"How much?"
Dre laughed. "I ain't even tell you what it is yet."
"You called me."
"And?"
"And lately when you call me, I'm either driving somewhere or somebody's moving into my fucking house."
"That was one time."
"One time too many."
"You got six hundred dollars."
"And lost my girlfriend."
Dre went quiet. Not long. Maybe two seconds. But long enough for me to notice.
"Crystal coming back, JC."
"You keep saying that."
"Because she is."
"You psychic now?"
"Nah. I just know women."
I laughed. "That might be the dumbest shit you've ever said."
"Whatever. You want this money tomorrow or not?"
I looked down at the cash still sitting in my hand. Eight hundred and fifty dollars. I'd counted it so many times I knew exactly how every bill felt.
"What do I gotta do?"
"Drive."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Where?"
"I'll tell you tomorrow."
"Who's going?"
"You."
I stopped. "What you mean, me?"
"You know what the fuck you means."
"You ain't coming?"
"Nah."
"Stack?"
"Nah."
"Then who the fuck am I driving?"
"Nobody."
That didn't make sense. "So I'm just driving around by myself?"
"You ask too many fucking questions."
"Because you give shitty answers."
Dre laughed. "It's easy, JC. I'll come by in the morning."
"With what?"
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"Dre."
He hung up.
I stared at the phone. That should've been enough for me to say no. Instead, I looked at the money again.
Then I counted it one more time.
I woke up the next morning to somebody pounding on the front door. Not knocking. Pounding.
I looked at the clock. 8:17.
"Goddamn."
I pulled on sweatpants and walked through the house. For half a second, I expected to see Tone on the couch.
Nobody was there.
The spare bedroom door was open. Empty. Crystal was gone. Smoke and Tone were gone.
The house felt like mine again.
Then somebody hit the front door three more times.
I looked through the window.
Dre.
Of course.
I opened it. "You know normal people call first?"
"I did."
I looked around for my phone. "Where?"
He pointed toward the bedroom. Probably still beside the bed.
Dre walked past me.
"Come on in, I guess."
"Appreciate it."
"Fuck you."
He laughed.
He was carrying a shoebox. Not an actual shoebox with shoes in it. At least I assumed there weren't shoes in it.
He set it on the kitchen table.
I stared at it. "No."
Dre looked at me. "No what?"
"Whatever the fuck is in that."
"You don't even know what's in it."
"Exactly."
He smiled. "Yesterday you wanted answers."
"Yesterday my girlfriend left me."
"She ain't leave you."
"She packed a suitcase."
"She coming back."
I pointed at the box. "What's in it?"
Dre pulled out a chair and sat down. "Money."
That got my attention.
"How much?"
He smiled. "You wanna see?"
"Obviously."
He lifted the lid.
Cash. Stacks of it.
I had eight hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket yesterday and felt rich. This made my eight hundred and fifty look like lunch money.
I stared at it. "How much is that?"
"Enough."
"Where'd it come from?"
Dre put the lid back on. "Doesn't matter."
"Where's it going?"
"See?"
"What?"
"This why motherfuckers don't tell you shit."
"You brought a box full of cash into my house."
"And?"
"And I'm supposed to ask about the weather?"
He laughed. "You gotta take it somewhere."
I looked at him. "Me?"
"That's what I said last night."
"You said I was driving."
"You are."
"With that?"
"Yeah."
"No."
Dre leaned back. "Aight."
That surprised me. No argument. No convincing. He just said it.
Aight.
I stared at him. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You're not gonna say anything?"
"You said no."
"Yeah."
"So no."
He picked up the box.
That should've been the end of it.
It almost was.
Then I asked the question he knew I'd ask.
"How much?"
Dre smiled.
There it was.
That motherfucker knew me.
"Five hundred."
I laughed. "For driving a shoebox somewhere?"
"Yep."
"How far?"
"About forty-five minutes."
Five hundred dollars. Forty-five minutes there. Forty-five back. Maybe two hours total.
I thought about every job I'd ever had. How long it took to make five hundred dollars. How many alarms. How many shifts. How many times watching a clock and waiting to go home.
Then I looked at the box.
"What's the catch?"
"No catch."
"There's always a catch."
"Then don't do it."
He started toward the door.
"Hold up."
Dre stopped.
I hated the smile on his face.
"Fuck you."
"What?"
"You knew I was gonna say yes."
"I ain't know shit."
