The Retirement Plan

Chapter 21

"Last time I saw you," Reggie said to Miley, sat on the couch opposite him, wearing a Celtics jersey that stopped halfway down her tanned thighs. "You were wearing a short, sparkly number."

"After all that rain," Miley said, giving him a cute grin. "It looks like a pit bull wiped its arse with it. So, Ricky lent me this."

"We're on first name basis I see." Reggie maintained a smile, his eyes turning on Ricky. Ricky sat there scratching his bedhead, like the kid who got caught making out with the preacher's daughter.

"I don't know yours, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"C'mon girl, we ain't double-dutching on the curb. No need to play games. I know you know my name be Reggie. See you flinching, like I'm the big bag wolf, but I ain't gonna blow your house down."

"I flinched, because the last person said that name tried to kill me. Lucky for me, Ricky had his gun."

Reggie smirked. "And he still got his gun. Right, Ricky?" Keeping his eyes on Miley, he said, "He got a gun, I got a gun—we all know where we stand." He switched his attention to Ricky. "Another thing we both got is a major problem. Make that two. One that's tied up in my basement. The other who's no-good lying ass is out there among the creatures of the night. And like the song goes, you know he ain't got no self-control." Reggie peeled back the bandage. "Look what his raggedy ass did to my goddamn ear."

Ricky sat forward in his seat. "You need to get that looked at."

"I'm sure prison doctor'll take good care of it, while the prison barber be trimming that wild hair of yours." Ricky nodded, showing he understood. Reggie continued, "So, now we reading from the same page, care to fill me in on the back-story I missed."

Reggie listened as they took turns breaking down the situation for him, Ricky going first, Miley jumping in with her first-hand account. Reggie smiled, picking up on something he couldn't believe he had missed, as he eyed her for signs of lying. He waited until she had stopped talking, before saying, "But you don't know he's a cop?"

"I never said that," Miley said, crossing her slender legs as she caught him trying to peek up the wide leg of the white sports shorts she was wearing. "I said he reminded me of a detective."

"Ricky look like Steve McQueen, don't make him the Cincinnati kid. And this guy is American, right?"

"As peanut butter and jelly."

"Ain't no American police working here. They'd have no jurisdiction." Reggie scratched the back of his neck. "None of this is making any sense. Why pay somebody two hundred g's to grab somebody, then, do a Bonnie and Clyde on our car when we ready to make the drop?"

Miley looked confused. "A Bonnie and Clyde?"

"They shot the shit out of it," Reggie said. "With all us inside."

"Vic's dead?"

"Who's Vic?"

Miley did the eye-roll thing. "They guy you kidnapped."

"We didn't kidnap nobody."

Ricky nodded in agreement. "I keep telling her that."

"Well, maybe you should've done," Miley said. "You'd both be P. Diddy rich, and Vic would still be alive."

"Oh, he ain't dead," Reggie said. "He mighty uncomfortable, but he as alive as you and I. Now, go back to that you said 'bout us getting rich."

"He's worth over a hundred million—" She looked back and forth at the two dropped jaws. "Oh, come on, you didn't...you guys are the worst. Didn't even occur to you to google him?"