The Con Read online

  He's better than that.

  I ask myself the same question I ask before committing to any con. Does the risk outweigh the reward? While taking this job will be the riskiest thing I've ever done, I can't say the risk of getting caught outweighs two and a half million dollars.

  "I have your word that Damien said we split the pot in half? This isn't some Cracker Jack toy I'm playing for. If we do this, I want my even share."

  "You have my word, Jagger. We really need you in on this with us. I hate being the one helping inflate your ego, but you taught me everything I know and you're twenty times better at it than I am. We need you for this to work."

  "Why Esposito?" I ask him. It's been bothering me all week. Stealing this kind of money is a huge gamble; it's why I stick to the smaller jobs. So why does Damien want this job so bad? Why steal from Matteo Esposito?

  "Why not?"

  I turn against the sink and face him. It's pointless to ask him again because I'll never get a straight answer out of him. I know it must be personal between Damien and Matteo for him to risk so much on this, but it's none of my business as long as he doesn't let his personal vendetta blow the job.

  Taking another drag of my cigarette I exhale out. "Okay, I'm in."

  The legs of Angelo's chair drag against the linoleum floor as he stands up. "I'll let Damien know. We'll be in touch."

  We shake hands and I walk him to the front door of my trailer. I'm ready to start planning this thing out meticulously in my head. While I'm sure their plan is a good one, I trust no one when it comes to my safety and evading jail. I need to find all the holes in their plan and fix them before we execute this.

  "One more thing." Angelo stops with his back to me, his hand on the handle of the door.

  "What's that?"

  "Only way to get the money is to have both parties in the bank. Matteo Esposito's account is with his wife. Neither of them can make a withdrawal larger than fifty G's without the other one signing off in the presence of a bank manager, so we need to find someone to go in with you and be his wife, Giselle. We have luck on our side though, because few people have ever seen Giselle Esposito. Whoever you pick to do this with you should work just fine."

  I'm going to kill him.

  "You're just telling me this now? Fuck, no. That's adding yet another person on this job. No way."

  He turns to face me, his back against the door. "Two point five million, Jagger. You really going to turn down a chance at that because you can't find some chick to charm into this?"

  Shit.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  He's right. I can't turn the money down. I might never have another chance to get my hands on this kind of money again.

  "I'll see who I can find. Maybe Lola–"

  "No, Ace. She's got to be classy and hold herself highly. It can't be any of these trailer tramps you love to hang around with. You need someone who can pull off being a cartel and mob princess."

  I only know one girl who can walk around like her shit doesn't stink and can pull off classy bitch better than anyone. She used to look at me like I was her only reason for breathing. God knows she was the only reason for mine. Now she doesn't look at me at all. I'm pretty sure she hates me.

  She'll get over it though because she's the only one who can pull this job off with me, and the only woman I'll trust with it. I know I'll have to offer her something good to agree to do something as crazy as this. I can give her ten percent of my cut. It'll bring my earnings down, but it'll be worth it in the end when we succeed.

  I've got to go find twinkle toes.

  Chapter Eight

  Ronnie

  It's three am on a Sunday morning. My muscles are sore, my feet ache, and my bad ankle keeps stiffening up on me. I don't know how much longer I can take working these long hours on my feet.

  It's decent money being a club promoter for one of the hottest nightclubs in Phoenix, but there aren't any perks. I'm forced to wear skintight tanks with spankie bootie shorts, while dancing as I pass out flyers on the street. I feel like the female version of Magic Mike, but thankfully I don't do any stripping. I just work the streets, passing out flyers in the evening, and then I get to go home while other girls dance in the club.

  My shift usually ends around one but getting home at night takes another two hours. Every night I throw on sweats and a t-shirt over my club clothes and walk to the nearest bus stop, taking the bus to where its route ends. Then I walk a half mile to another stop and hop on that bus that takes me all the way down to the town over from where I live. Then I walk the three miles home.

