01. This Is My Confession

Trying to escape destiny just leads you to it.
— Dandy Bowman

But Ralph Waldo Emerson said it first.
And better.

The future is a promise.

The past is just a lie.

A guy told me that over a bottle of bourbon, on a train. I winced as I took my first swig, and he winked. I told him the liquor tasted evil. He said, “It’s an evil world, innit? But not always.”

We were hitching our way across Northwest Indiana in a boxcar. He was a drifter, but I wasn’t. I was just a girl looking for a way out of a small town.

Then again, maybe I was. A drifter, I mean.

Do it once? It’s a thing you did.

Do it twice? It’s a thing you do.

Do it enough, it becomes what you are.

His name was Lester. The bourbon made him think he was profound. Being young made me think I was profound.

I’m sure you know what I mean.

I asked him what the promise was. The promise of the future. He said, “Fuck if I know what yours is. That’s a promise you make yourself about where you’re goin’. Only you know that. I’m goin’ somewhere better, but not today.”

Thanks for the memory, Les. I hope you got there.

I got off the train in Gary, looking for a fresh start. And freedom. And though it took a while, I found part of it downtown, at a seedy bar called The Grand Cal.

That’s where I found the girl.

She had dark hair and darker eyes, but pale skin. She wasn’t pretty, but neither was I. I could tell she could be, though. She was maybe twenty-two.

I chose her for everything I’m not. Tall. Slender. Redeemable.

I needed her because she was desperate. A desperate person will do desperate things, but I’d never say it that way. Not to her.

She ordered a drink. Whiskey. Neat. I ordered the same. The way she nursed hers said it was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

I told the bartender her sister was buying the next round. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow as she looked my way.

“So, you’re my sister,” she said.

“Let’s grab a booth so we can talk.”

“Listen, sister, I don’t do girls, so...”

“That’s not why I’m here. I just want to talk.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ve got a proposal. By the time you’re done with your drink, you’ll know if you’re int...”

She downed the whiskey and slammed the empty glass on the bar before I could finish the sentence, but it was just for show. She was tired. Not the kind of tired you feel in your bones, but the kind you feel in your soul. I was too, but I was born that way. She earned it.

Didn’t matter. I came ready for a challenge.

“Bartender! Another for sis, on me.”

“Make it a double,” she said.

As she followed me to a booth at the back of the bar, I could tell she was sizing me up.

Good.

It’s good to know when somebody doesn’t trust you.

It’s bad when you think they do and you’re wrong.

Whether or not they should trust you is a fact you keep to yourself.

I figured it made no sense to waste time with small talk, so I hit her with my pitch as soon as her ass hit the seat.

“I’ve got a two-person job that’s worth a lot of money. It requires a prostitute and a thief. I know what you are. I’m a thief.”

That’s a lie.

There’s a difference between what you do and what you are. I don’t deny what I did, but it’s not what I am. And besides, what I am is better than what she is. Or, hell, maybe it isn’t. Maybe that’s a lie too.

Lots of lies were told. We’d just met and there’d already been two. The third came here. And maybe a fourth.

I said, “Look, I deserve better than this, and so do you.”

“You know what I deserve?”

“Okay, I don’t know you, but I know you didn’t wake up one day and say, ‘Hey! I wanna be a hooker!’ And I sure as shit didn’t say I wanna rip people off just to get by, but you do what you gotta do. I know you know that too. People like us dream about a better life. Maybe buy a lottery ticket or something. Well I’m done dreaming and the lottery’s a scam. I’ve got a better ticket out.”

“Girl, you’re so full of shit.”

“Just listen. I’ve got a plan. What I need is a partner. Give me one year and you’ll never have to do what you do for money again. I promise.”

“One year, huh.”

“One year or one million dollars, whichever comes first.”

“Shit.”

“Still listening?”

“Still drinking.”

“Good. Here’s pictures of five guys. What do you see?”

I laid the photos on the table like a dealer at a casino, slapping down cards.

She looked surprised. “What are you, a fucking hipster with those Polaroids?”

“Leave no trace,” I said. “Always film. Never digital. That’s how it’s done.”

“Huh.”

“Look at the guys in these pictures. Tell me about them.”

“Am I supposed to know them?”

“I’m not asking their names. I’m asking what you see. You know what these guys are. Say it.”

“They look like bankers. Or lawyers.”

“Worse.”

“Well, they’re not cops.”

“Keep going. Worse.”

“Worse than cops? Fuckin’ A. What’s worse than that? I guess this asshole looks like one of those... What do you call ‘em? Tech-bros.”

“They’re all tech-bros.”

“Yeah, I knew guys like that back when I was in Chicago.”

I pointed at a picture of a guy in his early 40s, standing in front of a boat he bought with his soon-to-be ex-wife’s money. “This one’s from Chicago.”

“I bet he’s not. He looks like he’s from Naperville. No, Glencoe. Where the rich guys live. He looks like one of those trust fund fucks who got handed everything and thinks he earned it.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, as she rolled her eyes. “He’s a Glencoe tech-bro.”

“Is that a thing?”

“I don’t know. I’m just sayin’, he looks like a phony. Like old money tryin’ to be new. Y’know, the kind of guy that goes into the city to show off, but he doesn’t live there. Probably doesn’t even work there.”

“If you want, he can be first on our list.”

“Our list for what?”

“We’re gonna rob them all, and they’ll never know who did it. They won’t even know how it happened.”

“Bitch, I’m not robbing anybody.”

“You won’t. You and me? We’re gonna pull off the ultimate magic trick. I’m the magic. You’re the trick.”

It was a shitty thing to say, but it felt right at the time.

And now feels like the time to say why I’m telling you any of this.

This is not my story.

This is my confession.

A true one, if you trust the word of somebody who already admitted lying.

But I lied to her, not you, right? That’s gotta count for something.