“My God.” Stacy put her hand to her mouth. “What happened?”
“I stopped her before she could take more than one or two gulps. She’s in bed now. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I poured every drop of liquor in the house down the sink, but I can’t stop her from getting more.”
“Have you—” Stacy paused. “Do you think she needs to get into a program or something?”
I sighed and looked Stacy in the eye. We had only been going out for a little while. I didn’t want to unload all my baggage on her. On the other hand, it wasn’t fair to hide it from her. I had to be honest with her, even if that meant she might decide I wasn’t worth the trouble.
“We can’t afford rehab, and she wouldn’t be caught dead at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. This has probably been the single worst day of my life.”
Gently resting her hand on my shoulder, she said, “I’m so sorry.”
I felt my heart stop for a moment. I didn’t want to tell her what else had happened. In the end, I forced myself.
“There’s a strong possibility I might have to go back to jail.”
“What?” Her eyes widened, and she pulled her hand away. It was a natural response, and I could only imagine what went through her mind.
“There was an accident at work,” I said. “It wasn’t my fault, but they’re pinning it on me anyway.” Looking into her worried eyes, I pushed the words out. “I got fired.”
“Fired?” She gave a half-laugh and shook her head. “But what does that have to do with going back to jail?”
“My parole officer is one of those hard-nosed cases.”
She shrugged. “So, just get another job. I know a couple of people.”
“You don’t understand. If I get fired for any reason, they’ll remand me into custody while they investigate. Even if I’m eventually cleared of any wrongdoing, I’ll have to stay in jail for the duration. And I could tell by the look on his face, old man Matheson is going to do everything in his power to put it all on me. Probably so he can get the insurance or something.”
I tried to hold back my anger, knowing that it was, in itself, a mask for my growing desperation.
I was clenching my jaw so hard my teeth hurt. “If I’m sent back, even for a few months, it’ll destroy my mother. There won’t be anyone here to take care of her.”
I knew it wasn’t fair to burden Stacy with all of this, and she didn’t have any obligation, but it was an enormous relief when she put her hand back on my arm.
“It’s all right, Rich,” she said, giving me a confident smile. “We’ll figure something out.”
Expecting that Stacy would bail on me, I was both relieved and surprised that she had decided to stay.
We sat on the couch for the next hour, talking, holding hands, trying to think of anything to help my situation. We ordered in a pizza, and watched a late-night movie on cable.
In the end, nothing was resolved except that I felt an even greater incitement to stay out of jail.
I had no idea how I managed to attract someone like Stacy. She was a blessing, a sweetheart, and I knew I didn’t deserve the kind of happiness she could bring me.
It was an odd turn of events that had brought us together. When I had picked my mother up from Hangar Hank’s, she had accidentally left her purse behind. Stacy, who had been waiting outside with her, found it when she went back in. Instead of calling us to come and claim the lost item, she had looked at the address on my mother’s driver’s license and had taken it upon herself to bring it to our house the next day on her way to work.
After she had introduced herself to me at the door, and presented me with my mother’s purse, I said, “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “I know how it is. I know I wouldn’t want to go back there if I had been embarrassed like that.”
“I could have picked it up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, giving me a smile.
I blushed. “At least let me give you some gas money for your trouble.”
She waved me off. “I wouldn’t hear of it.”
There was an awkward moment when neither of us knew what to say next. Stacy gave a slight shrug and widened her smile. “I have to get to work now. Hope your mother’s feeling better.”
Just as she started to turn away, I said, “Wait … uh, my name’s Richard.”
She put her hand to her chest. “Stacy. You can call me Stace if you like.”
“Stace,” I said, and found my words catching in my throat. “Maybe I can call you sometime…”
“Sure. I get off at eleven tonight. You could stop by for a drink.”
I felt a pang of anxiety. “I … can’t. I’m not allowed to go anywhere they serve alcohol.”
That was the moment, I was certain, where she would ask why. I would tell her I was on parole, and that would be the end of it.
Instead, without skipping a beat, she said, “There’s a coffee house a block away from the restaurant. We could meet there.” I realized she had probably overheard my mother’s coworkers when they had gossiped about me.
I agreed to go out, and we began to see each other on a regular basis after that.
Once, a few dates later, I asked her why she was willing to go out with me when she knew about my run-in with the law.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” she said. “I know you’re not a bad person.”
“How can you tell that?” I asked.
“I see the way you take care of your mother like you do. That’s rare in this world.”
My relationship with Stacy was new enough that, even though I felt we might be falling in love, there was still a chance that it would not survive if I had an extended absence.
Somehow, I knew, deep in my heart, my mother would not survive it either.
* * *
My thoughts would not let me fall asleep, though my body was past the point of exhaustion. My neck had a kink in it from leaning against the back of the couch.
The television was still on, but it had turned to a static station identification image.
