The Amateurs by Marcus Sakey Page B

hanging out, one occasion at a time they would “forget” to invite him. He’d never be able to get with Jenn, tell her how he felt, not after this. Once again Alex would look like the hero, tall and muscular and decisive.
    He thought back to that pudgy asshole laughing at him. Holding up his ring, talking about how much his shirt cost. One more person certain he could put Mitch in his place.
    “It’s OK.” Jenn gave him a shallow smile. “Really.”
    He stared at her. Had a weird feeling he’d only gotten once or twice in his life, the sense that he was facing a clear fork in the road. Go left, go right, either way, never stand here again. Either enroll in community college or else take the job his uncle had lined up for him as a doorman; good money in tips, just something to do for a little while. Watch ten years pass in a blink.
    “We’ll need clothes,” he said. “Not our own. We should get them at a thrift store, so they’re used. And shoes too.”
    “Mitch?” Alex raised an eyebrow.
    “Different sizes than we wear. Double up socks, or jam our feet into them. Also used. That way they’ll have different wear patterns.”
    “Wear patterns?”
    “The marks on the bottom. If we leave footprints, they won’t match our shoes either in size or marking.”
    Jenn was staring at him, something happening to her smile. Depth and warmth filling in what had been a façade. Depth and warmth and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of admiration.
    He pulled out his chair and sat back down.
    “You sure about this?” Alex spoke quietly. “If you’re in, you’re in. No backing out.”
    “Fuck you.” Saying it, he felt cool, strong. He stared the bigger man down. Alex leaned back, raised his hands.
    “OK,” Ian said. “What else?” He had the same sparkle in his eyes as when he’d talked about playing blackjack, splitting nines all night.
    “A lot of little details,” Alex said. “And one big one. We need guns.”
    “No other way?” Jenn asked. “What about knives?”
    “No. The point is to scare him silly and act fast. He’s not going to be scared of a couple of guys with steak knives. Not for the kind of money we’re talking.” He paused. “What about those replicas that shoot pellets? They look real. There’s even a law they need to have a big orange tip because cops were shooting kids. We could buy a couple, paint the front part . . .” Alex trailed off.
    “What about a gun fair? They still have those in the South, don’t they?” Jenn looked around. “We could take a road trip.”
    The discussion was so ludicrous that Mitch almost laughed. All that tough talk, all for nothing. Some criminals they were. Now that they came to the hard facts, it was obvious that they couldn’t handle it. He relaxed, knowing the whole thing was about to be scrapped.
    Then Ian spoke quietly.
    “I can take care of the guns.”

CHAPTER 8
    Y EAH BABY YEAH. It was on.
    Ian had that magic tingle, the edge-of-life feeling, when for a second he could almost see past the world and into the machinery that ran it: the man behind the curtain, the gears that powered the watch, the silicone that made the model. Perfect how things had worked out. Just when life was getting a little too serious, wham, out of nowhere, this impossible opportunity. With a simple night’s work, he’d be even. More than.
    “Here is fine,” he said to the cabbie and passed a twenty forward.
    “Here” was a Milwaukee Avenue corner too far south to be fashionable, a bleak stretch of shops with Spanish signs in the window offering financing no matter the credit. Tucked between a Popeye’s Chicken and a payday loan place was a depressingly well lit bar. Half a dozen patrons sat in silence, ogling the back wall, where six-packs and fifths were available for purchase at liquor store prices. None of them even turned when Ian stepped in.
    He glanced at the bartender, nodded, then walked through the back door and into a narrow vestibule. A security