"Yes, you did."
He laughed. "You doing it?"
I looked at the box. "Five hundred?"
"Five hundred."
"Up front."
"Nah."
"Then get somebody else."
Dre stared at me.
I stared back.
Finally he put the box on the counter, reached into his pocket and counted out five hundred dollars. He handed it to me.
I counted it.
Dre shook his head. "You don't trust nobody."
"Starting to learn."
"Good."
I put the money in my pocket. "Where am I taking it?"
He gave me an address. I didn't recognize it.
"Who's there?"
"Guy named M.D."
"What's he look like?"
"You'll know."
"How?"
"He'll know you."
I looked at him. "I don't like that."
"You don't gotta like it."
"How does he know me?"
"JC."
"What?"
"Everybody knows everybody."
"That ain't an answer."
"It's the one you got."
He handed me the shoebox. It was heavier than I expected.
I looked down at it. "What if I get pulled over?"
"Don't."
"Great advice."
Dre laughed. "Drive normal."
"I always drive normal."
"Then you straight."
He walked toward the door.
"You're not coming?"
"We already went over this."
"I know. I'm just making sure."
Dre opened the door. "Call me when it's done."
Then he stopped.
"And JC?"
"What?"
"Don't open that box again."
I looked at him. "I already saw it."
"You saw money."
"Yeah."
"Keep it that way."
Then he left.
I stood in the kitchen holding the box.
Keep it that way.
I didn't know what that meant. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
I put the box on the passenger floor of the Grand Prix and covered it with an old jacket.
Then I drove.
The first fifteen minutes were easy. Radio on. Heat running. Traffic wasn't bad.
Then every police car started looking like it was following me.
One passed going the opposite direction. I checked the mirror.
Another sat in a parking lot. I slowed down even though I wasn't speeding.
That was probably more suspicious than just driving normally.
I sped back up.
"Relax," I said out loud.
I looked at the jacket on the floor.
It was a fucking shoebox. That was all. A shoebox full of money.
I hadn't stolen it. As far as I knew.
I wasn't selling drugs. I wasn't buying drugs. I wasn't carrying drugs.
As far as I knew.
I was delivering money.
That was it.
Technically.
That fucking word was becoming my best friend.
The address Dre gave me led to a neighborhood I didn't know. Nothing about it looked unusual. Kids' bikes in yards. Cars in driveways. Trash cans near the street. Christmas decorations still hanging from a couple houses even though Christmas had already passed.
Normal.
That was another thing I was starting to learn.
I thought crime would always look like crime. Bad neighborhoods. Abandoned buildings. Dark alleys. Men standing around on corners.
Sometimes it did.
Sometimes it looked like a three-bedroom house with a plastic snowman in the front yard.
I found the address and parked.
Before I could get out, the front door opened. A man stepped onto the porch. Probably thirty. Maybe younger. Hard to tell.
He walked toward the Grand Prix.
I lowered the window.
"Jay?"
I didn't like that.
"Yeah."
"Dre send you?"
"Yeah."
He looked toward the passenger floor. "You got it?"
I reached down for the box, then stopped.
"How I know you're M.D.?"
He smiled. "You don't."
I stared at him.
He laughed. "I'm fucking with you."
He pulled out his phone.
A second later, mine rang.
Dre.
I answered. "What?"
"Give M.D. the box, JC."
I looked at M.D.
He smiled.
"Happy?"
"No."
Dre laughed and hung up.
I handed M.D. the shoebox.
He took it.
That should've been it.
Instead, he opened the lid. Right there beside my car.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
He looked at me. "Checking it."
"Not standing here."
He laughed. "Relax."
"Everybody keeps telling me that."
M.D. closed the box.
"You new?"
"To what?"
He smiled. "That answers that."
"I'm just doing Dre a favor."
"Sure."
"No, seriously."
"Aight."
The way he said it pissed me off. Like he knew something about me that I didn't.
He stepped away from the car, then stopped.
"Tell Stack we good."
"Tell him yourself."
M.D. smiled again. "I like you."
"Good for you."
He walked back toward the house.
I pulled away.
My hands were sweating. I wiped one against my jeans.
Then I started laughing.
I don't know why.
Maybe relief. Maybe adrenaline. Maybe because I'd just made five hundred dollars for driving a shoebox forty-five minutes down the road.
Whatever it was, it felt good.
Too good.
My phone rang.
