Jersey Six(28)
Jersey returned a dismissive headshake while focusing on the back of Rex’s head instead of the agitated man next to her. “I don’t like anyone, but definitely not you at the moment.” She stared at her black fingernails. They weren’t entirely awful.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pink-and-gray haired Dani opened Jersey’s door and slipped the pass around her neck. Jersey wondered why anyone would intentionally go gray in their twenties, but Dani’s half long and half buzzed hairdo somehow made it work and even fit her bubbly personality. “Leave your bag. They’ll put it on the bus.”
“She’s not going on the bus,” Rex corrected Dani with more information than Jersey had been given. “If you don’t need anything from inside it, then leave it in the car.”
Jersey hugged her bag tighter.
Before they could usher Chris off in the other direction, he stepped in front of Jersey, lowering his face to her eye level and his voice just above a whisper. “If I’m being an asshole, then you’re being a paranoid bitch. Leave the stupid bag behind.”
She narrowed her eyes, teeth clenched. After a brief and silent stare off, Chris turned and strutted away.
Jersey huffed out a quick breath. “Give me a few seconds.” She slipped into the backseat again and closed the door, grateful for the darkened windows. After sliding her favorite, sheathed knife into her sock and tugging her too-tight jeans back down her leg, she zipped the bag and climbed out.
“We good?” Bubbly Dani asked.
Jersey nodded, feeling naked without her bag, vulnerable hundreds of miles from Newark.
“You ever used a credit card machine?” Dani power walked into the building.
“No.” Jersey clenched her hands several times, contracting the muscles in her arms to draw her shoulders inward as they slid past workers hauling equipment.
“I can show you. Or you can be in charge of the cash. Max suggested it. However, if things don’t balance at the end of the night, it’s on you. Or if someone steals it while you’re running it between stands and backstage … it’s on you.”
“No one will steal anything from me.” Jersey murmured, trying to focus on Dani’s questions, but the chaos split her attention.
“You sure about that?” She shot Jersey a wry grin.
“Positive.”
Dani chuckled. “Let me guess … you take Krav Maga or some type of fitness class that’s given you an overinflated sense of confidence and security.”
“No …” Jersey had no idea what she meant by Krav Maga. “I know how to cut off the hand of anyone who tries to take something from me … or I can simply break their nose, shatter an eye socket, or bust ribs. I’ll decide which fits best if the situation comes up.”
Dani choked on a small laugh, eyeing Jersey for some sort of cue that she might be kidding, but Jersey’s divided attention made her threats sound calm and calculated, like muttering a list of five things she needed at the grocery store.
“O … kay then. You’ll run the money.”
After grabbing coffee and bagels behind the stage being constructed by a massive crew, Dani showed Jersey the locations of the merchandise stands, the order in which she should make her rounds, and where to take the money. Then they set up the stands, taking several more coffee breaks, and a quick lunch of sub sandwiches that arrived around twelve thirty.
“This is my favorite part.”
Jersey jumped as Dani whispered in her ear. She didn’t hear her sneak up behind her as Jersey watched the band trickle onto the stage, sipping drinks and laughing as they messed around.
Dani continued, “Sound checks and a final run through. They try to reconstruct the stage and everything the same way for each concert. But venue sizes vary, so sometimes they have to make minor adjustments. Ian is a perfectionist. I love watching him.”
Jersey liked watching him too.
“Dani? We’re missing hats. Where are they?” One of the other crew members poked his head into the stage floor doorway at the far end of the stage where Jersey stood, entranced by everything.
“Ugh … I’ll be back.”
Jersey nodded slowly, not caring if or when Dani returned.
Could a man who murdered two innocent people stand on a stage, wear a carefree, crooked smile, laugh at jokes, and mess with the strings to his guitar? Jersey couldn’t imagine. She killed a man who was not innocent—a horrible man—but his death plagued her every day. It robbed her of her own innocence. With each smile that tried to form on her lips, the memory of him gurgling his blood, choking on his last breath, haunted her.
“Ask him about his childhood.”
Again, a voice startled her. Jersey turned. “Where are you supposed to be?” She narrowed her eyes at Chris.
“Where are you supposed to be?” He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, scowling at Jersey’s black, Ian Cooper Crew tee that Dani told her to wear. “It’s like you’ve forgotten.” Chris tore his gaze away from her shirt and made eye contact with her.
“I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Killers … they come in many different forms. It’s not just poor people who take lives. Rich people do it too … only they are more likely to get away with it. Nobody wanted to believe the handsome Ted Bundy could be a serial killer … but he was.”