The Easy Way Out

9

A freckle-faced boy in line preparing to board the school bus called to his plump friend, "Hey, Brett. Y'ain't ridin' the bus?"

"Nope. Not today," he said, shifting his eyes to ten-year-old Ashley, her hair dancing in the breeze. He grinned like he just opened a box of puppies on Christmas morning. He unclipped his backpack and produced a crinkled waxy, bakery bag.

"I saved you a chocolate chip." His eyes brimmed with adoration as he offered the open bag. She slipped her hand inside and delicately withdrew a cookie. "Could be a might melty," he said. They crossed the school's front lawn and walked side-by-side down the neighborhood street.

"Glass a cold milk would just about make this a perfect day," she said, biting into the cookie.

"Yeah.Perfect."

They walked for a block in a cookie-consuming daze before Ashley said, "Would you stop starin' at me like that? You make me nervous."

"Didn't mean to. I just like lookin' at you is all." He shoved the last of his cookie into his mouth, sucking the chocolate from his stout fingertips. "You know this just might be one of my best days." He brushed his hands on his pants.

Ashley dropped her head.

"What's troublin' you?"

She sighed. "Aw, just thinkin' about I got a geometry test comin'. And if I bring home another bad grade,..."

"Well, I can help you study."

"The test is tomorrow. Second period." When she took Brett's beefy hand, his face lit up. "I'm surely gonna miss walkin' with you."

"Well,... supposin' I was to get you the answers to that test."

"No, Brett, I don't want you to get yourself in no trouble."

"You know I'd do anything for you, Ashley."

"You are just about the sweetest boy in the parish." She surprised him with a quick peck on his chocolate-coated lips.

A sheepish grin pushed across his blushing face.

"Ow!" She yelped. "You're squeezin' my hand."

########

From his seat on the couch, Blake watched Rachel's manic pacing into the living room, then out into the kitchen, then back again. "You've been sitting in a parking lot scoping this out?!" The words squeezed their way out from between tight jaws, her pretty face flushed.

"Damon's such a bullshitter," he said. "I needed to check out his story."

"And?"

"And, it turns out he's right."

"Right about what? People bet sports online. Duh. It's not 1960. At the bar, half of them are on their phones all night long."

"Okay, so maybe it's not just sports betting. It's probably money laundering, right?"

"Let's be honest," Rachel said. "Damon's an asshole."

"Can we tone down the anger for a minute and just think about this?"

She paused, turning to look at him. "Think about this? Are you serious?!"

"Listen, Babe. If it doesn't look like the easiest thing in the world-"

"--Easiest thing in the world is to forget about it... Damn Damon!"

"I'm not gonna jeopardize our future. Not for anything." He took her wrist then pulled Rachel down onto the couch beside him.

Acutely aware of the apartment's thin walls, he lowered his voice and then launched into his pitch. "Every Tuesday night, McQuaid walks across the street to the diner before Pat and that other dude come to pick up the money."