I count the till we'd turned over. Jimmy sits and watches tv. Sweat rolls thick and uninvited from my temple down my cheek like tears. Jimmy laughs at something said on tv. He has a funny laugh. I start over. I could take my ten-grand and make a clean break from him. My eyes cut to the back of his head. The blued steel tempts my fingers. Jimmy takes a drink. I count another bill.
“Louder,” he says and lights a cigarette.
“Ten thousand, like we agreed,” I say.
Ever since Mom died, Jimmy's been taking care of me. Teaching me a trade, but it's obvious I don't have the guts to stick it out in a life of crime. Maybe I'd get caught, maybe not. I could get taken in somewhere, anywhere but with him, because after dark, those scary ladies come. They growl and moan like weird cats. They have red nails and mouths and pretend to like Jimmy.
He's snoring. Finally. I don't think he ever put his cigarette out.
I slip the neat stack of bills he'd promised me into my backpack. Then I take his too.
For once, I don't let the screen door slam as I leave.