Jimmy stood at the side door next to his garage, staring out sullenly at Frank and Robbie. Today was hot as all fuck and the last thing he wanted was to let any of that heat into his nice cool place. The second last thing he wanted to do was listen to them try to convince him yet again to go along with this dumb scheme of theirs.
"You gonna invite us in, or what?" Robbie took a drag of his cigarette and chucked it onto the rock hard dirt.
"I have to get to work." Jimmy had run out of cigarettes earlier, but was too proud to bum one. He sure could use one, though. And the one burning on the ground by his feet still good inch on it. Damn, how fucking low was he gonna sink in this life? He'd be wearing rags and pushing a shopping cart around by the end of the year at this rate.
Frank mashed the cigarette stub under his polished black Oxfords. Asshole. "I called in sick for you. I know how much you love washing dishes and all, but–"
"For something Rebecca cooked up? Hell no." He was about to close the door again when Frank blocked it with his foot.
"You know, wherever Rebecca goes, Jeannie goes too."
Jimmy's pulse raced at the sound of her name. "Whatever. You're trying to tell me she's in on this?"
"She's making us some uniforms, and she's going to be eye candy for the security cameras the night of our production." As he spoke, Robbie traced a woman's hourglass figure in the air with his fingers: "Just think of her all dolled up in some cute little number she sewed up..."
Without wanting to, Jimmy began picturing Jeannie stretched out on his couch, wearing his favourite, her lacy low-cut black dress with red ribbon trim, beckoning him to her. Many lonely nights he'd drifted off to sleep with that same image lounging around in his mind.
"With this jackpot you could afford to take real good care of her too," Robbie said.
Steve barged into Jimmy's reverie, crawling onto the couch, lying on top of her, legs in sheer black stockings wrapping around him, him kissing her while she gave Jimmy the middle finger.
"Jimmy!" Robbie snapped his fingers in front of his face.
Gazing around his barren living quarters, he let out a deep sigh, mulling that question from earlier in his mind. He was still alive, but ... what for? He was stuck in a crappy job that left him too tired to look for a better one. Every woman he met had nothing on Jeannie in any which way he could think of; not her brains, not her wit, not her looks, not her sweetness (when she wanted to be sweet, that was), nothing. His dad had died young. His momma was gone too. He'd never had siblings or grown up around cousins and even his oldest childhood friends had abandoned him. He had no money and no prospects for getting money unless he took the biggest gamble of his life.
To the sounds of Dick Dale's wailing guitars he pictured himself racing toward a getaway van, cops on his tail, blue and red lights flashing from a dozen cars and armored trucks. One last look over his shoulder and they'd raised their rifles and begun firing at him. Down he went. Then Jeannie was crouched over him, smoothing his hair away from his face, kissing his forehead, tears streaming from her eyes, telling him she'd always loved him and only him while he took his gasping, dying breaths. What a way to go. "Fuck it. Hail of bullets it is. I'm in."