  It's not an ideal job, but since I no longer dance ballet it holds me over until I figure out what I want to do with my life. I thought I'd know what I wanted to do by now. I'm twenty, and most women at twenty are in college, traveling, or on their way to finding their career. I can't even decide on what I want for breakfast, let alone what I want to do for the next thirty years of my life.

  I sigh in relief as I see my trailer park in the distance.

  Just another ten more minutes and I'll be home. I can put my feet up and rest my swollen feet and stiff ankle.

  My cell phone vibrates in the pocket of my sweats and I pull it out to see who is texting me this late.

  Pearl: They have me on shift the next twenty-four hours. I should be home Monday morning. Clean up your mess in the kitchen when you can.

  My sister, Pearl, has worked her ass off since our mom died, taking care of me and going to school to be a doctor. She's thirty now and has finally started her residency at one of the best hospitals in Phoenix. I'm happy for her, but I never see her. Our schedules just don't line up.

  As I'm approaching the entrance to the trailer park I hear a crunch in the gravel up ahead. I stop, squinting to see if I can see anything, but there's nothing but darkness.

  I'm just being paranoid.

  Moving forward again, I try to be more aware of my surroundings, but then I hear the gravel being pushed around again and a figure walks out of the shadows.

  I'm about to scream but something stops me. The silhouette looks familiar and when I hesitantly take a step forward I see the long brown hair I love so much and I know it's him. It's Jagger.

  My right hand comes up to cover my chest as I inhale a deep breath. "Jesus, Jagger. You scared me half to death."

  He smirks and I swear my ovaries do a little dance. "It's not safe to be walking alone at night. You never know who could be out here lurking in the dark."

  "You're right. A psycho with long hair and boots might come attack me. Better get my pepper spray," I reply sarcastically. "I walk home late every weekend and I've yet to meet anyone in the dark, besides you."

  I brush past him and continue walking until I'm on the main street of our neighborhood. He catches up quickly and walks beside me, not saying a single word and it makes me uncomfortable. He’s pretty much ignored me since I was fifteen and now, when I'm sweaty and gross from a long shift and commute home, he decides I exist again.

  Either he has shitty timing or I just have bad luck.

  When we pass Juniper and he doesn't turn off to go home, I'm instantly curious to why he's walking with me. I turn on Cedar and spot my trailer and he follows.

  "What do you want, Jagger?"

  He makes a whistling sound between his teeth. "Oh, nothing. I just want to make sure a pretty lady gets home safe, that's all."

  Tilting my head I give him a look of disgust. "A pretty lady? Since when do you look at me that way? Isn't that a bullshit line you should be feeding Lola, or the trailer trash you sleep around with."

  "Aren't you trailer trash?"

  Stopping in front of my house I turn and slap him across the face for calling me trash. It may be true. God knows I feel that way sometimes and I did sleep with him once, but that doesn't give anyone the right, including Jagger, to call me that.

  "You can go, asshole."

  "Oh, come on twinkle toes. I was just kidding around. You could never be trailer tr
ash."

  Twinkle toes. He called me twinkle toes. And just like that I forget the previous comment about me being trash and remember why I loved him so much.

  I'm so pathetic.

  "Well, it wasn't funny." I take the hair tie around my wrist and pull my long red hair up into a messy knot on the top of my head. "It's late. I better get inside and you should go."

  Jagger takes a step closer to me and his proximity has me in a lustful haze. I haven't had a real conversation with him in years but my breathing weakens as I stare at his perfectly beautiful face, thinking indecent thoughts, and hoping he'll leave before I do something stupid like kiss him.

  He takes another step, and then another. His face now inches from mine. "Do you really want me to leave, twinkle toes?"

  I swallow hard, biting my lip as I try to hold back the moan at the back of my throat that's about to escape from hearing his rough, sexy voice call me twinkle toes again. "Yes," I pant.

