Page 2 of The Last Grift
Pete was a user. They both were, that was what had broughtthem together. A few easy cons here and there, keeping their heads above water. But two grifters did not make a right, something Gabriel should have remembered from his exploits with his mom. He’d only stuck around because he was lazy, and Peter had said this would be the last con to top off his bank account.
Also, Pete was charming, and being Peter and Gabriel was mildly funny.
Gabriel heaved his body upward again, just enough to fling his aching, sweating, and now bleeding body fully over the fencing and tumble the six feet to the ground on the other side, where he landed in the mud with an audible squelch. The barrier clattered and shook under the force of the dog jumping and snarling as it tried to get to him. But the fence held.
Limp-running across the uneven ground into the darker gloom of the muddy, unpaved alley, he glanced in one direction and then the other. To his right lurked a dark green construction dumpster covered with battling street art. Hiding behind the dumpster was tempting—Gabriel wanted to curl up in a fetal position and catch his breath—but it was probably the first place the enforcer would check. And he’d have that dog with him.
A sharp whir followed by the thwack of what could only be a bullet hitting the brick building opposite him had Gabriel jerking into motion again.
“Goddammit.”
He hated being right sometimes. The Colavitos were serious. Deadly serious.
Over the protest of his entire body, Gabriel hooked a left and ran, heading to the next street. He stuck to the murkiest of shadows, zigzagging down alleys and between dark houses. Unmentionable things squished under the soles of his boots and at one point he tripped over a pothole but managed not to fall. Instead, one knee hyperextended as he slipped on a patch of frozen and decomposing leaves.
Fuck it. Shake it off. Keep moving.
Wiping his filthy hand across the back of his ruined jeans, Gabe focused on putting one foot in front of the other. What had one of them accidentally done to tip the Anderson brothers off? They’d seemed like the perfect marks. Young, impressionable, self-absorbed assholes who wanted to make easy money.
He wasn’t ready to think that Peter had done it on purpose. However, Peter was big-city slick and a fast talker, and sometimes his mouth got the better of him. But then, so did Gabriel’s.
“Halle-fucking-lujah,” he whispered when he spotted the silver Honda parked right where he’d left it hours ago, seemingly unmolested. Maybe there was a patron saint of con men, after all. Still, he hung back in the shadows of a vacant brick manufacturing building, making sure no one was circling the block looking for him.
“You alright, man?” A voice raspy from years of smoking said from the shadows.
Gabriel froze and then slowly turned his head, ready to run again. It would have been too little too late, but the urge was there. The shadow moved and morphed into a man possibly around his age. The puffy blanket or sleeping bag wrapped around his shoulders gave him an odd, bulky appearance. Behind him was a red plastic grocery basket stuffed with his belongings.
“I’m good, thanks,” Gabriel whispered back.
“Trouble?” the man asked equally quietly.
Gabriel nodded. “Yep, trouble. Definitely trouble.”
“It always finds you,” his new acquaintance said solemnly. “No point in running from it. My name’s Michael.”
“Chance,” Gabe replied, using his mother’s nickname for him. “Thanks for the advice, Michael. I’m not sticking around, that’s for sure. Trouble will have to catch mefirst.”
“My lips are sealed.” Michael dragged his finger and thumb across his lips, zipping them shut.
“I appreciate that,” Gabriel said, his attention on the car and the activity on the street.
Minutes slowly ticked by. Gabriel was antsy and anxious, ready to get out of town. He decided to test his luck.
“Thanks,” he murmured to his new friend.
“No prob,” the man replied. “Anytime you need a spot.”
“Hopefully not anytime soon,” Gabe said over his shoulder, but Michael had already disappeared into the shadows he claimed as his own.
Quickly, Gabe crossed the street to slip behind the wheel of the innocuous silver Honda Accord his mother had left him, reflexively checking the back seat for unwanted passengers. Except for his go-bags, it was empty. He breathed out another sigh of relief, thankful he’d had those duffles packed and ready. Heidi would’ve been proud.
Not that Heidi would’ve appreciated his other last action: He’d left a note, no forwarding address, to let Peter know that Gabriel would appreciate being forgotten.
Chance, that’s a surefire way to end up fucked up.
He banged his palm against the steering wheel. “Fuck it, fuck this, fuck that, fuck everything.”
Taking a breath to tamp down the anger roiling through him, Gabe turned the key in the Honda’s ignition. The engine coughed and the car shuddered but did not start.
