Chapter 10: Lauren

Chapter Ten

LAUREN

" I don't understand why you're empty-handed." Roberta eyes me coldly.

The breeze of the night air filters through my hair, but it's her presence that makes me shiver. She looks like she'd stab me if she could.

"Because I'm a shitty burglar, like I told you in the first place. I'll clean your toilets, cut your hair, hell, I'll even learn to cook fancy stuff, but I can't steal things. That's not in my kit of skills."

"From what I hear, you can barely carry out even your main job. Rose Puffersmitch says she almost got killed at the Blue Salon by her incompetent hairdresser."

Great. Bad press. Just what I need. Still, why is Roberta here if she thinks I'm barely functional? "If you keep coming back to me when you think I'm a fool, doesn't that make your decisions kind of sketchy?"

She stiffens. "I'm here to see that you carry out the job you agreed to do."

"I don't have the test questions. They caught me." Is this woman dumb? No wonder her kid needs to cheat. They must not have any working brain cells.

"Then go back and get them. How hard is this for you to understand? You either bring me the tests or I press charges and your brother moves from the police jail cell to an actual prison. I'll give you forty-eight hours. That's two days if you're too simple to understand how time works." She doesn't even wait for an answer but waltzes out of the park as if she just set an appointment for a cut and color.

I give her the finger, but her back is to me so she doesn't see it, obviously. I'm not attempting the burglary again, but I need to save my brother. I think we need a lawyer. I press the pads of my hands into my eyes, but the pressure does not make the pounding in my head go away. I desperately need money.

Something delicious hits me the moment I open the apartment door. There's a note on the table next to the plate of pasta. "Am next door playing LOL."

Mick? I drop the note and run out to bang on my neighbor's door.

"It's open," a girl's voice calls out.

I let myself in and find Betts Drummond glued to her computer monitor with Mick, the juvenile delinquent, at her side, an empty plate of pasta in his lap.

Full of relief, I sag against the door frame. "Can we talk?"

"They let me out." He doesn't take his eyes off the screen.

"What about bail?"

He shrugs. "Taken care of."

"How?" Roberta Ware told me he wasn't getting out until I got her the test questions, so this isn't making sense to me.

Mick tilts his head toward me. "You don't know?"

"I would not be standing here asking you questions if I knew."

He drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. The whole time Betts has not looked away from her computer screen. Finally, he says, "Your boyfriend came and bailed me out. I tried to stop him, but the cops said that anyone can pay and they don't have to house me once the bail is met so I'm here. Made you some dinner. Sorry."

He said the apology like it's an afterthought, but the fact he said it at all means he really does feel remorseful. I have a million questions, but it's obvious he doesn't want to answer them. Embarrassing him further in front of Betts won't loosen his tongue either. I give him a short nod and return to our apartment.

My boyfriend? Griff? Why would he do that? More importantly, how would he even know? I stare at my phone screen. I can't even call him or text him because I don't have his number. The salon would have it. Rosalee would give it to me even though it's against salon policy. But I need it because we'll have to pay him back.

The red bottom-wearing girl pops into my head. Did he bail Mick out before or after he slept with that woman? And, again, why did he help me? It can't be for sex. Griff's so fine that he likely has a line of red bottom-wearing women outside of his apartment. He doesn't need to spend money to bail out some loser's brother in order to get his dick sucked, especially by someone like me who hasn't even seen a real dick since junior high, and that was when I went into the men's room at the mall by accident. It's possible he thinks I'm a professional in the sack, although I don't know where he'd get that idea.

A stomach-churning thought rolls to the top of my brain. Has he heard of a Murphy escort and thought that was me? Joke's on him, then, because I have no experience and even less technique. I'd be the worst lay he's ever had.

The one thing I know is that I need more money. Like I wish we had more money so I could buy Mick his own gaming computer, but those start at five thousand dollars. If I had money, Mick would never have lifted that bag off the street. I pause in the process of pulling the tinfoil off—maybe he would have. Could he resist? I stick the plate in the microwave and then start looking up lawyers. He had a public defender for the last case, but with Roberta Ware on the other side, I don't think a court-appointed attorney is going to cut it.

God, they're so expensive. I'm going to have to find another job. A friend of a friend does hostessing at a club, and I remember she once told me she can make a grand a night with tips. Sometimes more. If that fails, maybe I'll open an Only Fans and sell boob pics or whatever's hot on the market these days.

I fill out the contact forms for five lawyers that specialize in juvenile criminal matters, text my friend, and by the time I'm done, the bell on the microwave dings. I'm in the process of washing up when the door bangs open and Mick comes in.

"Food was great," I say. "Thanks for cooking."

He nods as he toes off his shoes.

"Before you go hide out in your room, we need to talk."

He freezes for a half second and then mumbles, "Tired."

"No, now." I point to the empty chair. "I'm trying to keep you out of prison."

His head jerks up. "Prison?"

"Yeah, it's your third offense after the cigarettes and beer, only this time the value is eight thousand which means it's a felony, not a misdemeanor. Felonies come with prison time. Neither of us want that."

He trudges over and drops into the chair. "She got her bag back, and I gave all the money I got from the pawn shop back to the dealer. He said we were cool."

"She's not cool. She wants to press charges."

"What do I have to do? I can work it off."

"She's not interested in a deal."

"How do you know that?"

Because she's threatened me twice. "I talked to her about it, and she's not interested in making this easy. She thinks we're all trash, and I guess believes sharing the same space as her is offensive. I emailed five lawyers. I'm going to send you their responses. Let's pick one out that you think you can get along with."

"And how are you going to pay for this? Are you turning tricks like Mom?"

"No!" I slap my hand on the table. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Where the hell did your boyfriend come from?"

"Nowhere. I don't have one. I met this guy once at work and that's it. I don't even know how he knew where to find you."

Mick views me with suspicion, and I glare right back. He breaks first. "Get some sleep," he orders like he's my mom, and because I'm so fucking tired, I do just that.