a dead guy? That’s some messed up shit, Chantal”.
“I know it, but a million bucks? Are you kidding me? I’d fuck anything for a million bucks.”
“So why are you telling me about this?” Liza’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Cuz I can’t do this by myself. Someone has to tape the shit.”
“What’s in it for me?” Liza still looked uncertain.
“Half.”
“Half?”
“Yeah, that’s five hundred thousand for each of us.” Chantal seemed pleased, but Liza still looked skeptical.
“Would I hafta pay taxes on it?”
Chantal threw up her hands in disgust and stood, grabbing the bottle out of the other woman’s hand and taking a big swallow before she began to pace the room, gesturing angrily.
“I don’t know why I even bother with you, Liza. Sometimes you’re so goddamned dumb I can’t stand it. Of course you don’t gotta pay taxes on it. Do you pay taxes on your fuck money?”
“Okay, okay. Calm down. I didn’t say I wasn’t in. I’m just wondering why you would even wanna share it with me. You could always put a camera on the dresser or something.” Liza said.
“I know I could. But for a million bucks he’s gonna want something good. And besides, you’re my only friend—my best friend—and I thought this thing might help us both get our lives together. Get us out of these piece of shit motels and away from blowing nasty fucks for food.”
“I don’t mind blowing nasty fucks so long as they got the money.”
“Never mind. I’ll do it myself. I thought you might want a better life for yourself. We aren’t that young anymore and you can’t turn tricks forever.”
Liza grabbed the bottle back and took a swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The cheap vodka burned its way down her throat, warming her belly and making her flush.
“Drop the drama, Chantal. I’m in. So what we gotta do? I don’t think we can just walk into the morgue and ask to check out all the dead dude’s pricks. It’s not Walmart, I doubt they have a lay-away program.”
“Of course not. We can’t exactly get a mortician to let us fuck one of his corpses, either. Well, probably not. The way I see it, we’re gonna have to make a case of angel lust.”
“Make a case?” Liza was confused again.
“Yeah. I’ve been looking it up and there’s certain ways to die that make it more likely.”
“Whoa! Now just wait a minute.” Liza held up her hands. “You mean you think we’re gonna go around offing dudes in hopes they die with a goddamned hard-on? Are you crazy?”
“It wouldn’t be so hard to do. There’s plenty of bums around that won’t be missed and we can split town as soon as we get the money.”
“Yeah, right. And the second the pigs find the body, they come get us cuz we both have records and our prints are on file for hooking.”
Chantal shrugged and smiled, “So we wear gloves.”
“I don’t know. Fuckin a dead guy is bad enough, but I don’t know if I can actually kill someone, Chantal. That’s pretty fuckin heavy.”
“I know it is, Liza. It’s a big deal, but so is half a million dollars. The cops in this town are too busy to put much time into a dead wino or two, and we can be sitting on some beach a gazillion miles away as soon as we get paid. You know, weed is pretty much legal in Jamaica.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Liza worried at a ragged cuticle. She thought about what it would be like to live in a place where she wouldn’t get picked up for drugs. It would be awful sweet.
“Well I’m gonna contact the perv. You take a couple days and think on whether you wanna be rich or not.”
***
Three days later, Liza and Chantal huddled under an unused bridge sharing a cigarette. A gym bag and a coil of nylon rope sat on the ground between them. It took Liza one whole day to decide she wanted to be rich. Chantal figured the fact she had been roughed up by a john that same night had helped her decide. It was raining out, a fine drizzle that made their bones ache and reminded the hookers they were getting too damn old for this life.
Soon we’ll be living on easy street, Chantal thought, discreetly watching a bum stretched out under the bridge. He’d been there for at least forty-five minutes. He seemed to be passed out.
“Okay. What do we