Counterfeit Love

"I don't have any deal with you, lady," Roger insisted, reaching to grab the door, thinking he was about to shut it on her face.

"Maybe that's true, but you did have a deal with me," I told him, slamming my palm against the door to hold it open. "And I have a deal with her. So, see, when you dicked me over, I had to call in the big guns over here."

I could see a hint of a smile toying with her lips at that, breaking through the icy shell she'd shrugged on back in the dressing room.

"Look, we had a deal. But things changed. I decided not to sell the printing press."

"And why might that be?" Chris asked. "You're two weeks late on your alimony payment. Your ex-wife is going to have you hauled into jail by Tuesday if you don't pay up. You clearly need the cash."

I decided right then that maybe Chris was right after all. Maybe information was the deadliest of weapons to have.

Because Roger lost his color.

"So," Chris plowed on. "We need to know why you have suddenly decided not to sell your press--at a very good price, I might add--to my friend here."

"Look," he said, chest deflating, his head bobbing toward his chest, shaking. "I got another offer, okay? I got another, better offer. Of course, I would take that."

"Well, no. Not when you already said it was ours," Chris told him, unfazed. "That's not how deals work, Roger."

"It was a lot more money. With an extra stipend to hold onto it for him for a few weeks until he could get to Jersey to pick it up."

Don't ask me how I knew, but I knew.

The second the words were out of his mouth, I knew who it was who fucked up our plans.

"Never would have known my old man's printing press would be so popular. I should have put it up on eBay or something," Roger joked as my blood turned to icy sludge, wondering if Ewan knew where I was, or if he had simply seen a great press finally hit the market again, and wanted to snatch it up himself.

"You're not putting it up on eBay. You're giving it to us. Right now," Chris declared, voice brooking no argument.

"I already told him--" Roger started to argue.

"Yes, well, you already told us, too. Now you can un-tell him. Where is the press?"

"Look, I can't just pass up."

"We'll double the money," I offered. What did it matter? It was just paper anyway. I could always make more. Especially if I had the right equipment. Like the fucking thing he was holding hostage. "Triple," I tried when he didn't bite.

"Triple," Roger mused.

"Yes, triple," Chris agreed as though we had ironed out these details beforehand instead of riding in separate vehicles without even so much as mentioning a strategy for how to handle the situation. "If you give us the press right now. Just think, with that kind of money, you could just... take a trip. Never come back. And the cops might look for you. Or, more likely, they will just let you go. And that ex-wife of yours will move on finally and marry that guy she's been sleeping with since before you two even separated. The only reason she hasn't is because she and her boyfriend have been living large on your dime. So, what do you say? You get a lot more money and a new life. You screw over your ex. And we get what we want. Seems like a perfect deal all-around to me."

"Do you have the money?" he asked, sweat already starting to bead up on his brow in anticipation.

"Do we have the money," I repeated, rolling my eyes, handing Chris the bag, reaching to unzip it. "This is all yours. Just give us the press."

Twenty minutes later, one bag lighter, one giant press heavier, the problem was solved.

"We make a good team, dollface," I said, slamming her trunk. "If I had gone in there alone, things likely would have gotten physical."

"Yes, well, getting physical is highly overrated," she said, and I felt the words had a double meaning. I was sure of it when she said nothing else, just got into the driver's seat, and pulled away, leaving me on the street looking after her for a long moment before getting on my bike and following.

"Angel, what's going on?" I asked about an hour later, after battling to get the press out of her trunk and into my spare room.

"Nothing. I have places to be," she told me, rushing past, making sure not to even brush my shoulder in the process.

"You haven't spoken two words to me in over two hours," I told her, following behind as she made her way to my front door.

"Nothing needed to be said. We got the job done," she added, making her way down my front path, trying to get away from me as fast as possible. "Now you have everything you need. I imagine I won't be hearing from you until you have a batch of cash ready."