Triad,

or

Confessions of a Three-way

By Kate Davison

Let me begin by saying that none of this was my idea. A friend of a friend dragged me into it. Samuel said that the plan would be full proof — or was that fool proof — anyhow it was supposed to be guaranteed. I shouldn’t have listened to him and went with my gut instincts. But then my gut has never been trustworthy either.

It all started when my boyfriend and I were having coffee at the local Starbucks and flapping our gums about our current financial state. Believe me, if you ain’t cryin’ now, you probably should be — our financial state is a sad affair. Anyhoo, as we were sitting there talking, Samuel walks up with a mocha latte and sits his sorry ass down at our table.

Now, normally such a maneuver wouldn’t bother me because for all his lackadaisical ways he is something to behold. God has never made a finer male specimen. He should be arrested for inciting a riot every time he walks out of his house wearing his faded ripped up jeans. The way they caress his finely toned ass is something worth genuflecting over. But I digress — he is indeed trouble and I knew better than to listen to him. Not from personal experience mind you, but from my best friend, she warned me not to listen to a damn word he said because everything out of his mouth is bullshit and hot air. All I know is he promised a miracle, and I could really use a miracle about now.

“I couldn’t help overhearing.” Samuel took a coffee stir in hand, holding it like the cigarette he was denied smoking in public. “You know, everyone you talk to these days is cranking about not having enough money, not being able to make ends meet, or some pity-me sob story.”

Darren, my boyfriend, only offered a shrug as if to say, ‘what ya gonna do?’

Me, I looked Samuel directly in his shameless eyes and said: “You offering a solution or just giving lip service?”

That wicked smile spread wider and he leaned forward, inhabiting my personal space and giving me an intimate whiff of aftershave. “Oh, I have a solution all right. If you’re daring enough.”

I didn’t know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. Either way it was definitely a challenge. Even though the statement was made in general I had a funny feeling that it was more directed at me than Darren.

I grew uncomfortable in the silence that followed. Samuel must have read something on my face because he leaned back in his chair and studied me from further back, changing his tactic a little.

“I would have thought you’d jump at the chance to change your life.”

“My life is perfectly fine the way it is, I just think it would be better if I were a little more well off. Everyone could use a little extra.”

“I know I could,” Darren muttered.

Samuel squirmed in his seat. His nervous energy exhausted me to watch.

“My grandpa used to work in a coal mine in Kentucky,” he began. “He died of Black Lung when my father was about 10 or so. They lived in this shack on the side of a mountain. The owner of the mine also owned all the shacks. It was a little, freaking hole in the wall where my grandparents lived with my father and his four brothers. Dad said the place was no better than a lean to, with a dirt floor and no inside plumbing. When my grandfather died, the owner said they could stay in the house if my father and the other boys worked in the mine. When my grandmother refused the owner turned them out of the house.”

I had no idea why he started telling this story, and it was so unlike the Samuel I knew, so I kept my mouth shut and offered none of my smart-ass comments. Darren gave me a look of warning. I guess he was afraid I’d say something, too.

“When they got turned out his mother looked for work but it was tough, she had no experience doing anything other than being a mother, but without food or shelter it was a little difficult to worry about her resume’,” he gave a little sarcastic laugh underscored with pain. “My grandmother took my dad and his brothers and put them in a home until she could get on her feet. Unfortunately, she was killed before she could make good, and my father and uncles ended up staying in the home until they were kicked out at fifteen.”

“Jesus!” My breath came in a rush of the word I was thinking.

“What I’m saying is, even if you have the best of intentions, sometimes fate intervenes and fucks you over. You have to be daring enough to make your own luck in this life. Because if you don’t your opportunities get mowed down by a cross town bus.”

I sat there in shock for a moment. Nothing Samuel said had been particularly earth-shattering, or even exceptional, but the fact he exhibited the stirrings of rather deeper thoughts than just who he was going to fuck over the weekend made me stop and listen.

Darren must have been listening too, because he leaned forward and said, “So what do we do?”

The triumph of Samuel’s snare sprang into the depths of his eyes. “Do you still work for Wells Fargo, Dar?”

“Why?”

Samuel surveyed the room, then shook his head. “Not here. I’ll tell you about it later after I’ve hammered out some more of the details.”

I was a big girl and could handle this. I decided if Samuel’s idea was too crazy I would bail on him.

We didn’t have to wait long to find out. His idea consisted of Darren— who works for a Brinks company— to pretend he was jumped and the truck stolen. The only hitch was that Darren worked with a partner. We didn’t feel like cutting him into the action, even though we should have. So we decided that Samuel would just play the part of the robber and he would have to pistol whip the partner pretty good.

It was all going to go down five miles out of town, where Old Road meets Ferry’s Lane. There is a whole lotta nothing out that way, so we figured since he had to go and make the pick up from the racetrack out there that would be the best time to make the hit. The money would not be marked and would come chiefly from the betting windows. All that lovely money was just waiting to be picked off like ducks at the shooting gallery.

Darren drove the truck that day, and when Samuel appeared on the side of the road looking like he’d been beaten up and bloody, Darren was to pull over and offer assistance.

Sorry I’m laughing, but I can just imagine the look on Darren and his partner’s face when they both ended up beaten and tied up in the back of the truck, and Samuel pulled away with the majority of the money in the trunk of his old 442.

“Thank you, put it on my tab will you?”

I love just love sitting on the beach and drinking frozen Margaritas. You see, after the robbery, Samuel and I booked a flight to Cancun where we sit and enjoy the sun and live off the profits of our three-way. But like I said, I can’t be blamed for any of this— it wasn’t my idea.