Stacy was snoring lightly. Sprawled out beside me, her feet were on my lap and her head rested on a small quilted pillow on the arm of the couch. She had a throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
Gently, I lifted her legs and slid out from under her. She made a throaty noise as I got up, and I froze, hoping I hadn’t awakened her. She nuzzled the pillow to find a more comfortable position, and her breathing evened out.
I had to do something about what had happened, and find a way to stay out of jail. A part of me hoped that if I pleaded my case to the senior Mr. Matheson—or to David—they would rethink firing me. I had spent too long on the streets of Seattle and in the correctional system to believe that, though.
Terence Matheson was a shrewd businessman. His religion was the bottom dollar. Someone had to take the fall for the accident and who better than a person with a criminal past who couldn’t fight back?
I looked down on Stacy’s sleeping face, and counted myself lucky to have met her. When I told her about what had happened, and what would be in store for me tomorrow, she had been supportive, but I couldn’t disillusion myself into believing that she would stick with me after months apart. Once the reality of our separation set in, she would move on. I had seen it before from the other inmates whose relationships had crumbled.
As quietly as I could, I went upstairs to check on my mother. The door creaked when I opened it, but not loud enough to wake her. Listening until I was satisfied she was sleeping soundly, I reached into her purse and grabbed her key card.
It was obvious my hiring had caused friction with my mother’s colleagues, and she was feeling it. Once word got around that I was fired, whether or not it was justified, it would make my mother’s life a living hell there. She couldn’t go back, either. After twenty-plus years in one job, she would now have to start over. Even for someone new to the realities of the workforc
e, finding a job was a frightening prospect. With me behind bars, she would be entirely on her own again. No wonder she was so depressed.
I went back down the stairs, threw my jacket on, grabbed my car keys and left the house. I didn’t want to leave my mother alone in the house, and was thankful Stacy was there.
I planned to be back before either of them awoke.
Chapter Seven
As I suspected, the basement light was on at Stacy and Chuck’s place. I pulled up to the curb and cut the engine. Key still in the ignition, I sat there for another minute, going over my decision for the twentieth time in as many minutes.
Taking a big, shuddering breath, I let it out and gave myself a mental nod. With no further delay, I got out of the car and walked toward the house.
Instead of knocking on the front door, I went to the basement window, a half-sized pane of glass darkened by years of mud splashing against it from the perpetual rains of the city.
Cupping my hands around my glasses to cut the glare, I peered in and saw Chuck’s computer workstations. His chair was vacant. Craning my neck, I tried to see if he was in a different area of the basement, and started when I saw his head appear from right below the window.
Chuck, dressed in boxer shorts and a white shirt under a flimsy robe, backed two steps away, and looked somewhere beneath where I was standing. Then he leaned forward again. The second time he appeared, he had a piece of paper in his hand. I recalled from the previous night that his printer was under the window.
He held the printout up to examine it, and that’s when I tapped on the window to let him know I was there.
Chuck let out an unmanly shriek, dropped the paper, and jumped. When he realized it wasn’t a burglar at his window, he clutched his chest and shook his fist at me, but he was smiling when he did it.
He waved, inviting me in, and headed for the stairs to unlock the door.
“Hey, man,” he said after I stepped inside. “What’s up? I thought Stacy was with you.” He poked his head outside and took a look around.
“She’s back at my place.”
“Ah.” He closed the door and faced me, a congenial smile on his face. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social visit?” His eyes narrowed.
“What did you mean about ‘life-changing money’?” I asked.
* * *
Chuck brought me back down to his basement workroom and pulled up a spare chair for me.
“How much?” I asked him. “Exactly.”
“Well,” he said. “The job pays two hundred and fifty thousand.”
My breath caught in my throat.
At Worldwind, I would have made a little more than twenty thousand a year. My mother made more, but she lived paycheck to paycheck. My share of the payout would cover both of us for at least a few years. It was enough money to make a change; move to a new state, make a new identity and a new life.
Chuck lifted one corner of his mouth in a smile and added, “Each.”
I gasped. A half-million dollars for a simple robbery was extraordinary.
“Uh,” I said, holding my hands up in front of me. “That sounds too good to be true.”
“Actually,” Chuck said, “it’s too low, if anything.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but he was obviously enjoying stretching out the game. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Typically, I charge about ten percent of what I think the information is worth. Call it a finder’s fee. Some of my competitors charge fifteen or twenty percent, but I undercut them all the time. Most jobs get me a grand or two for a couple of days’ work.”
I took a deep breath. “So you’re saying the information is worth five million dollars to your client?”
Chuck nodded. “Maybe more. I’ve been sniffing around Worldwind’s emails all day. Sounds like there’s a major player in Asia, this Xi’an Industries, who wants to throw their hat into the ring, and partner up with Worldwind. That would turn them into an international player overnight. That kind of thing attracts stock-market investors in droves. I’ve seen some stocks double their value on a rumor of a merger like this.”
“And you—your client—wants what?”
