Chapter Twenty Three

As Monica drove down 71 North, the purse on the passenger seat next to her seemed to be staring at her. She picked it up and threw it on the floor in the back seat. Monica glanced at herself in the flip-down mirror of her sun visor.

Same old Monica, a voice in her head commented. When are you going to learn? You won’t get away with doing wrong. You made a commitment to God, remember?

“Oh shut up.” Monica said aloud and flipped the mirror back up. “I know what I’m doing. I just have to be quick is all. No talking to anyone, no looking around, no lingering. Just in and out. I can do this. Besides, it’s not like I can just drive to Tim’s house and tell him what I did.”

Why not? The voice in her head asked again.

“Don’t start with me, Conscience. I’m not really in the mood. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

She pulled up her black tube top and let out a deep breath. Usually when she went downtown she didn’t plan on coming home until the next afternoon. Or later. Well, tonight would be different. She just needed this money and then she’d work on living right. Surely God could understand that.

Twenty minutes later she pulled up outside the familiar bar. She’d have to go inside and find Boss. She put her car in park and took several deep breaths before she decided to make her way to the dimly lit entrance.

The beat of the music spilled out the door into the street, as did the sounds of laughter and clinking glass. Several men whistled and called out to her as she passed.

“Later guys.” She called over her shoulder. “First I need to take care of some business.” She winked at them and waved, then headed inside.

You really like the way they look at you? The way their eyes are hoping to get a glimpse of something more than a smile?

She shrugged off the remark her conscience made and walked through the noisy crowd to the room farthest back in the bar. Familiar faces lingered somewhere behind the haze of smoke. The smells of alcohol and tobacco laced with who knew what met Monica head on.

Scantily clad women, not unlike Monica herself, were draped across various men on the beat up furnishings. Monica averted her gaze and stepped through another doorway covered in long strands of beads, finding the man she was looking for.

Boss was sitting at a counter with a band around his arm and a needle in his hand, getting ready to shoot up. Two other guys were talking and playing cards at a nearby table. A woman in a bustier, fishnets and a micro mini was bringing them drinks from a private bar. Monica approached him from the side and waited until he looked her way before speaking.

“Hey Doll. I was just thinkin’ about you, wondering where you been the past coupla days. I heard rumors that you got religion.” He gave her an appreciating glance, taking in her minimal clothing. “But I can see they was mistaken.” He laughed.

Monica pulled at the short length of her mini skirt and crossed her arms casually. “So, I got somethin’ for ya. I know how much you like baseball, and I need the money. I know how much it’s worth, so don’t try to con me. Just pay up and I’ll be on my way. I got things to do.” Monica hoped she sounded convincing.

“Baseball, huh?” At this Boss put the needle down and looked expectantly at her. It was the one thing he loved more than getting high. “So, let me see.” He demanded.

Monica rummaged in her purse and pulled out the baseball. Boss’ eyes widened when he saw the inscription, ‘Ty Cobb July 16, 1949’. He recovered quickly, and loosened the band on his arm, but Monica knew he was pleased with the ball. She’d get at least the six hundred dollars she wanted.

“Well, how do I know this is an original?” Boss looked over the ball, examining it carefully.

“Do I look like the kind of person who would willingly cross you? You know me better than that, right? I just know what you like, know what I need, and thought we could make a deal. If you’re not interested…” Monica plucked the ball from his hand and started to leave.

“No, wait. I was just checking. I don’t want no bogus materials cluttering up my display. You know how it is. So, where’d you get it?” He reached again for the ball, then walked around the counter. He stooped down, obviously opening the safe. He placed the ball inside, then stood with a couple stacks of bills in his hands.

Monica tried not to look at the pile of money while she answered. “I prefer not to reveal my sources. You know, can’t have everyone getting in on my stuff. A girl has to keep some things secret. What’s my pay?”

Boss laughed and handed her the money. “I’ll give you eight thousand for it and no more. I need this ball, but seeing as how you’re desperate I won’t pay market value. Like I ever do.” He laughed at his comment before continuing. “And I’ll throw in a little somethin’ extra.” He handed her a bag of coke. “Thanks Doll. You can get back to your “business” now while I get back to mine.” He re-tied his arm, then picked up the needle.

