Read Online Matchstick Men: A Novel About Grifters With Issues by Eric Garcia - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eric Garcia
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seem right, but he didn’t tell him. Maybe once it’s over, Roy figures. Maybe then, when he’s already met his daughter—Angela—when he’s already met Angela, then he can tell his partner about her. That he’s got a kid. Until then, Frankie thinks he’s at a regular appointment with the shrink. That kind of thing he understands. Frankie’s mom was a good lady, a real nice lady who made them eat until they burst and never said a bad word about anybody. Then, five years ago, she started seeing things, screaming at the walls. Yelling at Roy when he’d come over, cursing at him. Calling him names. Talking filthy. So Frankie understands about shrinks. About pills. He just might not understand Roy having a daughter, that’s all. It can wait.
He takes a seat on a bench, wiping off the bird shit with ahandkerchief. Roy put on one of his best suits for this day, black with a yellow tie. The shirt is loose on him, bunching up at the waist where more of his stomach used to be. The collar is loose, too. Usually it pinches his neck, cuts off his air. Today, there’s an inch of space up there. Roy needs some new shirts, he knows, but he likes the feel of these big ones. Likes to feel the space.
Families running through the park. Kids running from their dads, laughing, screaming. Roy wonders if he missed that. Doesn’t feel like he did, but he knows he should. Maybe once she gets here, Angela will want to be chased around. What if she asks him to carry her piggyback? Roy doesn’t know what he’ll do.
As he waits, Roy takes stock of the other people in the park. A few singles, like him, walking along by themselves, jogging, bird-watching. For each one, he instantly comes up with the perfect con. Can’t help himself. The lady over by the duck pond would be an easy touch for the covered-message scheme. Young man under the tree, a perfect setup for the Spanish Prisoner. Run the twenties on any of ’em. Roy thinks Klein would fall for nearly any con he ran. Shrinks play analytical, but they’re the easiest touch of all. Roy wonders what Angela’s hook will be. Is she the kind of girl who’d fall for long-con? Is she the kind of girl who’ll take off on short? Would she rat? Would she fold? Until he knows these things about her, he won’t understand her. After he knows these things about her, there’s no need to understand her. He feels good today.
A sedan pulls into the parking area fifty feet away, and Roy knows without looking that it’s Klein’s car. It’s the kind of thing he would drive, the kind of thing a man in his situation wants to drive. Not too flashy, but comfortable. Proper.
Dr. Klein steps out of his car, sees Roy, and waves. Roy waves back. The windows on the car are tinted, but Roy can see a wash of hair inside the passenger seat. Heather’s hair. Long, thick. For a moment, Roy thinks Klein’s brought his ex-wife along, and suddenly he’s off the bench, on his feet, looking for a tree, a bush, as the vomit rises in his throat—
A girl. Not Heather, just a girl. She steps out of the car, long auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. Shorter than Heather, better posture. Delicate features, pert nose, eyebrows arched in confidence. Slim figure, long legs for her height, budding breasts, and Roy thinks how beautiful she’ll be when she’s all grown-up, that she’ll be just the kind of girl that he likes. He stops. Closes his eyes, shuts it out. Daughter. She’s his daughter.
When he looks up again, they’re closing in. Angela walks next to Klein, not shy, not overly anxious, just walking. She catches Roy’s eye and smiles, her lips turning up, dimples poking in. Roy tries to find something of himself in her. The ears, maybe. The lips. He’s not sure. He doesn’t know his own face that well.
“The traffic,” Dr. Klein begins, looking at his watch, “it was … there was a mess down at the station.”
“No matter,” says Roy. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You haven’t been waiting
He takes a seat on a bench, wiping off the bird shit with ahandkerchief. Roy put on one of his best suits for this day, black with a yellow tie. The shirt is loose on him, bunching up at the waist where more of his stomach used to be. The collar is loose, too. Usually it pinches his neck, cuts off his air. Today, there’s an inch of space up there. Roy needs some new shirts, he knows, but he likes the feel of these big ones. Likes to feel the space.
Families running through the park. Kids running from their dads, laughing, screaming. Roy wonders if he missed that. Doesn’t feel like he did, but he knows he should. Maybe once she gets here, Angela will want to be chased around. What if she asks him to carry her piggyback? Roy doesn’t know what he’ll do.
As he waits, Roy takes stock of the other people in the park. A few singles, like him, walking along by themselves, jogging, bird-watching. For each one, he instantly comes up with the perfect con. Can’t help himself. The lady over by the duck pond would be an easy touch for the covered-message scheme. Young man under the tree, a perfect setup for the Spanish Prisoner. Run the twenties on any of ’em. Roy thinks Klein would fall for nearly any con he ran. Shrinks play analytical, but they’re the easiest touch of all. Roy wonders what Angela’s hook will be. Is she the kind of girl who’d fall for long-con? Is she the kind of girl who’ll take off on short? Would she rat? Would she fold? Until he knows these things about her, he won’t understand her. After he knows these things about her, there’s no need to understand her. He feels good today.
A sedan pulls into the parking area fifty feet away, and Roy knows without looking that it’s Klein’s car. It’s the kind of thing he would drive, the kind of thing a man in his situation wants to drive. Not too flashy, but comfortable. Proper.
Dr. Klein steps out of his car, sees Roy, and waves. Roy waves back. The windows on the car are tinted, but Roy can see a wash of hair inside the passenger seat. Heather’s hair. Long, thick. For a moment, Roy thinks Klein’s brought his ex-wife along, and suddenly he’s off the bench, on his feet, looking for a tree, a bush, as the vomit rises in his throat—
A girl. Not Heather, just a girl. She steps out of the car, long auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. Shorter than Heather, better posture. Delicate features, pert nose, eyebrows arched in confidence. Slim figure, long legs for her height, budding breasts, and Roy thinks how beautiful she’ll be when she’s all grown-up, that she’ll be just the kind of girl that he likes. He stops. Closes his eyes, shuts it out. Daughter. She’s his daughter.
When he looks up again, they’re closing in. Angela walks next to Klein, not shy, not overly anxious, just walking. She catches Roy’s eye and smiles, her lips turning up, dimples poking in. Roy tries to find something of himself in her. The ears, maybe. The lips. He’s not sure. He doesn’t know his own face that well.
“The traffic,” Dr. Klein begins, looking at his watch, “it was … there was a mess down at the station.”
“No matter,” says Roy. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You haven’t been waiting
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