Chuck brought out his cell phone and pointed a finger to the built-in camera. “Hard evidence of the merger. The emails only mention that they’re going to be doing business with Xi’an, which is hardly earth-shattering. Worldwind is going to hold a press conference early next week. My client believes they are going to join forces. If that’s true, both companies’ stocks could double. But we need proof of what is in the announcement. There will probably be a proposal or contract that confirms the deal.”
“I thought you had hacked into their network?”
“I did,” Chuck said. “But it looks as if the VP has a stand-alone computer with a separate internet connection. Probably an air-card or something. It’s not part of the company’s intranet. I’ve seen a number of execs do this for security purposes. They use a prepaid connection and change the card every few months. If they’re careful, it’s nearly impossible to hack into their system from the outside. It’s like trying to find one grain of sand on a beach during a tsunami.”
“And that’s where I come in,” I said. “You figured I could just walk in and take a picture for you. No one would suspect anything, since I’m supposed to be there.”
“Right.” He nodded. “If Worldwind figures out someone has the info, they’ll either postpone the deal, and my client would be investing in a stock that isn’t moving, or they bring the news out into the open right away, in which case he won’t have time to make a move. Either way, our paycheck evaporates.”
“Time is a factor,” I said in agreement, but Chuck didn’t know how much of a factor it was now.
“You would have to get into the VP’s office, find that computer—” Chuck motioned to his cell phone. “—I can walk you through getting into the computer and finding whatever information is on it. And then you walk out without anyone knowing what you’re doing.”
“All right,” I said. “I’m in.”
Chuck opened a window on his computer screen, and there was a login prompt for his message board. He didn’t enter his details into the fields. Instead, he swiveled on his chair to face me.
His voice sounded affable, but I could hear a note of uncertainty in it when he asked, “I don’t mean to look a gift horse in the mouth, if you know what I mean, but I’ve got to say it. Last night you looked downright upset when I talked about this. I thought you were going to sock me in the face or something.”
“A lot of things can happen in a day.” I wasn’t trying to be mysterious, but didn’t know how much I was willing to share with him.
“Listen, man. If we’re going to work together, we’ve got to trust each other, at least a little bit. I got the impression from our talk that you were framed or something.”
“I never said that.” I shook my head. “What I said was, burglary was what I was in for. It doesn’t mean I actually committed the crime.”
Chuck looked puzzled. “If you didn’t do it…?”
“I didn’t ‘rob’ anyone,” I said, and then I sighed. “But I did technically break and enter. It was the middle of winter, snowing. I couldn’t get a spot in the hostel. All the places I usually crashed weren’t available. I didn’t have any money.
“One of the guys I knew from the street, Larry, said his parents usually went out of town on weekends. So, we crashed at his place for the night. Turns out his folks had some kind of nanny cam set up—Larry had broken in a few times before. They got videotape of me inside the house. A nosy neighbor called the cops, and they caught Larry and me when we tried to run.”
I pressed my lips together, remembering the look the judge had given me while listening to the prosecutor’s opening statement.
“Larry’s folks bailed him out, lawyered up, and made Larry say I forced him to do it. I was in court for all of twenty minutes before they gave me two years.”
Chuck
made a series of faces. “Sorry, man. Sucks. But, what you’re telling me is that you were, essentially, just a squatter who got caught.”
“That’s right.” I nodded, but kept eye contact with him.
He let out a humorless laugh. “No offense, my friend, but that doesn’t make you a die-hard criminal. It just makes you either unlucky or careless. You have to understand I have doubts.”
“Whether I’m unlucky or not,” I said, hoping my face wasn’t flushing red at Chuck’s observation, “I’ve got something you need.”
“What’s that?”
I pulled out my mother’s electronic security pass and raised it in front of me. “Access. I have my mother’s key card.”
Chuck looked at the card with obvious hunger. I slipped it back in my pocket. “But there’s a catch or two,” I said.
“Oh?”
“We have to do it this morning, between six and seven.”
Eyes widening, Chuck glanced at the time on his computer, “That’s only a few hours away. There’s no way we can get everything set up by then. Why the rush?”
I said, “Three reasons. The regular staff and workers start showing up after seven, so we need to be out of there before then.” I held a second finger up. “My mother regularly shows up between six-thirty and seven, so it won’t raise any flags when we use the card early. No one reviews the security cameras, unless they have a reason to.”
“You said three reasons,” Chuck prompted, looking concerned.
“I’m expecting my parole officer to call me in the morning. At which point I’ll be directed to turn myself over to the authorities for parole violations: namely, I got fired.” I looked Chuck square in the eye. “I can’t go back to jail, and without the card and pass code, it’s going to be impossible for you to get inside the admin building, let alone the VP’s office.”
He blinked at me, and his mouth opened, but no words came out.
I said, “I can get in and get out, fast as that. If we do this right, they’ll never have any reason to suspect anything, and by the time they figure it out, your investor will have made his deal, and we’ll all be long gone.”
Angel's Breath: The Second Book of Fallen Angels Page 5