by Tony Wiley
First Collins Bank occupied a standalone building immediately south of downtown. In that area, the parking spots were no longer at an angle with the sidewalk. Morrison pulled up to the curb, parked between markings painted on the pavement and walked to the bank lobby.
The two ATMs there were fitted with the same skimmers.
Morrison went back to the SUV and continued on his way. Drove by all the big faded houses on Acton Road with their lowlying banners calling for Sheriff Sanford’s reelection. Continued toward the outskirts of town, where Candela Bank had one drive-thru ATM. He pulled up to the device and gave it a quick check. It was the same there too. A beautifully crafted skimmer had been neatly put into place.
Morrison could have removed all these skimmers himself. That would have presented no difficulty. But what he really wanted was to send a message, loud and clear.
Since he was not in a position to do it himself, he figured that one of his old friends was. With her, the message would be heard: There was no room for amateurs in Acton County.
He drove away from the drive-thru ATM and parked behind a cluster of cars by the side of Acton Road. There, he killed all the lights and took the phone from his pocket. He flipped it open and punched the number.
At this hour, he expected a delay. He might even have to leave a message. But the voice came at once, loud and clear.
“Sheriff Sanford speaking.”
Chapter 14
“Sheriff, Frank Morrison here. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
There was a slight pause at the other end. Morrison had called Sheriff Claire Sanford on her sheriff’s department cell phone. At this hour she could be anywhere. Burning the midnight oil at the office, out in her patrol car or snuggled in her pajamas in front of the TV with a bag of steaming popcorn. But wherever she was, his call came as a surprise. Earlier that morning, Morrison himself had never expected he’d be calling her the same day. Not in a million years.
“What do you want, Morrison?” she asked.
“Just performing my civic duty.”
“Didn’t think you knew of the concept.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“So what about your duty?”
“I’ve just witnessed the perpetration of criminal activities, and I thought I should report them to competent authorities.”
“Don’t get cute, Morrison. What’s the matter?”
“ATMs,” Morrison said. “Some of them around town have been fitted with skimmers. I thought you’d like to know.”
Morrison didn’t say more. Didn’t need to for now. For her part, Sheriff Sanford lapsed into silence. He knew she’d react this way. Was only natural. This would bring back memories, not necessarily good ones for her. He knew this, so he let her absorb the shock and followed her train of thought from a distance. She would be pondering the following items. Years before, he had made a similar phone call anonymously. At the time, Sheriff Sanford didn’t know him by name yet. He had called to report the sight of suspicious devices installed in a string of ATMs located at the other end of the county. Only at the time it had been a ruse. There had been no skimmers. A simple decoy devised to send the sheriff’s deputies running off in the wrong direction while his crew performed a flash raid on ATMs in Acton and neighboring towns. Of course, the local media had gotten wind of this, and the whole sheriff’s department had been deeply embarrassed.
Hence her need to think this through carefully. You were allowed to fall in a trap once and keep your honor. Of course, you took some ribbing and looked bad for a while, but, hey, things happen. What you were not allowed to do was fall twice for the same trick. That was more than mildly embarrassing. Made you look plain dumb. Not what you wanted when you’re up for reelection. So Morrison waited for her to resume the conversation. Depending on what she said next, he would adjust.
After a while, she sighed and said, “You’ve just been released, Morrison. You can’t possibly already be back in action to tap ATMs yourself. So you could be telling the truth.”
“Correct,” he said. “That’s exactly what I would’ve thought in your place. And besides, skimming individual accounts is not my thing. You know this. I’ve never done it.”
“I’ve never caught you doing it. Doesn’t mean you never did.”
“You can take my word for it. I don’t go after the little guy. Hell, I’m a little guy myself.”
“So it’s possible that you could’ve seen skimmers at some ATMs and wanted to report them. But why exactly? Why not simply mind your own business and let them be?” she said.
“It’s a crude and devious scheme that goes after the little guy. I resent that,” he said.
“But you’re a slimy son of a bitch, so you could be lying your teeth off. Where are you calling from?”
“I’ve got a prepaid. You can take down the number if you want. Call me anytime, I’m cool.”
“Yes, but where are you?”
“Right here in Acton.”
“So you’re still around then. Weren’t you supposed to leave the county? That’s what you told me this morning.”
“I was. But sometimes plans change, don’t they?”
“Which ATMs are you talking about?”
“At least those at Chelfington, First Collins and Candela Bank. There may be more but I haven’t checked them.”
At the other end, Sanford sighed again. “You better not take me for a ride, Morrison, because I swear I’ll kick your sorry ass right back to prison. Even if I have to make up the charges for it.”
“If you doubt me, you can go at it easy. No need to charge with the cavalry. Just send a patrol car for a quick check. No lights out or anything. One of your deputies can pull up to the Candela Bank drive-thru. Won’t even have to step out of his car. This will be very discreet. Trust me, Sheriff, I’m not calling to make a fool out of you.”
After the call ended, Morrison waited in the big Navigator. He switched on the radio and listened to some music. He didn’t really notice what was playing, just a string of classic rock hits he’d heard so often that they didn’t strike him anymore. Just zipped through his brain. But they provided just the right atmosphere.
