Book 2 - "Chuck Klosterman"

I tossed his wallet and keys on the bed.

“How much cash.”

“I didn’t check actually.” I jumped onto the bed beside her belly down and looked through the wallet like a teenage girl through her diary. “Fifty dollars.”

“Great.”

“Do we want to know his full name?”

“Oh.” She got up off the bed. “That’s a good question. Do you think he‘s okay?”

“He’s fine. Maybe a bruised or broken rib. That just makes breathing suck for a while.”

“He sings, though. He’s in a band.”

“Really? I would have never guessed.”

“Let’s hear his name.”

I pulled out his ID. He had the same haircut. He looked stoned.

“Jacob Grossman. From Pennsylvania.”

“He said he lived in Philly for a while.”

“That’s cool.”

“Wanna get rid of everything?”

We went downstairs and outside. There was a sewer grate right down the block. I tossed his wallet and phone and all his cards and his keys and held onto the money.

“They don’t search sewers, right?” she asked.

“If they did, that’d be really fucked up.”

We went back upstairs. There was a beer for me in the fridge. I took it out and lifted it in the air.

“To a job well done.” We drank.

We were both pretty excited and elated. I stood there by the fridge and watched her fidget on the bed. I asked how she felt.

“I feel good.”

“I do, too.”

“It worked so well.”

“It did.”

“But…” “Mm?” I asked while sipping my beer.

“Let’s change the plan for next time. I don’t like the acting part. I want to be there when it happens.”

“That’s fair.”

“Next time let’s just do what I suggested. Just roam the outermost edges of the neighborhood for the most vulnerable guys we can find.”

“I like that too. You’d have your mace and I’d have the bat.”

“Yeah.”

“I like that. That can definitely work. I’m really happy we’re doing this. I’m really happy we’re changing things in some weird way.”

“Do you think it will be in the news?” ”It might. It was in a nice part of the neighborhood. You gave a false name?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad we’re doing it, too,” she was nodding rapidly, emphatically, “but I want to be there. I want to be more of a participant. I don’t want to pretend I’m scared. Because I wasn’t scared when it happened. Even if we had messed it up and I ended up in his apartment, I could have maced him. But I want to be there and I want to do it with you. I’m tired of playing victim. I really am.” ”And that’s fair,” I assured her. “That’s very, very fair.”