Pete stood up, felt something tweak in his lower back. He put a hand on Jimmy’s chest and shoved the man. “ʹFuck away from me,” Pete said, almost slurring his words.
“Yo, take it easy …” Jimmy said, but stayed a few feet back. “You were totally spaced out, man. It was like waking the dead. I could have stolen every truck in your lot if I’d wanted.”
Pete looked at his watch. It was near midnight.
“Damn.” In a sudden flash of panic, he looked around and behind him. Were the trucks gone? Stupid, he knew, but still. No, everything was there. Everything was quiet. He forced himself to relax, to breathe.
“Look,” Jimmy said, “I can go. It’s … I mean, I got the mug, man. I’m cool. But you said … remember? The love scene?”
Pete, fully alert now, studied Jimmy’s face. Saw he was sweating, nervous. Or excited, he thought knowing that was the truth. Shit. He pulled himself together, let the memories drift away. “You got cash, bro?”
Jimmy nodded, smiled. “Yeah, of course. Have you … you know. Checked?”
“No man, no. Let me see the cash.” Jimmy warily studied Pete as if making sure this wasn’t a ruse, possibly worried that Pete might jump him. Pete smiled. “Relax, bro. I’m gonna hook you up.”
Jimmy pulled out another thick fold of bills. Pete’s eyes widened. “This is five hundred. I …” Even in the dark, Pete could tell the creepy bastard was blushing. Freak show. “I want clothing this time.”
Pete nodded, playing cool, but worried about taking clothes. That was dangerous. He’d be questioned, if not outright suspected, were clothing to be missed. You never knew what was vital to a scene. A hat or a glove could be important for continuity. A key prop.
Still, five hundred bucks would put his total take at eight hundred. And for what? For nothing. A few minutes work and a little harmless theft.
“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Stay here, like last time. I see you past this line of cones, deal is off. Comprende?”
Jimmy nodded, smiling again. Freak. Pete walked toward the row of trailers.
HE COULDN’T BELIEVE HIS LUCK.
The inside of the trailer looked like it truly had been robbed. Ransacked. There were clothes everywhere. Piles of dresses, skirts, blouses. Handbags and wallets covered the bed. The floor was littered with pantyhose, underwear, negligee. They must have had a fitting, he realized, although why everything was left out was a mystery. He figured Pages must have blown a gasket, demanded to look at the stuff again the next day, made the prop and wardrobe guys leave it for her. For Pete, it was a bonanza. Mad spoils. There was so much to choose from it was making him giddy trying to figure out what would get Jimmy off the most, get him wanting more.
Maybe squeeze another five hundred out of him ….
Pete scanned the clothes on the floor, thinking clinically, analyzing what would be easiest to have disappear. Something they’d never notice. Underwear and pantyhose were sexy, and Jimmy would likely pop off in his pants if Pete grabbed something like that, but it made Pete feel queasy. A little dirtier than he was comfortable with.
That said, money was money. And what did Holly Pages care? What did any of them care? Lowly security guard. Dumbass high school dropout with one parent still stuck in Mexico and the other working double-shifts at a laundromat, for even less money than Pete was making, just to get by.
He pointed his phone’s light at the piles of underwear and stockings. He kneeled, dug through the pile until he found a lacy black thong at the bottom. He smelled the fabric. It smelt new. Hating himself, but also getting off a bit at the idea of it, he brought the crotch to his mouth and let a stream of spit drizzle onto the cloth. Just a little. Just enough to give it that human smell. He rubbed the moisture in with his thumb until it was nearly dry. He stood, searched the room, then went into the bathroom. He found a travel-size deodorant stick on the sink and dabbed a little of the scented stick onto the moist crotch of the thong. He replaced the deodorant, sniffed the fabric again, rubbed it more with his fingers, then wadded it into a ball and stuck it into his pocket. Was he going above and beyond? Yeah, probably. But part of him figured he should at least be earning the money. And besides, if Jimmy got amped up, there was no telling how much more he might pay for something really good.
