“Uh-huh. Do you have an actual plan?” Olly asked as he turned the ignition off.
“I do. We stay here till Sandy comes and drops the money off. She’ll probably do it after her screen test. She’ll leave; we stay and wait for the asshole to collect.”
“Then what?”
Rich wasn’t exactly sure. “I wring his neck?”
Olly rolled his eyes—they were definitely gray. “I’m sorry, as much as I agree with the sentiment, accessory to homicide would look bad on my résumé.” The kid couldn’t stay serious to save his life. His good mood was like a stick to Rich’s hornet’s nest of gloom.
“You’re a smart-ass, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I have a smart ass, if that’s what you mean,” Olly said, lips curling.
“I didn’t. And stop the fruity stuff,” Rich grumbled.
Olly’s eyes flashed, and now they seemed more green. “Kiss my smart ass. This is my car. I’ll be as fruity as I wanna be.”
“How about doing it in quiet?” Rich suggested in a more or less conciliatory tone.
“Mmph.” Olly tilted his seat back and started to play with his necklace—some bone or animal tooth on a chain. Fruity. But at least he was quiet for now. Rich doubted the peace would last.
It was warm and sunny, but the open windows and a strong breeze kept them from sweltering outright inside the car. Rich leaned his seat back too and stared out the window. From their spot, they had a line of sight on the trashcan in question. Rich swept his gaze over the playground and its surroundings, trying to figure out who the pickup man was, but there were too many possibilities. It was Saturday, and the place was packed. Kids hung from the monkey bars like ripe fruit. Amorous couples and entire families picnicked at the benches and on blankets thrown on the grass. The blackmailer could’ve been anybody—the Latino man with two boys, blonde mom pushing a stroller, the guy sleeping on the grass with a baseball hat covering his face. And, of course, there were kids—swinging, climbing, running around and generally being noisy nuisances.
“What are you thinking?” Olly asked.
“Look at them running around with not a care in the world. Poor little fuckers, they have no idea what’s coming.”
“And what is coming, Rich?”
Rich rolled his head to face Olly. “Tell me, Olly, do you believe in some sort of divine power or fate? Do you think the shitty stuff that happens, twists your life around, has a purpose? Or is it all random and meaningless shit, and we’re simply helpless passengers in a cosmic pile-up?”
Olly bit his lip—seemed to do it when thinking hard; it was most disconcerting. “I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest, but back when I lived at home, we had a neighbor, Jez. A laid-back dude, and oh my God, so sexy—blond, easy smile and a surfer’s body.” His eyes seemed to mist up at the memory.
Rich didn’t really want to know. “You’re going somewhere with this?”
“Yup. Jez told me once, whether you catch the wave or the wave catches you, you have to ride it.”
“Ride the wave?”
Olly nodded. “Yeah, or be the asshole sitting on his board.”
“Did this Jez smoke a lot of weed?”
“Not as much as my parents.”
“You’re nuts, kid.”
“I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-two, I have a job, have my own place, have a car.” Olly didn’t say it was more than Rich could say about himself.
“Hm. Where do you work?” Rich asked, mostly to be polite.
“At FTP.”
“Is it some Internet thing?”
“No. I forget you’re not from around here. It’s a local small grocery store chain. Gourmet meets organic, but not as snooty as it sounds. Most of our produce is local, and the atmosphere is totes relaxed. You can wear Hawaiian shirts to work. Not that I would, but my boss, Roger, he has a whole collection of them—a different one for every day of the month. He gets new ones from his family every birthday and Christmas. He loves the hideous things.”
“You like working there, then?”
Olly considered the question for a moment, then nodded. “I do. I don’t necessarily see myself spending my whole life there, but the pay and benefits are good. Plus, I get to meet a lot of interesting people, especially in the Hollywood store.”
“So you, what, work behind the deli counter or something?”
“It’s not like that. We do a bit of everything—stocking, counter, register, whatnot. It keeps your day from getting stale.”
“What would you do if you could be anything?”