Gray made his way back across the bar. They had definitely found the right mark, but the next part was always tricky. He grabbed a chair at the table across from the guy and greeted him with a nod. “You having a good afternoon?”
The man was wearing a cheap tan suit, and his hair was parted awkwardly to the side. Gray didn’t know the first thing about fashion, not like Jameson did, but he knew that the man looked like trash.
“I’m fine,” he said evenly, his eyes still on the dancer as she spun slowly around the pole. “Yourself?”
And that was all the in that Gray needed. He hated having to make nice with guys like Mr. Gay Hate there in the cheap suit. It made his stomach churn. But he couldn’t do his job unless he got him talking first, and he had to put in a solid twenty minutes of laughing at offensive jokes before he found the opening he needed and got the guy talking about his business, unloading all kinds of useful dirt.
The mark veered off topic and into another rant about women, and Gray glanced back up to the bar. A couple of the dancers, draped in robes, had gathered around Jameson. For a second, his heart lurched, and he feared that Jameson had been discovered. But then he saw them all laugh casually together, and noticed the way Jameson swirled his straw in his drink, and realized it was fine.
More than fine, in fact. Beneath that scarf, Gray was sure that Jameson was grinning ear to ear.
“And that’s why women shouldn’t direct movies in the first place,” the mark concluded. He leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face, then threw back the rest of his drink.
Gray gritted his teeth and returned to the task at hand. “So, let me ask you this,” he said, leaning across the table. “You like cars?”
“Sure,” the man said. “Who doesn’t like a fucking car?”
“Right, right,” Gray laughed. “What kind of car do you drive?”
“I’m not flashy,” he answered, but the gloating in his eyes made it clear he was proud of his answer. “Just a Camry.”
Gray let out a whistle. “A Camry. What a great choice,” he said. “Tell you what. I’ve got to take a leak. Why don’t I get us another round on the way back. I got a good car story that I think a Camry man will appreciate.”
The mark turned back to the stage. “I won’t mind waiting,” he said with a leer to the dancer.
Gray cursed under his breath as he headed toward the bathrooms in the back. When he turned to catch Jameson’s eye and try to communicate some psychic messages, he was surprised to catch him getting up from the bar. With the two dancers, Jameson made his way toward the back. By the time Gray reached the bathrooms, he had slipped off into some private room.
“Well goddamn,” Gray laughed. Even he couldn’t sweet talk his way into the dressing room at a strip club.
Instead of turning into the bathroom, Gray rounded another corner and found an exit to the parking lot. After propping the door open with some cardboard, he hurried into the parking lot and found the only Camry there.
“Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” he muttered, reading the bumper sticker to himself. “Get some new material, dude.”
Gray peered into the car, scouting what he could. He’d never boosted a Camry, but from what he could tell, there wouldn’t be any surprises, just some standard security measures he’d be able to work his way around.
Dropping down to a squat, Gray pushed his hands through his hair, then let out a slow breath. This was the kind of thing he’d done enough times, and he knew the whole routine. He knew how to switch out the license plate, how to cruise the backroads without a map. Almost without a doubt, he could hotwire that vehicle and drive around with Jameson for weeks and not get caught.
But that was the thing:almostwithout a doubt. It was like he was always telling Raiden—just because he could do something didn’t mean he should do it. And when he actually thought about speeding through the hills in a stolen car with Jameson, he just felt nauseous that something, anything would go wrong, and Jameson’s life would be ruined.
Gray stood back up. He punched the air, and then again, letting out some of the aggression that had built up in his muscles when he was talking to the asshole inside.
Of all the things that were suddenly upsetting Gray, nothing was worse than the fact that he was going to have to tell Jameson the fun was over. The risks were too high, and he wasn’t going to be able to deliver what he had promised.
He wasn’t going to give Jameson the moon after all.
“Hey there, handsome.”
Gray spun on his heel. Standing in front of him, Jameson had one hand on his hip, and the other dangled a key. What really caught Gray’s attention, though, was that he had ditched the bulky blue jacket and the casual jeans. Instead, Jameson had on a sleek pair of black leggings and a fuzzy, baby blue sweater that hung low on him, almost like it was a short dress.
“What the hell?” Gray laughed.
“I got us a car,” Jameson said. “It’s a blue Subaru, 2003.” He pointed behind Gray, to the back of the lot. “I think that one?”
Gray rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead. “Did you steal the keys to that car?”
Jameson laughed. “Hell no. I traded the motorcycle for it.” He looked down at himself. “Well, I traded it for the Subaru and some new clothes. I warned Balenciaga that the motorcycle was stolen, but she said she got the Subaru from her ex-boyfriend in a breakup, and she was tired of thinking about him every time she drove to the grocery store.” He tilted his head to the side, thinking. “Oh! And also the left speaker doesn’t work, and the trunk is jammed.”
Gray looked down at the Camry, then back to Jameson. “Amazing. Great fucking job, Jameson.”