Smiling to himself, Pete left the dark trailer, locked it up and replaced the key—careful to put it back exactly how he found it.
Walking across the dead basecamp, he laughed out loud, already envisioning the look on Jimmy’s face.
PETE WASN’T DISAPPOINTED. JIMMY HELD the underwear as if a baby bird made of pure gold had shit diamonds on his palm. Pete prayed the guy wasn’t going to do anything further with the thong until he was well out of Pete’s sight.
In his pocket, the money felt fat and hungry. It seemed to be leaking into his skin, flooding his veins, filling his pumping heart with a desperate need for MORE. Pete licked his lips, but his mouth stayed dry. His throat clenched. He was sweating a little. This is what greed feels like, a voice inside his head reported, a sly voice with laughter on its edges. Hope you dig it, man.
Pete shook his head, rubbed at one stubbled cheek. Thoughts and emotions were stirring deep inside him: guilt, shame, greed, elation, disappointment. He tried to think, and then not to think, what Noemi would say if she knew. What Gina would think of him.
He watched Jimmy staring at the underwear and felt sickness rise inside him. He wanted to hurt this guy. He wanted to pound his face in, break his knees, bust him up good and leave him bleeding and crying. It was Jimmy who’d made him feel this way. Jimmy who had forced him to do something that made him feel like shit about himself, his life, his self-worth. And yet ….
That money was still bleeding its black poison into his thigh, pressing against him, whispering: More … there’s always more.
Part of Pete welcomed that voice. Reminded him of the old days, of his youth. When he wanted so much, when money and street cred meant the world. Pete watched this stranger fondling the underwear and revulsion passed over him like a wave. What the fuck am I doing? he thought, and knew it had gone too far. He wasn’t that kid anymore and it was the time for the man, the husband and father inside him, to take a stand.
“All right, dude. I hooked you up. Now you gotta go,” he said, his tone leaving no room for question. “And listen … I don’t think you should come back. You got what you wanted, okay? It’s too risky. Tomorrow night just stay home. Enjoy your, you know, mug and shit.”
Jimmy’s smile tucked itself away, and the underwear disappeared into the pouch of his hoody. Pete noticed the hand holding the fabric stayed in the pouch, as well. Jimmy seemed to think for a moment, then nodded. “I see your point. And to be frank, you’ve far exceeded my expectations already. It won’t do to be greedy.”
Pete’s relief, to his surprise, was mingled with a taint of disappointment. Disappointed that Jimmy had acquiesced so quickly. But the dude was right, it wouldn’t do to push things, and eight hundred bucks was a solid take. Still… how much more was there where that came from?
As if sensing Pete’s internal struggle, Jimmy took a step closer. Spoke quietly. “Tell you what. Why don’t I just give you my cell number.”
“No, bro….”
“Just … just listen. Take my cell. If you come across anything … special … that you think I’d like. Just text me and I’ll come running, so to speak.”
“No,” Pete said, waving a dismissive hand, “that’s cool. I don’t want your fucking cell number. I don’t want to know you, to be honest. I want to forget you. You’re a weird dude and you give me the creeps. So just take your undies and fuck off, okay?”
Pete was surprised when Jimmy smiled, as if Pete was telling a joke, leading to a punchline Jimmy knew by heart, but loved hearing it nonetheless. It’s funny every time.
“Pete, I’m rich,” Jimmy said, and Pete tensed at the smarmy tone. “Like, not shitting around. Rich. My interest alone makes me worth millions, okay? I’ve got so much money, I … I swear to God, I haven’t a clue what to do with it all. I’ve sold my company, and now I do nothing but… I don’t know, find ways to spend money. It’s a problem, frankly.”
Pete narrowed his eyes. “You don’t look rich. You dress crappy, for one.”
Jimmy shrugged. “What’s the point? I sit around all day, buying things online or planning trips. I hang out at my pool. I have few friends … why get all dressed up? The point I’m making, is that the …
