THUGLIT Issue Twelve by Leon Marks, Rob Hart, Justin Porter, Mike Miner, Edward Hagelstein, Kevin Garvey, T. Maxim Simmler, J.J. Sinisi Page B

his magazine and charged his gun. He lifted his shirt in the back and slid it into his pants. The shotgun was go ne from the corner of the desk.
    Connie motioned to th e bathroom when he saw me look. "Never lets that thing out of his sight."
    The cops exchanged some more w ords. They approached the door.
    " Tate," Connie whispered at the bathroom.
    " Yea?" Tate didn't seem to be in a rush.
    " Company. Sit tight in there."
    An authoritative slap thumped the front door, open -palmed; the force of a man who knocked on hundreds of strangers' doors a year.
    Connie walked up to it. I held my empty hands before him. He shrugged at me. We had the discussion multiple times on the way here. Connie 's handgun and the shotgun Tate refused to relinquish were our only two weapons. Connie liked the idea. Said I had less culpability if I didn't have a weapon. At least that's how he tried to spin it. I knew there was more. I knew he still didn't trust me. And since he didn't trust me, if things went south, and there was no doubt they could, he didn't want to have to account for another gun in the room he couldn't guarantee wouldn't be pointed at him.
    He waved a hand at me to simmer down while he flipped open the bolt lock I had just closed when I came in.
    "Gonna keep us waiting all night or what?"
    The cops entered and Connie stood beside the door.
    "Hey Denton," Connie said, but didn't offer his hand.
    " Officer Denton, Connie."
    " Yea right. Officer's Denton and Salvador, sorry."
    " You're goddamn right. We'll make this quick."
    A rickety wooden chair stood between the entering officers and me. It was hardly protection.
    "Who the fuck are you?"
    " Frances Goatt," I didn't offer my hand, more out of established ceremony than disrespect.
    " Goat?"
    " Yes, like the animal, but with two T's."
    Denton turned to Connie and thumbed a finger at me. His heavy cop jacket caught on the waist and I could tell he was wearing a vest.
    "Just along for the ride," Connie replied to the thumb.
    " I don't like variables."
    " He's not a variable."
    Denton pointed at my chest, his eyes blaring. "You. Get the fuck out. Wait outside until we're done."
    " There's no need for that. This won't take long," Connie tried.
    " Keep your mouth shut, shorty," Officer Salvador this time. He pointed as well, but something about his demeanor, maybe the insult he added to the end of his sentence—or, more likely, his other hand resting on the handle of the gun on his hip, led me to believe he was the most nervous man in the room.
    " I'll leave," I had my hands up, as though Officer Denton's finger could fire at me. Then I remembered; guns were useless without bullets. "I'll be right outside, Connie."
    Connie waved.
    I slipped through, leaving the door ajar and stepping once again into the night. It slammed shut from the inside.
    The fog sprawled and I watched its twisting amorphous shape. Gunshots or a cordial exchange, either was possible now. I wondered which played more to my favor. Sure, a shootout would attract trouble, but I wasn 't in the room to be shot. I could always grab the bags, take the van, and run. But, if Connie made the trade and the cops left, it'd just be me, with no gun, entering a room with two armed men I didn't trust.
    I sat down on the rim of a heavy flowerpot, its dead soil still clutching the skeleton of a hydrangea. Head in hands, I marveled at the weight of my skull, and my brain, and my mind, all the things making the decisions leading me to these moments. I wondered how much control I had over any of it.
    From around the corner I saw her figure first, obscured by the night and the Kansas State Wildcats hoodie she wore. Still though, even with her hands snug in its pocket, her steps were lithe and elegant, a girl, a woman, I guessed, anachronistic to this shitty motel.
    " The Salesman," she said.
    " The Launderer," I replied.
    " The Graduate fits more appropriately."
    " My apologies."
    " I didn't even know they had rooms on this side of the