Page 40 of Tangled Up In You
“It seems that our wallets have disappeared,” Ren told the room.
A man with an eye patch, a hook for a hand, and twin tattoos on each of his bare biceps reading BORN TO RIDE and BORN TO DIE stepped forward. “Are you suggesting one of us took ’em?”
“No, of course not,” she said with an innocent smile. “But maybe somebody was traveling just like we are and found themselves in a tough situation. Maybe someone made a bad decision.” Ren shrugged, sincere. “I’ve been there. I’ve stolen before.”
“Stealing Lip Smackers and nail polish at the drugstore don’t count, hon,” a husky female voice yelled from the back of the room.
“Actually, I stole from honest, hardworking people like yourselves. I was thirteen and wanted new paints for Christmas.”
Groaning, Fitz mumbled, “Here we go.”
The roomful of hit men seemed undecided about whether to bury them alive or eat them for dinner, but she did have their attention.
“I begged Gloria—that’s my mother. I did my chores, I did extra chores, I did all my studies, and wrote Santa about a dozen letters.” Fitz didn’t know how, but Ren’s smile appeared, and it was like watching her hand a lollipop to everyone in the room. “But Christmas morning I woke up, and there weren’t any paints for me under the tree. Gloria said I didn’t need them.”
“Gloria sounds like a dick!” someone yelled.
“I mean, you might be right,” Ren said, “but that doesn’t excuse what I did.” She paused. “I went into town the next day and stole some paints from the five-and-dime. Gloria saw me painting that night and knew what I’d done. She made me go back and tell the owners.”
“Kill the narc!” another voice yelled.
“No, come on, we all know she was right,” Ren said, looking out over the room. “I shouldn’t have taken them. Jesse and Tammy are just trying to make a living, same as everyone else out there. I told them what I did, and Jesse let me work stocking shelves for a few hours a day for a week or two to work off the cost of the paints. And when I was done, he even gave me a new set of brushes. My point is that we all make mistakes, but if we’re lucky someone gives us the chance to make it right.”
Fitz truly, deeply wanted the floor to open up and swallow them both.
“Ren,” he whispered. “Cool story. Let’s go.” But she wasn’t done.
“I don’t have much to my name.” Shaking him off, she pulled her belongings from her backpack—some clothes, some paints, a few brushes, a notebook, and a scarf—and bent to set them on the bar. “So I’m gonna send this empty bag around the room,” she said, “and maybe someone will put our wallets back in here. And since I’ve interrupted all your conversations, I’ll tell you a few jokes while you pass it around.”
Oh, good God.
Bending, Ren handed the bag to the man closest to Fitz, who laughed and passed it along without putting anything inside it. This was a nightmare.
“Why did the pig dump her boyfriend?” Ren asked, and got absolutely zero reaction whatsoever. Somewhere behind them, Fitz heard a gun cock. “Because he was a real boar. Get it? Boar? It’s a type of pig!” She laughed at her own joke.
“Sweden,” Fitz urged, feeling nauseated. “Let’s go.”
“Okay, here’s one: What do you call a sleeping bull?”
He was about to lift her bodily off the bar and carry her out to the parking lot when she pointed to the crowd. “Do we have a guess?”
A towering man in a Budweiser hat and with a nose that had probably been broken a dozen times guessed, “A bulldozer?”
“Yes!” Ren crowed, and a few people in the crowd actually laughed. “Okay,” she said, brushing some strands of hair out of her face, “let me try something a little harder. You’re too smart for me. What did the ocean say to the beach?” Around them, people murmured, trying to guess without calling anything out. “Nothing, silly,” she said, laughing. “It just waved.”
There was a collective groan throughout the room, but it was carried on laughter. In the back, someone let out a loud whistle. “Keep it going, kid!”
When Fitz looked back up at her, Ren was backlit from the bar lights, and for a breathless pulse, she looked like a figment from a dream he once had. “I asked my dog what two minus two is. Do you know what he said?” She planted her fists on her hips. “Absolutely nothing!”
More people cheered now, and a woman in the back yelled, “These are terrible! Do more!”
“Why can’t a nose be twelve inches long?” Ren said, and a chorus of bawdy catcalls rose from around the bar. “No, not that, you rascals! A nose can’t be twelve inches long because then it would be a foot!” She took a couple steps down the bar. “That car seems nice—”
And a voice to the side called out, “But the muffler is exhausted!”
The whole bar was laughing now, even the bartender.
“What did the Zero say to the Eight?” she asked, just as the bag made its way back to her feet. “Nice belt!” She glanced down at Fitz when he squeezed her calves. “Knock knock!”