  His hand comes up to brush my cheek and my eyelids flutter closed. It's like he is completely aware of how my body reacts around him and he's using it to his advantage, and I'm letting him because... well, he's Jagger.

  "You don't mean it, twinkle toes. Besides, I need to talk to you and I was hoping to talk now."

  Peeling my eyes open I look up at him and nod my head, silently giving him permission to stay as I turn and walk up my driveway.

  Once we're both inside my trailer I instantly regret letting him in. The kitchen is a mess. I haven't done a dish in three days and I left the ingredients from the lunch I made today out on the counter.

  Pulling out one of the steel bar stools I pick up my copy of Colleen Hoover's new book along with today's newspaper, and place them on the counter so Jagger has a place to sit.

  "Sorry about the mess. I've been crazy busy and was meaning to clean up the place tomorrow." I take the peanut butter and bread from the counter and put it in the cabinet filled with dry goods. Then I head over to the sink and wet a wash cloth before going back to the counter and wiping it down, getting rid of the crumbs. I'd wash the dishes right now, but then I'd be ignoring Jagger completely and I don't want to be rude.

  He sits down on the stool and watches me in silence as I clean up. It's unnerving, but it's also Jagger. I think he secretly gets off on making me uncomfortable.

  When the kitchen is finally somewhat presentable, I bring my attention back on him. "What did you want to talk about?"

  God, he looks so sexy. He's older now, his body has filled out and although he's still lean, his frame is solid. I can see a hint of his abs from under his white t-shirt when he stretches his arms.

  "Do you ever just wish you had enough money to get out of here and start new? You know, somewhere fresh where everyone didn't know about the family you came from and the trailer you grew up in?"

  That is not the kind of question I expected to be answering at three in the morning. A part of me thought, hoped a little, that coming in was just an excuse to get in my bed.

  I wish I had money to get out of here all the time, but the reality is it'll never happen for me. Sure, Pearl is making a life for herself and has a fruitful career ahead of her, but I'm an adult now. I'm no longer her financial responsibility.

  "Sure, but wishing and hoping is a dangerous thing."

  "What would you do if I told you I could get you the kind of money you need to get out of here. What if I could make that happen?"

  Standing across from him, I roll my eyes and place my elbows on the countertop as I lean in. "I'd say you are full of it."

  He continues to look me right in the eyes; his mouth is the only part of his body that moves. "I'm not."

  His expression is firm, confident. I almost want to believe him.

  Almost.

  "You're saying you have a way for me to get out of this hell hole and start fresh and you're just going to give it to me? No strings attached?"

  "I never said I'd give you anything."

  "Of course not, because at the end of the day you don't have a way for me to leave this trailer park and you're just toying with me. Is this a game to you? Do you just sit around on days you're really bored and say to yourself 'I think I'm going to find more ways to fuck with Ronnie,' because you haven't played with my emotions enough?"

  A painful expression crosses his face before he masks it. "Two hundred and fifty grand."

  "Is there a punch line to go with that statement?"

  "That's how much money you'll have in two weeks if you agree to what I'm about to propose. There's your punch line."

  My mouth drops as I inwardly salivate at that kind of money. "You're going to give me two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? What in the world could you need me to agree to that will get me that kind of money? Selling my body wouldn't even be worth that much, not that I'd ever offer it up."

  The truth is I'd sleep with Jagger for nothing. I have real issues, enough for a lifetime worth of therapy.

  "Don't worry, twinkle toes, what I'm about to propose requires you to keep your clothes on."

  "So what is it?"

  "Not so fast. I can't give you the details until you agree to do this with me. You need to go into this blind."

  "I'm not agreeing to anything without knowing the facts."

  "Then I guess you're not the girl for this because I never bring anyone into one of my jobs until they are fully vested in it with me. I thought a quarter of a million was enough to entice you. I guess I was wrong."