Dre.
"Done?"
"Yeah."
"See?"
"What?"
"Easy."
There was that word.
Easy.
"You could've done that yourself."
"Could've."
"Then why didn't you?"
Dre was quiet. "Had shit to do."
I didn't believe him.
"Why me?"
"You wanted the money."
"That ain't what I asked."
"You did what you were supposed to do?"
"Yeah."
"You got paid?"
"Yeah."
"Then stop worrying about why."
He hung up.
I drove home thinking about that.
Stop worrying about why.
That was becoming the price of the money. Not work. Not time. Not even risk.
Questions.
The fewer I asked, the easier everything became.
When I pulled into the driveway, another car was already there.
Crystal's.
My heart jumped.
I parked behind her. The front door was unlocked.
I walked inside.
Crystal was in the bedroom.
For half a second, I thought she'd come home.
Then I saw the cardboard box on the bed.
She was packing more clothes.
"Hey."
She looked at me. "Hey."
It was the first time we'd seen each other since she'd left.
I wanted to hug her.
I didn't know if I was allowed.
So I stood in the doorway.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You?"
She shrugged. "I'm okay."
I watched her fold a sweatshirt.
"You staying at your mom's?"
"For now."
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
Same answer as before.
I nodded.
She looked past me. "Smoke and Tone gone?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"Good."
"They only stayed the one night."
Crystal looked at me. "I know."
"How?"
"I asked."
"Who?"
She didn't answer.
That bothered me.
"Crystal."
"What?"
"Who'd you ask?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because."
She laughed quietly. "Now you know how I feel."
Fair enough.
She went back to packing.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"I miss you."
Her hands stopped.
"I miss you too."
That gave me hope. Probably more than it should have.
"Then come home."
She shook her head. "Jay."
"They're gone."
"It's not about Smoke and Tone."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I looked down.
Five hundred dollars was in my pocket. Fresh money. Money I'd made less than two hours earlier.
Crystal didn't know where it came from.
For a second, I thought about telling her.
Then I imagined saying it out loud.
Dre gave me a shoebox full of cash and paid me five hundred dollars to drive it to some guy named M.D.
There was no version of that story that helped me.
So I didn't tell her.
That was the first time I remember deliberately hiding something from Crystal because I knew the truth might cost me the relationship.
There had been little lies before.
Nothing. Don't worry about it. I don't know.
Technically true bullshit.
This was different.
This was choosing not to tell her.
"I'm fixing it," I said.
Crystal looked at me. "How?"
I didn't have an answer.
So I gave her the one I thought she wanted.
"I'm gonna stop doing stupid shit."
She stared at me. "Really?"
"Yeah."
The five hundred dollars in my pocket suddenly felt heavier.
Crystal walked over. She stood between my knees, then put her arms around me.
I held her.
I didn't realize how badly I'd needed that until it happened.
"I don't want to lose you," I said.
"Then don't."
Simple.
Two words.
Then don't.
I wish it had been that simple.
She kissed my forehead.
"I need more time."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
She finished packing the box. I carried it to her car.
Before she left, she kissed me.
Not like everything was fixed.
But enough that I believed it could be.
I stood in the driveway watching her leave.
Then I reached into my pocket.
Five hundred dollars.
I looked at it.
For the first time, the money didn't feel as good.
But I still didn't give it back.
That mattered.
Because I wasn't one of them.
I didn't want to be one of them.
Nobody had asked me to be.
I was just Jay.
JC to Dre.
The guy with the Grand Prix. The guy with the house. The guy who answered his phone. The guy who could get from one place to another without asking too many questions.
Useful.
That was all.
At least that's what I kept telling myself.
My phone buzzed before I made it back inside.
A text from Dre.
Good shit today JC.
Then another.
Stack happy.
I stared at those two words.
Stack happy.
A few weeks earlier, I wouldn't have cared whether Stackhouse knew my name.
Now I felt something when I read them.
Pride.
That's embarrassing to admit.
But it's true.
I typed back:
Tell him I said he's welcome.
Dre responded immediately.
Lol motherfucker thinks he somebody now
I laughed.
Then another message came through.
Keep your phone on tonight.
I stared at it.
Why?
The answer came back.
Might need the car.
I looked at the Grand Prix sitting in the driveway.
Then at Crystal's empty parking spot beside it.
I should've turned my phone off.
Instead, I plugged it into the charger.
And waited.