Cammie and Jake - Thursday evening

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Cammie and Jake go out for drinks. They play with fake IDs, discuss Cammie going legit, and toast their lack of offspring.



Cammie pulled a big punch of plastic cards out of her wallet when ordering a glass of vodka got her an odd look and a request for ID. "Hmmm. California? No. Idaho? Heee, I 'da ho. Nevada's a good state," she said and looked up at Jake, "Should I be Virginia Downs Dick today?"

He raised an amused eyebrow at the handful of plastic she fanned towards him. "That one," he said, picking one at random. "Unless you want to try to tell them that I'm your dad. I could look older."

"Oooh, Illinois, good choice," Cammie said, holding out the plastic with her picture on it and someone else's name on it while smiling, "What?" she said to the waiter, "I travel a lot. And he's my father," she said, jerking her thumb at Jake.

Jake gave the waiter an apologetic smile. "And a pint of Guinness, please." The waiter gave them a dubious look but went off to either get their order or call the police, and either way Jake didn't care. He didn't see Cammie caring too much, either. "Lemme see," he said, holding a hand out for the stack of IDs.

Cammie shrugged and handed over the stack. There were IDs from just about everywhere except Hawaii and Alaska, each one with a different name on it. There were thirty in total, not a single one of them actually a legit license, not that it stopped her from driving.

"It's amazing what you can get for fifty bucks in some corners of the internets."

"Fifty bucks, hmm? It shows," Jake said, quickly sorting the stack into two piles.

"Yeah, I know. What's with the two piles?" she asked, playing with the ice in the obligatory water.

He pushed one of the piles towards her. "The ones worth keeping, and the ones that look like you paid fifty bucks for them on the internet. That," he indicated the pile now on her side of the table, "is the set worth keeping." It was significantly smaller than the stack on his side.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised that the crap money ones are crappy," Cammie said, picking up the small pile, "Some of these ones I paid more than fifty bucks for. Though one was provided by this guy in Texas that ran a chop shop," she said, the stack of ones worth the money were tiny.

Jake shrugged. "Some of them will work if you're far enough away from their original state--you can always take advantage of people's unfamiliarity. But I wouldn't try them on a cop." He glanced up as the waiter returned with their drinks, reflexively palming the stack of poor forgeries.

"Point taken," Cammie said, happy that the guy had at least brought her Vodka, like she asked, "I'm wondering if I should bother to get a New York one," she waited until after they had ordered the waiter took off, "You know, like a legit one or something. I mean, I might actually need a real one at some point."

"No outstanding warrants?" he asked, watching the waiter walk away.

"Beats me," Cammie said, "The few times I was caught I never gave my real name."

Jake raised an eyebrow over the rim of his glass. "Would you like me to check? For that matter, did they fingerprint you?"

"Don't they always?" Cammie said, "I never did try that super-glue them off thing. I always ate the glue. It's kinda like fruit roll-ups."

"That might be an issue, then. I'll check." He pushed the stack of bad cards towards her. "So does this mean you're going legit?"

"Only as far as trying to get my GED goes," Cammie said, "And I can't steal cars from the mansion anymore. I do kind of miss that," she said, drinking the sweet, sweet vodka. "And maybe attempt college or something. Just, you know, expanding my horizons. I can't be a two bit crook forever. A few more bits would be fun."

"You would make a very good four-bit crook," Jake said, nodding sagely, the foam mustache from the head of his beer adding to the effect.

"I would. I'd be the best four bit crook, but why stop there? With a little work I could be the bittiest crook that ever crooked," Cammie said. "I'll figure out some sort of aspirations, blue collar crime plays, right?"

Jake grinned at that. "Why settle? I think with the right attitude, you could take it all the way to the top--rip off a bunch of rich people with some Ponzi scheme. Go big or go home."

"I've always wanted to clear out retirement funds. It would beat pulling stereos out of cars by a long shot," she said chuckling, "Put up or shut up, right? I haven't pulled a real scam in months, it makes me feel all...wrong."

"It's a rough life," he sympathized, finishing his beer and signalling for another round. "Pretty soon you'll look around and realize you're living in a house with a picket fence and an investment banker husband and two-point-five kids, and not a scam in sight."

"Two point five? What happened to the third one, Solomon? Or some scary industrial accident... but wait, you said investment banker. I suppose I could sex him into some hot embezzlement," Cammie suggested.

"Hey, you eat toxic waste. I'm sure you're going to have crazy weird conjoined green mutant babies," Jake shot back. "Two point five sounds perfectly reasonable."

"Yeah, shut up. I bet all your kids will be amorphous blobs," she shot back.

"Exactly why I'm never having any," he replied easily. "Besides, can you see me as a dad? Yeah, me neither."

"And luckily for the universe, I'm pretty sure I can't get knocked up," Cammie said cheerfully, tearing off a bit of a napkin and eating it. "So we're okay."

He raised his glass. "Here's to our continuing lack of offspring."

Cammie raised her class, "Cheers. May we never reproduce."