I slam the door behind me. The bang reverberates off the wall and I throw off my coat as I walk through the dark into the kitchen. I flip on the light and drop onto a stool.

What the hell just happened?

The fire in my stomach surges into my chest.

Cliff’s phone call is what happened. It changed everything.

We were having a great time until my phone rang. What terrific fucking timing. Those conversations require overly protective discretion, and she sensed it immediately.

It wasn’t an option to answer there at the table, but I should’ve ignored it. He would’ve hated it, but now he’s pissed off anyway. At least Sophia and I could’ve finished our night.

But fuck it. She had no idea why he was calling and still got weirded-out anyway.

And she couldn’t have known. Right?

No—there’s no way.

But it doesn’t matter. I’m done with her. I hate admitting it, but I’m done. That was a waste of time. It shouldn’t have been—I’ve never met someone like her. But the tides changed and there’s no reversing them now.

God dammit. Congratulations, Cliff. With that call, you derailed my whole night you impatient son of a bitch.

I select his number and leave it on speaker while I pour myself a gin and tonic. It rings over and over.

Neither of our burn phones are programmed with a voicemail so it’ll continue ringing until he picks up, but God forbid I was to ever do the same. I’d never hear the end of that.

Finally the ring is cut by a thick voice on the other end. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” I say, bringing my drink over to the phone. I pull out a stool and take a seat at the island. “I told you I’d call back.”

“Yeah, and it’s about damn time. I don’t appreciate you takin’ your sweet time and infringing on my evening.”

“You interrupted me. I said I was busy, and now I’m not. So what do you want?”

“Speakin’ of,” Cliff begins, his southern accent like sticky syrup on his tongue. “I was gon’ ask what it was that had you so busy tonight anyway?”

“It’s none of your business. Now are you going to tell me what you want? Cause I’m about to hang up and go to bed.”

“Lighten that tone, son. I been more than patient with you tonight.”

I take my time with a long swig from my glass. “Cliff, what are you calling about?”

“If you wasn’t so busy you’d already know. But since you had better things to do, I went ahead and called your partner.” His words come out lazily. Cliff is a public figure, but in private he allows his tone to slip back into its rural foundation. “You two have some talkin’ to do,” he says. “I told Owen you’d meet him tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you fucking serious? We just hit a job last week.”

“Yeah, and I arranged a new one. Independence Bank,” he says. “It’s just a few miles from the Marvel County border.”

“Indepen—No. Cliff, no. It’s too fucking soon.”

“Your partner had a different opinion.”

“I don’t care.” That fact that Owen already agreed doesn’t faze me at all. There’s no way in hell he’d argue with Cliff. “I’m putting my foot down on this. It’s too fucking soon. We need at least a few weeks.”

“A few weeks for what?” His southern drawl turns sharp. “I’m the one that’s makin’ this work. Don’t you talk to me bout no too soon. If I say we’re hittin’ a new spot then we’re hittin’ a new goddam spot.”

“The Feds are on our ass.”

“Those boys are all foam and no beer,” he says. “They’re a bunch of suit wearin’ dogs that bark left every time they should look right, they ain’t on to nothin’.”

I snort a fake laugh. “Good, why don’t we let them bark a little more then. I’m not running another job this soon.”

“You’re gon’ do whatever I say you’re gon’ to do. No questions asked. I don’ know what makes you think this is a debate. If you do what I tell you then I ensure your safety and we all get richer for it.”

I pull my phone away from my ear and squeeze it in my fist. “You don’t have as much influence as you think you do. This is too risky.”

“Well let me tell you a somethin’, my influence could just as easily ensure a world of hell for you, son. You understand that?”

Instead of replying I sip from my gin and tonic.

“I said you understand?” he thunders.

“Yes, I understand, Cliff. I’m not deaf.”

He grunts. “I didn’t think you was so opposed to makin’ money.”

I almost hang up at that, but I think better of it. “I’m opposed to going to prison. I said it’s too soon, that’s all. And I swear to God, if this doesn’t—”

“Oh hush, you sound like a child,” he says. “You ain’t goin’ to prison. Not if you do what I say.”

