TJ sat on the edge of his worn sofa, his fingers wrapped around a cold one. “Not yet, man.” He took a long sip, the icy brew soothing his own nervous throat. It had been a stressful if not a profitable night.
“But…but he’ll call, right?”
He set the bottle on the scarred coffee table and rolled his eyes. “Of course he’ll call, Hawk Man. The three of us is runnin’ buddies. He said he’d get in touch as soon as he ditched the cops that was followin’ him. We just gotta give him a chance, is all.” He upended the pack of Camels and tipped one into his hand. A flick of the lighter, a deep drag and he felt his knot of nerves unwind. “Now would ya relax? He’ll call.” He blew smoke toward the ceiling.
“How much loot do ya think we got?”
TJ drained the rest of the bottle and stretched out on the sofa. “We got three bags filled with dough. My guess is each one had close to a quarter mil in it.”
Hawk Man whistled low. “Three-quarter million. That’s a big haul.”
A slow smile spread. “Yup, we’ll be livin’ high.”
Four hours later, Hawk Man lay face down on his bed, deep in slumber. And TJ sat staring at a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a phone that would not ring. His first serious lesson in life well and truly earned.
Calvin Davis is also author of The Phantom Lady of Paris.