Sins & Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1) (25 page)

I scoured the gas station, looking for anything out of the ordinary. We were literally in the middle of nowhere and Vidal Junction was nothing but a ghost town that sat on all four corners of Highway 62 and 95. It kind of gave me the creeps but at least the lack of traffic and people made spotting
the unusual easier. And aside from a family who was bitching at each other as they climbed out of their overheating station wagon, there was nothing strange.

Satisfied, I took out my own phone and checked it. I wanted to check in with Uncle Jim, just to make sure he was okay. The last text I sent him was just thanking him for all his hospitality and that I was off seeing friends on the coast
, and that maybe I’d see him again real soon. Short and sweet. He had responded with “Take care, Ellie.”

This time I texted:
Hey Uncle Jim, how are things going?

I waited for a bit
, and when the gas was done, I put the phone away. I hoped he’d answer soon with a “Fine, how are you?” but perhaps he was out in the palm groves helping with the harvest. It was sunny here in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, but things had cooled down in Palm Valley, which always made harvesting easier.

“Ready to go?” Camden asked as he came out of the store, holding a bag full of crap. I didn’t know what was in it, but you c
ouldn’t buy anything except crap at a gas station.

I slipped on my shades. “Yep. You buy out the store?”

“Food for the road,” he explained, getting in his side.

I eased
in, careful of the leather seats and grateful for the shade above the gas pumps. He opened the bag to reveal packages of beef jerky, Corn Nuts, Doritos, Combos, sunflower seeds, sour berries, honey mustard pretzels, Reese’s Pieces, a few cans of Red Bull, and a banana. “The banana is for you,” he said.

“Fuck that, give me the Corn Nuts.” I reached in and snatched it out, along with the sour berries and a can of Red Bull. Who the hell eats a banana when they’re on the run?

I put The Dead Weather’s
Horehound
on the mp3 and the dissonant chords of “Treat Me Like Your Mother” came blaring out of the speakers.

“Getaway soundtrack?” Camden asked as we zoomed onto Highway 95 and headed north toward hills of craggy red rock.

“Gotta have fun when you can,” I told him with a smile. The getaway was the best part. It was the only time I felt remotely free. I started singing along with the song, doing my best Alison Mosshart impression, which I must say was pretty good. I’d perfected her a long time ago; seemed I was always running from something.

“Look me in the eye now, you want to try and tell a lie?” I sang.

And to my surprise, as soon as Jack White’s vocals started, Camden jumped right in. I eyed him appreciatively, impressed that he knew the words. Soon we were singing, shouting, shaking our heads, spelling out the word “Manipulate.”

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

The sing-along continued until just past the town of Needles. It was nice to pretend we were just taking a road trip or something, fiddling with a playlist and fighting over who got to eat what junk food. It some ways, it felt as natural as the date we had gone on, as natural as the friendship we once had. But, as Mosshart and White had sung, it was all a lie. And it was too late for anything else.

We pulled into a deserted rest area that consisted of a public restroom that had seen better days, a patch of brown grass
, and picnic tables surrounded by a chain link fence that protected the place from the barren wasteland beyond it. 

“I need to stretch my legs,” I told him, shutting off the car and walking with my arms above my head over to the picnic tables. The sun was lower in the sky but it was still hot as hell. I brought out my cell and checked to see if Jim had gotten back to me. He hadn’t. Okay, now I was starting to worry.

“What’s wrong?” Camden asked, approaching me. He looked so sincere and concerned, like a sexy, worried nerd. There weren’t too many like that.

I straightened out my back and put my phone away. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You mean besides the very, very obvious?”

“Haven’t heard back from Uncle Jim yet,” I said softly.

He walked up to me and grabbed my hand, squeezing. He peered down at me, and with the way his eyes glinted behind his glasses, I had another one of those flashbacks to high school.

“He’ll be fine,” he told me.

“How do you know? Usually he texts me back right about now.”

“I don’t know. But I choose to believe he’ll
be fine, because as selfish as this sounds, we need to worry about us right now. Worrying means nothing if we’re dead.”

“Are you scared?” I asked him.

“I’m fucking terrified, Ellie,” he said. From appearances he looked so strong and put together—tattoos will add toughness to anyone—but I knew better than that.

“Me too.”

“We might be scared of the same thing.”

“You should be afraid of the people whose money you just stole, not Javier. If he ever catches up to us, there’ll be no more us. He only wants me
, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep you out of it.”

He stroked his chin in bemusement. “I was pretty sure you’d bring me down with you.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not my style.”

“Well, I haven’t seen any car for quite some time, let alone the same car. I think it’s safe to say he’s not following us. Do you mind telling me where we are going?”

“Laughlin, Nevada,” I said, deciding to trust him a little. Besides, I still had his phone and I’d keep watching him like a hawk.  I pulled my hand out of his and walked back to the car. He followed behind me.

“Doing some gambling?”

“We are. Just try not to bet the house.”

***

The Avi Resort and Casino was just outside of Laughlin in Nevada at the weird corner where the state met California and Arizona. It wasn’t anything fancy, just one of those big interchangeable casino resorts that you could find on any Nevada highway. The Avi though, had a casual atmosphere and was popular with families thanks to its sprawling pool and the mighty Colorado River which swept past their private, manmade beach. The casino also paid out pretty well and was the perfect place for two ordinary twenty-somethings like ourselves to win big.

Of course, we probably wouldn’t be winning anything. We’d be losing. But this was the first step toward getting Camden’s money cleaned. He could keep the money in cash if he wanted, but it was extremely risky and dangerous, far too easy to lose, and if he wanted to start a legitimate life again, he’d need clean money in a bank account.

