“Lambert got a Benz.”
“What?”
“Lambert won a Benz in a poker game.”
“Bullshit. He’s so full of shit. No one stakes a Benz in a poker game. Not in this neighborhood, or probably anywhere.”
“No, he won enough money in a poker game that he bought a Benz.”
Harrimore started shredding the wrapper to his Hostess Pie with some pie still left in it.
“Lambert owes me money. He owes my sister money. He owes his PO restitution money and he’s gotta piss in a cup until he pays. He’s got no business buying a Benz.”
Harrimore grabbed his Water and Sewage department coat. Looked at the cloth tag. P. Harrimore.
Tossed that jacket on the chair and grabbed a Mopar windbreaker. No name on it.
“Where ya going?”
“Going to Lambert’s to tell him he’s gotta pay me and Heather our money. Even if he’s gotta sell the Benz.”
“I think he got the Benz thinking you guys wouldn’t stoop to trying to repossess it from him. But if someone told you he had cash--”
“Someone just did. You. Benz is worth cash.”
“It’s used.”
“I don’t give a fuck. If it has an engine and four wheels and that weird little logo ornament, it’s worth enough to pay me and Heather back.”
Harrimore left Reese in his apartment and drove to Lambert’s.
There was no Benz in the parking lot of the little brick row of meth apartments.
No tweakers around. Three cars, only one looked like it ran.
Lambert’s door was cracked open, TV was on.
Harrimore said “Lambert” loud as he pushed the door all the way open.
Lambert was on an old recliner. He had had two cigarettes in his mouth, only one was lit.
His feet were up, the bottom of his white socks were filthy and his knuckles were bleeding.
A sandwich bag of ice was on the floor like it had fallen and Lambert hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.
“Where’d ya hide the Benz, Lambert? I want my money.”
“Lopez took it.”
“Took it where? Why?”
“Took it, took it. I owe him money. I wouldn’t sign it over to him because it’s worth more than I owe him. We fought, he took it.”
Harrimore tapped an empty two-liter with his toe and it spun across the worn linoleum floor.
“He can’t sell it without your signature if you own it.”
“Says he’s keeping it. Says his cousin can get an insurance certificate on it .”
“He ain’t keeping it,” Harrimore said.
Lambert smiled like a little kid when he first hears the ice cream truck song.
“You gonna talk to him?”
Harrimore sneered.
“Yeah, I’m gonna talk him into bringing it back here so you can sign it over. Lopez ain’t keeping it. Lopez owes me money too.”
***
Photo by Keenan Constance on Unsplash
And that's how the world keeps turning
Biblical. Robbing Lopez to pay Harrimore. Or something along those lines. Nice one.