  This is a con. He needs me to pull off a con with him. He needs me to be calculating and cunning.

  I can't do what he does. I've watched him over the years and it always seems so effortless for him. Like getting people to hand over their money to him is second nature.

  But... two hundred fifty thousand dollars...

  My eyes drift over the outdated brown and white wooden cabinets in our kitchen and the fake wood flooring. The trailer is probably 48ft by 14ft at most. It's a little rectangular box. With the kind of money Jagger is offering me, I could finally get a place of my own. A real place. Pearl wouldn't have to help take care of me anymore. I could help her, too. Pay her back for all that she's done for me.

  Plus, this could be a way for me to get closer to Jagger. He barely knows me, but he trusts me enough to ask me to do this with him.

  Or maybe he's drunk. It is almost four in the morning.

  Whatever his reasoning is, I'm still the one he wants to do this with. I'm still the one he's willing to help get out of this hellhole I've lived in my entire life, and start fresh. No matter what the con is, I can't see it being bad enough to turn down that kind of money. But is money really everything?

  "We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give," I mumble under my breath.

  "What was that, twinkle toes?"

  "Nothing. It's just a quote by Winston Churchill. You should meditate on what he was trying to say. It might make you reconsider your line of work."

  He laughs under his breath before pulling the cigarette from behind his ear. "Do you mind if I light up in here?"

  Pearl would be pissed if she knew someone was smoking in our place. I'll have to get the smell out before Monday. "Nope. Go right ahead."

  He lights up, taking a drag as the fiery embers burn at the end. "Do you want to know what my favorite quotes is, twinkle toes?"

  I move to the cabinet that holds our dishes and grab a cup, sliding it over to him so he has a place to flick the ashes. "Sure."

  "With my mind on my money and my money on my mind." He flicks the ash into the cup before adding, "Snoop Dogg."

  I wait for him to laugh, something to indicate he's joking, but he's not.

  "It sounds like you worship money."

  "Don't we all? We need money to survive–to eat, to have a place to sleep, electricity, running water, you name it. The rich have too much of it and greedily want more and the poor, like us, can never attain enough of it to live comfortably. It's the way our world was progr
ammed to work, so yeah, I guess in a way I do worship it, but it's only because I remember what it's like to not have any, to go days without eating, and I'm never going to live that way again, and I don't have an education to get money the honest way." He pauses to take another drag of his cigarette.

  "So this is how I live, twinkle toes. You can take it or leave it, but ask yourself this. Why do you work the club scene every night? Why do you wear next to nothing while men holler disgusting things at you as you hand them flyers inviting them into a seedy club, while they maybe try to cop a feel or two? It's because you make good money. It's because you make more doing that than you would ringing up groceries down at the convenience store. So in your own way, you worship money, too. You just do it differently than I do."

  He gets up, inhaling one last drag before placing his filter in the cup. He turns to leave, his back to me, when I realize I don't want him to walk out that door. I'd do anything for him not to walk out that door.

  "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to decide."

  He turns back around to face me with one eyebrow raised and a sly smirk across his face. "Ask yourself one question. Does the risk outweigh the reward?"

  I think over his question, processing what it all means. Does the risk of not knowing what exactly he needs me to do outweigh two hundred fifty thousand dollars? That's impossible to answer without knowing the exact risk, but I'm guessing not much would outweigh that kind of money.

  "I'm in. I'll do it."

  "I knew you were the right girl for the job, twinkle toes. You won't regret this. It'll be easy."

  "So what's the job, exactly?" I ask, playing with a loose strand of my hair that's slipped out of the messy knot on top of my head. I need to busy my hands and mind with anything to distract myself from confessing my undying love for the man in front of me, and in the same sentence telling him what a jackass he is for taking my virginity and then ignoring me for all these years.

  "Next week you and I are going to walk into the largest bank in Phoenix as a married couple, and walk out with five million dollars. We're stealing from the Esposito organization."