“I’ll talk to Owen tomorrow.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

I punch off the phone without so much as a goodbye. My glass is empty so I pour another with hardly any tonic and down it on my way to bed.

* * *

I’m already waiting at the coffee shop when Owen arrives the next morning. Aside from my kitchen, it’s the only other spot we use to plan. Small, off the beaten track, family owned, and most importantly—never more than two other customers.

Owen ducks as he steps through the doorframe. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt with ragged jeans. Our heists have been profitable for both of us, but Owen sinks most of his cut into his ’69 Mustang. Aesthetically, he looks no different from the first day I met him. No one would ever guess this guy has a few hundred-grand stashed in his bank account, and I’ve always liked that about him.

“I guess Cliff got in touch with you last night,” he says after taking a seat.

“Yup.”

“Good, cause he called me asking where you were.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“Nothing.” Owen shrugs. “I didn’t know, so I just said you were probably at home.”

I nod. There’s not one part of me that cares to revisit last night in the slightest.

“We did talk for a while after that, though,” he adds. “I assume he told you about the next spot?”

“Yeah, how do you feel about it?” I’m studying Owen’s eyes but there’s not much to discern.

He just gives another shrug. So damn indifferent. “Seems easy,” he says. “Cliff said they don’t even staff full time security down there.”

“No, Owen, I mean how do you feel about it. Not how Cliff told you to feel.”

“Oh. I don’t know.” There’s a short beat of silence, but I wish it lasted longer. I wish he’d take a few fucking seconds to actually consider it. “I kind of just assumed you two had coordinated it,” he says. “I guess I didn’t really think too much about it.”

Of course not. I nod again.

His eyebrows pinch together. “Why? You not telling me something?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” I pause. “He’s just pissing me off.”

“Cliff?”

“Yes, Cliff,” I say. “I’m sick of his overbearing shit. Does he not infuriate the hell out of you?”

“I don’t know man,” Owen says in a tone much lighter than mine. “I wouldn’t be doing this if you hadn’t brought me in.”

That takes the words off my tongue.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve got your back,” he continues. “I’m with you no matter what. But for the most part, I kind of just try to stay quiet and do what we need. It works best that way I think.”

“I know. And I’m only doing this for my nephew, you know that. But sometimes—” I trail off and pause to collect my thoughts. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think about how much worse his situation would be if I went to jail. That’s not something I can risk.”

“Hey, come on.” His voice has a new note of sincerity. “Fuck Cliff. Look at me, we’re not going to jail anytime soon. Neither of us.”

“There’s only so much he can do, Owen. Only so much we can do, too.”

“Don’t worry about the Feds man,” he says. “We’re smarter than those cocks.”

I’m about to retort when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

I tell myself that there’s no way in hell—but when I look down I’m staring at the name I never expected to see again.

Sophia.

“Is that Cliff?” Owen asks.

“No, it’s nothing.” I met his gaze with my hand clamped around the phone in my pocket.

What is this—an apology? Cause it’s a little too late for that. That opportunity came and went about fifteen different times last night.

But whatever. I’m done with her.

If she wants to play games then she can find some pushover somewhere else. I don’t have the time.

I silence the vibration and press again to ignore the call.

“You good?” Owen asks.

“I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with. What’s left to plan?”

“Actually, I think Cliff has most of it worked out already.” Owen removes a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Independence Bank in Kingstown. Off the highway, easy access. They’ve got a Brinks truck that restocks their registers every Wednesday.”

There’s something weird about listening to Owen rattle everything off. I’ve always been the one that Cliff entrusts with the details, but this is kind of refreshing.

“We’ll hit them on Thursday,” Owen says.

I reach for the paper to double check the specifics when I feel the buzz of my phone again. This time I’m more discrete as I glance down.

Sophia left a voicemail.

I want to crush my phone in my fist so I don’t have to fight the urge to listen to it later, but for now I focus on keeping an empty expression.

“Oh, and our window is from 11 to 12:30.” Owen points to a note in the top corner. “Everything look good?”

“Yeah.” I fold the sheet and stuff in into my pocket. “Thursday it is.”