Monica breathed a sigh of relief as she stuffed the money in her purse. She left the room before Boss could prick his skin with the needle. She shuddered and tried to make her way back to the exit, but was grabbed at the waist from behind by a pair of strong hands.

“I knew you wouldn’t last. It’s not so easy as all that to walk away now is it?” She immediately recognized the warm, intoxicated breath on her neck. Joe was here living it up just like he did every weekend. “Welcome back, Pet. What can I do for you?”

Joe moved his hands over her body, and kissed her neck. Monica did her best to keep her cool, though she wanted to punch him in the face. She wriggled from his embrace and faced him. “Sorry Joe, I don’t have time. I just stopped in to see Boss for a minute. I had some unfinished business. Oh, and here.” She dug in her purse and pulled the money she owed him from the pile. “Here’s what I owe you. I believe we’re now even.”

Joe looked at the money, then shouted “A round for everyone on me!” Then he disappeared into the crowd and noise.

Monica took the opportunity to work her way back to the entrance and step out into the cool of the evening. She blew kisses at the men standing by the door, then walked to her car. She stopped in the middle of the street, caught by Tim’s hard gaze.

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“What are you doing here?” Monica demanded. He was the last person she wanted to see right now. She was still mad at him for his comment earlier in the afternoon.

Tim walked around to her driver’s side door and leaned against it, preventing her entrance. “I should ask you the same thing.” His jaw was tense, and he looked furious. “What do you think you’re doing here? Is this what you had to ‘think about’ so you couldn’t come to church tonight?”

Monica was extremely uncomfortable with his being there, and felt almost naked with her lack of clothing. She tried to cover her body by hugging herself, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. She didn’t know what to say, so she lashed out in anger.

She put her hands on her hips before striking out. “Were you following me? What, did you do a stakeout on the street, waiting for me to leave so you could see where I was going? A lot of trust you put in the people you try to help. How do you have the time to follow everyone, don’t you have a job?”

“That’s not what happened. I stopped by to see if you had eaten, and if you were feeling alright. And, I came to confront you about the baseball you stole from my house. Before I could cut the engine and get out of my car, you were backing out of the driveway. So I followed you. I thought if you were going out to eat we could talk. Guess I was way off. So, where is it?” His face was stone cold, and he expected an answer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Monica lied. “You’re the one who wanted to go to your place after lunch, not me. All I did was look, then sat on the couch. Maybe you lost the baseball.”

Tim laughed. “Right. ‘Cause I usually take it to practice with me when I’m coaching the T-ball team.” He narrowed his eyes. “That ball belonged to my grandfather. It was signed by Ty Cobb on my Grandad’s birthday. Do you have any idea how much it means to me? What did you do with it?”

Monica winced. Of course the ball would have sentimental value to someone like Tim. He didn’t have it just because it was worth money. His family had cared about him. His father had kept those things for him. They were all Tim had left, since his parents were both dead.

Monica was finally overcome by guilt. She lowered her eyes to the ground before replying. “I sold it. I needed the money. I didn’t know it was worth so much, or that it meant so much to you.” She dug the rest of the money out of her purse and thrust it toward him. “Here, take it.”

Tim looked wide eyed at the money, then Monica. “You think I want that money? I want the ball. Did you sell it to someone in there?” he said, gesturing with disgust to the bar. “You have to get it back. Now.” He grabbed her by the arm, meaning to force her back across the street.

Monica was surprised at his reaction and fought against it. “That’s impossible! I sold it and got eight thousand dollars for it. Eight thousand dollars. You can’t go in there demanding it back. He’ll kill you. The guy I sold it to was just shooting up. He won’t be in his right mind.” Monica’s look was pleading. She didn’t want to be made a fool, and surprisingly, didn’t want Tim hurt either.

Tim looked her over, as if to verify the truth of her statement. He dropped her arm, walked to his car, and opened the door. He nodded to the passenger side. “Get in.”