Page 51 of Sticky Fingers
Still, she walks around the car and pops the trunk open. The back seats have been lowered to accommodate three large wooden boxes, all carefully stacked on top of one another. “Well, here they are.”
Carefully, I help her take out the boxes and line then up on the floor, right in front of Malcolm’s limo. As we do it, Malcolm simply stares at us, one eyebrow cocked as he tries to figure out what the hell I’m doing.
He eyes the boxes attentively, measuring them up and making the conclusion that they have the shape and size needed to accommodate painting canvases.
That’s right. When I said I needed Kathy to bring me something, I wasn’t talking about my favorite lingerie or makeup.
Where’s the fun in that?
How does that push the limits of this crazy game that Malcolm and I are playing?
“Alright,” Kathy whispers, wiping the sweat off her brow. “What you asked is here. Now, be careful, okay? And if you need anything—whatever it is—just reach out. I don’t trust that asshole.”
She points at Malcolm with her chin and says, “But I do trust your judgement.”
“Thank you, Kathy. You’re the best there is,” I reply, laying a soft kiss on her cheek.
I watch as she walks back to her car and drives away, and I can’t help but notice that she throws a menacing glance at Malcolm through the rearview mirror. That’s Kathy in a nutshell—a total mother hen.
“What’s in those boxes?” Malcolm finally asks, casually poking one of them with the tip of his shoe.
“Curious?”
“Not really.” He shrugs, although I know for certain that he’s dying to know what I asked Kathy to bring over.
“Liar.” I laugh softly and then make my way to him.
Reaching out to him, I place one arm on his chest, then I bring my free hand up. I brush my index finger over his lips, my eyes on his, and then I smile.
“You know this is a fantasy, don’t you? You and me...it’s all a fantasy.”
I don’t really like putting it like this, but there’s no other way to say it. As fun as being with Malcolm is, let’s be real for a minute.
He’s a crime boss, and I’m just someone who steals things for fun. Our paths have crossed, sure, but sooner or later...this fantasy will come to an end.
“What’s your point?” he asks me, and that’s when I finally point to the boxes lying on the floor.
“You can tell me to open the boxes any time,” I tell him, my smile fading away. “Maybe inside one of those boxes is the painting...maybe all you have to do is open them up and find what you’re looking for.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Smart boy,” I whisper. “If you do that...if you open the boxes, you’ll have to bring me back. You’ll have to let go. We’ll come back from fantasy-land and step back right into reality.”
“Reality?” he asks, licking his lips.
I nod. “The one where you’re no longer implicated for stealing a painting you never did. The one where you can go legitimate and hand me off to the police. Where you gain your freedom forever…but maybe lose me, too.”
“What if I want both?” he asks me.
I shake my head and smile at him.
“You’re going to have to choose, Malcolm Push,” I tell him and walk over. “What’s more important to you? The painting? Or the girl?”
“You wouldn’t be crazy enough to bring the painting over,” he whispers back at me, momentarily stunned.
“Maybe not. Or maybe…” I kick one of the boxes softly. “I’m just crazy like that.”
“So…” he finally says after a long silence. I can almost hear the gears turning inside his head. “Is it that easy?”
“It is,” I reply, and for a moment my heart tightens up.
If he asks me to open the boxes, this is all over.
