Write me a Letter

quietly across the border and Benjy subsequently reports to you masterminds at the garage that he jumped bail or bribed a cop to get out or whatever.”
    ”What happened to the dope?” Sara wanted to know.
    ”Never was any,” I said. ”Which is the real reason the cops let him go. True, he’s out his wheels, five hundred bucks or so of beat-up Chevy, and whatever he donated to the federale’s retirement fund, but I bet there was plenty left.”
    ”We kicked in twenty-two grand altogether,” Will said. ”Masterminds, right?”
    ”So he’s home free with like twenty thousand dollars,” I said, ”which is more than even I make for a couple of nights’ work.”
    ”You should’a heard him when he got back,” Will said, ”bitching and moaning because his precious wheels were trashed and describing what Mexican jails were like, would you believe that fucker even tried to get us to kick in some more bread to help cover what he claimed it cost to buy himself out? Anyway. I’m up at Fats’. I am not a happy man. I am dumb and unhappy, I hadn’t even figured out that Benjy had scammed us, for Christ sake. There’s this commotion. Fats takes his fat ass out and closes the door behind him. He’s forgotten to lock the drawer he took my particulars out of, so I have a quick look, don’t I, and there’s this bowling ball bag pushed in the back so I unzip it and what d’ya think I spy?”
    ”Bet you a buck it wasn’t a heavy, round, plastic ball with holes in it,” I offered.
    ”Diet Coke for his lunch?” Sara said.
    ”Crack?” Willing Boy said.
    ”Hundred-dollar bills,” Will said with an evil little grin. ”Before I thought about it even I zipped it up again, closed the drawer, and chucked it out the window.”
    ”Will,” I said, ”I’ve been underestimating you.” I shook his hand warmly. ”That was a brilliant idea. I presume it was caught by some passing wino who still can’t believe his good luck. Pennies from heaven, OK, but century notes?”
    ”You lose,” Will said. ”It was caught by my good buddy Paco, who works at the garage with me pumpin’ gas, he ain’t a mastermind like me but he ain’t afraid of nothin’, neither, maybe ’cause he’s always stoned out of his gourd. I brought him along just in case Fats started gettin’ clever, like splashing my blood all over the woodwork. Paco takes off. I close and lock the window. I sit down. Now I am dumb, unhappy, and scared. They get rid of the drunk lady finally. Fats comes back in. I beg some more. He gives me another week but then the vig will be up to two grand. I thank him with tears in my eyes. I depart rapidly, makin’ sure it’s obvious my hands are empty all the way up to my neck, nor am I walkin’ out lookin’ like the hunchback of Notre Dame, either, with something large and round tucked under my shirt in the back. Paco and me meet up later at his pad, he lives with his mother down off Alverado. Inside that bowling ball bag there is sixty-two thousand five hundred dollars in used hundreds. I give Paco a little walking around money, not too much, like two-and-a-half bucks, ’cause like I said, Mr. IQ he ain’t. If he’s got money, he’ll spend it won’t he, ’cause that’s what he thinks it’s for, to buy stolen ghetto blasters a block long and maybe another plastic chandelier for his mother and get some more tattoos done on his sister.
    ”I make it home without once touching the ground. I pack in under a minute. I say good-bye, farewell, and adios to the family and leave them Fran’s number in case something comes up as it is bound to do sooner or later and probably sooner, and when it does, let me the fuck know so I can take off for like Nome , Alaska .”
    ”Phew,” I said.
    ”No wonder Fats is lookin’ for you,” the twerp said.
    ”I’m surprised the entire world isn’t looking for you,” Marlon said. He smiled up at the pretty waitress who had stopped by our table. She smiled back, leaned down, and gave me the bill, despite the fact the whole thing had been Will’s idea, you will recall. Oh well; I guess waitresses do get pretty good at picking out who the big tipper is at a table.
    I looked at the after-tax total and winced, then I remembered I did have an expense account, after all, and if a late-night snack at Ben’s wasn’t a legitimate business expense, what was in this troubled world. I relaxed and looked around— the place was still full; many of the patrons had obviously been