After we secured a modest room at the resort, we’d head to the cashier and exchange $5,000 in cash for the same amount on their electronic card. Smaller casinos like this tended to ask questions if you handed them high amounts, but it didn’t mean people weren’t doing this every day and legitimately. Then we’d gamble for a bit, hopefully losing not more than a hundred dollars—easy to avoid if you just stick to the penny slots—then call it a day and cash in. They give you a check, you deposit the check into your bank account as casino earnings. Your money has been cleaned.

Rinse and repeat.

“Are you sure this will work?” Camden asked as we locked our hotel door and walked down the dim hall that, despite the non-smoking policy, still smelled like years and years of built-up smoke and nicotine. You could probably lick the walls and get a bit of a buzz going.

“It will work,” I told him. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“When was the last time you were here? You’ve only been of age for five years.”

I looked at him oddly. “I was nineteen
the last time I left California. Stopped here on the way out. And it’s called a fake ID, something you should know about, Connor Malloy.”

“I’m not Connor Malloy until I get the
Social Security Card,” he pointed out.

“As soon as I know where we’ll be next week, then you’ll get your card
,” I told him.

We took the elevator down to the main floor and were barraged with casino sounds
: blips and bleeps, bells, chimes, the pull of the lever on older models, the smack of buttons on newer ones. A waitress walked by, the ice rattling in the drinks that sat on her tray. Camden quickly plucked one off the tray and slipped the woman a dollar.

“I think I need this,” he told me before downing it. We both needed a drink. Several. But first things were first.

We went over to the cashier and I smiled at the petite, round-faced Asian girl on the other side.

“Hi, I’d like to exchange some cash for a card,” I told her with a bright smile, noting her nametag which said “Cammie.” I reached into my purse and slid a wad of crisp bills toward her.

She eyed the wad, then me, then Camden, then the cash again.

“It’s five thousand dollars,” I told her. “Thank god for alimony, right?”

I thought that would bring a smile to her lips but no such luck.

“I’ll be right back,” she said sternly and disappeared with my money. Well, our money.

Camden leaned into my ear, whispering, “This isn’t going well, is it?”

I turned my head slightly, almost shivering when his lips caught the corner of my ear. “Some people are more suspicious than others. It happens.”

When she came back, she was with a thin, balding man with a giant grey mustache. Her manager, no doubt.

“Hello
, miss?” the man said, leaning toward the bars. Cammie crossed her arms, watching him intently. “May I see some ID?”

They really had no right to ask for ID at this stage in the game
—it was usually when you were cashing out and for over ten thousand dollars’ worth. But I wasn’t about to argue. I had a clean record, and I knew by law that where I got the money was none of their business.

“
Sure,” I said, flipping open my wallet and bringing it out. He took it from me under the bars and peered at it closely. I felt Camden tense up beside me. Technically the ID was forged. I mean, it was my old ID, my real one, but I had to add a new photo and change the expiration date on it. It was set to expire next year. Anything later and the card would have been too old to have been issued to me.

“Is there a problem?” I asked as he kept flipping it over. I almost added “officer” at the end of that but didn’t want to piss him off.

“No, no,” he said quickly, sliding the ID back to me. “Just haven’t seen that type of license for a long time.”

“I know,” I said, peering at my picture. “Mine expires next year
. I’m kind of sad to get the new issue. Plus I really like my picture in this one. It’s rare you get a driver’s license that you’re not embarrassed of, you know?”

Cammie nodded appreciatively and I knew I’d won her over. The man gave me an apologetic smile. “Have fun at the Avi resort,” he said and walked away.

Her smile matched his now. “Sorry about that. We have to take precautions when large amounts come in.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked innocently. “I always thought it was over ten thousand dollars.”

“That’s by law,” she told me. “Every casino has their own policy. All the casinos in Laughlin are pretty much the same, too.”

Oh, great. Well it looked like we would
n’t be staying here very long.

She walked away and I could tell Camden was just itching to tell me something. Instead he sucked back the rest of his drink and tossed it in the trash. When Cammie came back, she had the card in her hands and slipped it to me.

“Good luck,” she said, and immediately smiled for the next customers who were standing behind me.

As we walked away, Camden grabbed my elbow and pulled me to him. “Who was that?” he whispered.

“Who?” I asked, playing dumb.

“That Ellie Watt. I know the real Ellie Watt and she’s not that much of a people person.”

“Which Ellie do you prefer?” I asked teasingly.

He stopped walking and pulled me closer to him, staring down into my eyes.

“Whichever one I’ve got.”

I felt a blush coming on as his stare intensified. I couldn’t help but stare back, trapped in his eyes. Thankfully a loud beep came from my phone, making both of us jump and interrupting the weird aspect of our relationship that kept cropping up like a weed.

I quickly fished it out of my purse, heart racing, hoping it was Uncle Jim.

It was. “Fuck, finally,” I cried out, opening the message.

Uncle Jim said:
Not much, what’s new with you? Hope you’re staying out of trouble.

Camden’s forehead wrinkled as he read it over my shoulder. “Staying out of trouble? Does he know something?”

I smiled with relief. “No, he’s always telling me to stay out of trouble.”

“And you never listen, do you?”

“Nope. Though I’m starting to think he might be on to something.”

I quickly texted him back, telling him I was just checking in and that the weather was gorgeous in Santa Barbara. Then I put it and part of my worry away. Now came a little bit of fun. Like the getaway, you had to find it where you could.