what our end game is," Claire said. "What's our goal?"
"Our goal is to make our little corner of the world a better place, as we go from rags to riches, while marks go from riches to rags."
That was just the frustration talking. There was a lot I hadn't been telling her, because it was none of her goddamn business.
I hadn't even told her I had a deal with Foke to swap Bitcoin for cash. She didn't ask where the money came from, so I didn't tell her. But I was feeling pretty pissed about how I was putting myself in danger while she went out to bars and splashed in a hot tub. The balance of duties in our partnership was not even close to being even. And she complained!?
I thought about putting her ass back on the streets, but I'd need to find somebody to replace her first.
"I've been thinking about our end game too," I said, but I didn't mean it how she thought. "I've been thinking about ramping up, to make more money, faster."
"So we can afford to get out?"
"Yeah, Claire." No, Claire. Come on. There was too much money to be made. Or taken. Whatever.
"You're saying there's a new plan?"
"I'm saying I'm working on a new plan." That part was true.