We Are Both In The Dirt Ch. 06

Fowler Jones was ten years Montana's junior, had blown his knee out playing pro ball and resorted to working as one of Montana's cronies. Fowler had been thoroughly square before the unfortunate accident that snatched away his future, but under Montana's tutelage had transformed into a ruthless piece of indispensable muscle. Mira had once witnessed him choke a woman to death. This had prompted her fifth attempt to escape Montana, an attempt as unsuccessful as her other attempts.

She'd watched Fowler commit the murder in the basement of the house she and Montana shared, and then walked out to her car in a daze with Montana screaming after her. He was asking her if she was really going to leave all of her stuff. It was then that she realized how dangerously dense Montana was. He thought that after viewing something like that, one of many evil acts committed before Mira's eyes during their relationship, she would give a second thought to her ill gotten possessions. She'd only wanted to leave, to see something else, know something else. He'd let her get in her car, let her pull off down the street, only to send a group of men including Fowler to cut her off right before she hit a nearby on ramp. They'd dragged her from the car. She'd lost her shoes and scraped the bottoms of her feet as she tried to twist out of their grasp. Back home she'd slept with a knife under her pillow, shaking as she waited for Montana to come and punish her for thinking to leave. It was then that the cresting hate she already had for Montana had reached it's height, a height that had managed to somehow be topped over the last few years.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Mint says. He takes Mira's arm and yanks her to her feet. She'd been on her knees, rummaging through Fowler's pockets. She'd slid his cell phone, wallet and a switch blade into her purse. The three of them climb into Mint's car and he pulls off, lights flash by them and unsuspecting club hoppers clog the streets and crowd the doorways of buildings oozing with strobe lights.

"I've got a hotel room a block from here, a snazzy stash spot I frequent," Mandrake says. Mint says nothing and Mira casts him a look. When they arrive at the hotel Mint tosses his keys to the valet and they take the elevator to the 27th floor. The hotel is as garish as Mira had imagined, the elevator is made of crystal, the button panel gold. She thinks of the money she and Mint dropped in a safe deposit box just outside of town.

"Forgive me, I wasn't expecting company," Mandrake says as they enter the hotel room. Inside is as gaudy as the hallways and lobby but is generally clean, it is not until Mira lays eyes on the two blondes passed out naked on the red velvet sectional that she understands the reason for the disclaimer.

"He sure knows how to party," Mint says in a bored voice.

Mira takes a seat at a marble island and begins trying to break the lock code on Fowler's phone. It doesn't take her long, and soon she is scrolling through a call log that tells Mira anything she needs to know about how much their lives are worth to Montana Jones. She sees her name mentioned more than any other, and deep inside a thick fear cements itself to her gut.

There was a time when she didn't fear Montana--though it was years and years ago, way before Fowler had been recruited to do the bulk of Montana's light work. She is considered light work, she is sure, and it is clear from the text messages that Montana suspects she may be with Mint, but is not exactly sure. This is her ace in the hole. She won't die easily.

"Mint baby, come here."

Mint takes the phone from her, reacts as she did.

"This motherfucker means business."

"He's calling out all the heavy artillery. Read some of the text messages."

"What's our next step?" Mint asks as his eyes scan the screen.

"Well for one thing, I want to be a little bit more like Mandrake. Maybe not models coked out and passed out on the sofa, but we could afford to blow a bit of cash, have some fun."

"Fun, at a time like this?"

"Why not? We're finally together after years of wanting it. We have the money, we could die tomorrow--this is the perfect time to have fun." Mira stands and pours three glasses of cognac, like she owns the place. Mandrake emerges from a back bedroom, his tie loosened and a smile on lips.

"One for me, I take it?" Mandrake says as he picks up a glass.

"Definitely for you, Mandrake. And we should toast," Mira says.

"What are we toasting?" Mint asks.

"We're toasting to our next step," Mira says.

"Spending more money?" Mint asks.

"No, one last heist," Mira says before tossing back her cognac and casting them a broad smile.