Play Along

“I’m driving,” he snaps as he unzips his jeans. “While you go down in style.”

17

“I would like to access my safety deposit box, please?” I tell the cranky receptionist through the glass security screen. My nerves are high and I’m panicking that she is going to call the police or something. It doesn’t seem real that I have gotten away with it so far.

Her beady eyes flicker up to Stace and she eyes him suspiciously.

He raises a brow in a silent dare and I subtly stand on his foot. What is the problem between these two? She seems to hate him and he apparently hates her more from the looks they’re exchanging.

“Identification, please,” she demands flatly.

I slide my license over the counter along with my two bank cards. She studies them for a moment. “I need to photocopy these and the one out here is broken. I will be back in a minute. I just need to go into the other office.”

“Yes, of course.” I smile gratefully.

She disappears out of sight.

“What’s her problem?” Stace whispers.

“You are her problem. Why are you glaring at her?”

“Because she’s a fucking bitch.”

I roll my eyes. “Will you shut up,” I whisper.

She reappears and rings a bell. A man comes out and gestures to the doorway. We follow him down a long corridor until we get to the end where it opens out to a large square room where the walls are covered in lockers. “Bottom left in the corner,” he murmurs as he points us in the right direction.

“Thank you.” I smile. “I would never have remembered where this was.”

He nods and disappears from where he came from. I smile broadly and take my key to slowly open the safety deposit box.

Stace stands behind me and puts his hand on my hips as he watches me over my shoulder. “Careful of the cameras,” he whispers in my ear.

“I know,” I whisper back. I open the door and see the sock encasing our treasure.

I stand back to let Stace peer in. “My sock?” He raises his eyebrow in question. “A sock is what you chose to put them in?’

“It’s all I frigging had,” I snap quietly. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” I reach in and try to untie the sock while it’s still in the locker. I don’t want the cameras to see what we are doing. It’s dark and my arms are confined.

“How many?” I whisper.

He thinks for a minute. “The five smallest. How long did you say we can keep this here?”

“Two years.”

“Do you reckon five?” he asks.

I think for a minute. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t want to take them all at once in case we get caught.”

“Fuck, don’t say that.”

I struggle to untie the sock in the darkness of the locker.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

“Trying to untie the damn thing.”

He shakes his head. “Let me bloody do it.” He takes over. “I can’t believe you lied to me and took these,” he whispers as he concentrates on the untying sock challenge.