All the goddamned money.

Every single time.

If it wasn't for the house, I would of probably gone on like I was forever. This house, it was right across the street from the one we lived in. Rented in, I mean. A little house, but real nice. Penny loved it. She always said it was her dream house. The old couple that lived there, they decided to sell out and move down to Florida—the winters here are cold as hell. Penny was always doing things for them—baking them some cookies, even helping the old lady clean when her arthritis got too bad—so they told her she could have first shot at the house. They told her she could have it for fifty–five thousand if she could buy it before they put it on the market. The broker told them to list it for seventy–five, and be prepared to come down to sixty–five. But, the way they figured it, with the broker's commission and all, they could do a nice thing for Penny and still come out just about the same.

When Penny told me about it, she was so excited her face got all red, like when she was a kid. Like how she was when she still believed some of my lies.

All we needed was ten percent down, she said. She already talked to a man at the bank. She didn't make much, but she sure was steady. Hell, before I got laid off, I was, too. All we needed was about six grand, she said. For the down payments and the points or whatever. And all the crap the bank sticks you with when you're up against the wall.

Six grand. Where were we gonna get that? She told me she had almost two grand socked away. She put her face down when she said it—like she was ashamed for holding out on me. You see what I mean about her?

If you counted all the money I wasted chasing horses that wouldn't run and opportunities that did, I probably could have bought Penny the whole house in cash.

The payments would be four hundred and eighty–seven dollars and twenty–six cents a month, Penny told me. "And we're already paying four–fifty, honey," she said.

I hated myself so much that I tried to talk her out of it. I told her we would have to pay our own heat and hot water and taxes and stuff, so it would be a lot more, really. But she said the mortgage, it would always be the same—but the landlord was gonna raise the rent eventually. All landlords do that. So, in the long run, we'd be ahead.

And when we were done working, we'd have a place of our own. The only thing that really scared Penny was being homeless. When she saw a homeless person on the street, she would get so scared…like the person was her in a few more years.

And Penny wanted a garden. The guy who rented the house to us, he wouldn't allow it, don't ask me why.

I never deserved Penny. She should be wearing silk. I get depressed every time I see her dabbing at her stockings with clear nail polish so the runs don't get lower down, where they would show. When I get depressed, I gamble more, that's the kind of real man I am.

I made her old. I made her scared of being homeless. And she never complained.

The only truth I ever told Penny was that I loved her. I was never as big as my own lies—I never caught up to them.

It had to be cash. At least four grand in cash.

All I had was health insurance that was running out and life insurance on a worthless life.

It had to be cash. So I had to break the one promise I always kept. "I can get the money," I told her. "I swear it on my love for you."

"Don't you dare—"

I cut her off. "I won't," I told her. "It's too complicated to explain, girl. But I—"

"Plan B?" she said. But with her sweet smile. Like she still believed in me.

Jesus.

"You just wait and see," I said. I knew I had six days. Six days and five nights. It couldn't be anything big, like a bank. You need partners for that and I didn't know anyone who could handle it. I mean, you're a gambler, you meet all kinds of guys say they do all kinds of things. But, the way I always figured it, if they were hanging out with a lying loser like me, how smart could they be? And because I never went near the loan sharks, I didn't know any, like, organized guys.

I had to do it alone.

First I needed a gun. That was so easy. I mean, I didn't have to do nothing illegal. I just went into a gun store and told them I wanted a pistol. What kind, they asked me. Cheap, I told them.

They had a bunch of them. I had to fill out a form. They asked questions like: was I a felon and was I crazy' I mean, they expect a escaped con or a drooling lunatic to admit it, they were the ones who were crazy. I had to wait three days, then I could come and pick up the gun.

I found where I wanted to do it. It's a club. Not like a nightclub or anything, although it was only open at night. A gambling club. Dice and cards only—none of that silly roulette or slot machines—real games, where a man has a chance. The club was protected. Protected from getting busted, that is—they paid off the cops. They had a guy at the door. Big huge fat guy, probably kill you if he fell on you. But I wasn't going to challenge him, anyway. I mean, he knows me. And I promised Penny I would never go to jail. No, I needed a stranger. A new guy. They were always coming in and out. I needed one coming in—when he still had money. It would be big money, too—there was no penny ante stuff inside—you had to have coin to sit in. That's why I only went there once in a while…when I was ahead from gambling someplace else. Naturally, I always lost. But I don't think the games were rigged—I'm just a loser.

When I went to the gun shop they had the pistol ready for me. "Don't you want some ammunition'' they asked me. "I got some at home," I told them.

On the second night, the right guy came along. I saw him park a smoke–gray Lincoln Town Car across the street. That's a classy ride, runs about thirty grand. He was sharp–dressed, too. Not flashy, more like a businessman. I could see the strong way he walked. Confident–like. Not the old gangster swagger, like a man who was in control of himself.

In a couple of minutes, Penny's dream was going to come true. I knew it. I was sure of it. Not like when I had a sure thing at the track, but sure…like nothing else could be.

Just as soon as he walked into the alley where the door to the club was, I stepped out from behind a dumpster and stuck the pistol in his face. "Give it up!" I told him.

He was real calm, real professional—just like I thought he'd be. "Do you know who I am'' he asked.

"Give me the money!" I said, cocking the pistol like I was gonna shoot him.

He took a shiny wallet out from under his coat. Real, real slow, so I wouldn't think he was reaching for a gun. He opened the wallet and took out a thick wad of bills—I could see they was all hundreds. "I'm sure you don't want my credit cards, right?" he said, a thin smile on his face.

I snatched the money out of his hand and backed away. He just stood there. "Don't try to come after me," I said. I turned around and ran. I heard footsteps behind me and I whipped around. It was the guy, holding something in his hand, some black thing, near his mouth. I turned around again and started to run. Three more corners and I'd get to where the car was waiting. Three more corners and…then I saw them across the street. Two of them. Cops. They were standing with their feet wide apart, guns in their hands.

"Freeze!" one of them yelled, and I knew I was never going to hand the money to Penny. I pulled out the pistol and I pointed it right at the cops.

I never heard the shots, but I felt them rip into me. One, two, three of them. In my chest and in my gut. I closed my eyes and went to Plan B.