It took about ten minutes for an Acton County sheriff’s department patrol car to appear in his rear-view mirrors. The dark Charger proceeded cautiously. No hurry. No bustle. It was not Sheriff Sanford behind the wheel. Just some middle-aged deputy he didn’t know.
The car nosed into the ATM drive-thru lane and stopped in front of the teller. Looked like a deputy off duty there to make a simple cash withdrawal on his way home, like anyone else. Morrison tilted his mirror a bit to have a better view.
The deputy fiddled with the fake card reader like Morrison had done himself but without the need to cover his fingers with a tissue. Then the device popped out and the deputy spent a minute looking at it. Morrison could see him well since the man had turned on the patrol car’s roof light. The deputy peered at it from every angle. Then he killed the light, exited the drive-thru and headed to town, probably to check out the other ATMs.
Morrison wore a thin smile. He started the Navigator’s engine, waited for the deputy to leave and drove off.
As he entered the dark countryside, his mobile phone rang. He picked it up. It was Sheriff Sanford. “I’m surprised, Morrison,” she said. “Turns out you were telling the truth.”
He chuckled. “I told you you could trust me, Sheriff. Just doing my civic duty.”
Chapter 15
Morrison hadn’t felt this tired in a long time. It was probably a combination of the day’s events and his big late dinner. You never ate that well in prison, even when you had connections. To add to this, there were barely any cars left out on the road. Nothing to keep him awake, except for the music and the prospect of crashing soon into a comfortable bed.
He kept yawning and stretching all the way to Mike’s house. When he got there, he saw only the cute little BMW. The two other Navigators were out.
H
e parked and picked up his shopping bags in the trunk. Then he entered the house and made his way up the big creaky staircase. As he aimed for the doorknob of his blue room, he heard footsteps draw closer behind the door opposite his across the corridor. Then he heard it pop open. He turned around. It was Laura.
She looked different from earlier that day. She had pulled her dark brown, wavy hair into a ponytail. But her eyes were still the same. Full of worry.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said.
“Sorry,” Morrison said. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“You didn’t.” She pointed at the room with her thumb. “I was putting Amanda back to sleep. She had a big nightmare.”
Given the environment she had to live in and her mother’s apparent constant worry, that didn’t surprise Morrison. Although he knew nothing about children. That was a foreign world to him.
“Went shopping?” she asked.
Morrison looked down at his bags. “Yeah. I needed some clothes.”
“So you’re gonna stick around for a while then.”
“Possibly, yes.”
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Morrison soon broke it.
“Everyone’s out?” he asked.
“Yes. They had to take care of some business. I’m surprised you’re not with them.”
“How come?”
“I thought you were here to help them.”
“Is that what Mike told you?”
Her face became somber.
“Mike never tells me anything. But they’ve been getting busier and busier lately. And now that—” She interrupted herself. She seemed to have trouble coming to terms with the fact that Mike had had the slicked-back hair guy killed. She seemed horrified by it, actually. In any case, she certainly wasn’t going to refer to it directly, so she simply alluded to it.
“Now that they’re short one guy,” she said, “I thought you’d be taking his place.”
“I don’t know. Mike didn’t tell me much either.”
“So you don’t know what they’re doing?”
Morrison shook his head. She looked disappointed. For sure, she would’ve tapped him, he thought. She seemed anxious to know what exactly Mike was up to, even though that might prove worrisome. But you also worried a lot when you didn’t know. Probably more in fact.
She left it at that. Said good-night. Then she headed down the hallway to the master bedroom.
Morrison pushed open the door to his blue room and dropped his bags on the dresser. He crashed into the lowlying chair facing the bed and removed his shoes. The spot where his toes rested on the key felt sore. He peeled off his socks and turned the sole of his foot upward in his hands. The skin was reddened but not to the point where it would blister. Morrison pushed the shoes underneath the bed, got up, undressed and went for a long shower. Then he jumped straight into bed.
His head had not yet landed on the pillow. It was still hovering slightly above. But already, he was sound asleep.
*
Morrison woke up past nine o’clock in the morning. His head still buzzing from the deep sleep, he got up, foraged the shopping bags and put on a brand new pair of jeans and a blue oxford shirt. Then he put his shoes back on and left the room.
He had yet to tour the house. So instead of aiming for the big winding staircase, he pushed his way through the top floor hallway toward the back.
He counted five doors including his room’s and the baby girl’s. Three on his side, two on the opposite. The bigger rooms were the baby’s and, most certainly, Mike and Laura’s. Judging from the space between the doors, the other rooms looked about the same size as his blue room. But he couldn’t know for sure. He couldn’t peek inside. The doors were all closed shut.
At the end of the hallway, he reached an elbow that veered to the right. Four more doors appeared, a lot closer together, which suggested the rooms were small and certainly did not comprise a private bathroom. He pushed on. At the end was a narrow winding staircase that led downstairs. He had seen a similar arrangement in the past. He figured in the old days, that portion of the hallway must’ve been walled off at the elbow. The cramped section would’ve been the servants’ quarters, and only they would’ve used the winding staircase to go to and fro between their sleeping quarters and the kitchen, where they would disperse throughout the house to attend to their masters’ needs.
On the landing, a waft of freshly brewed coffee confirmed his intuition. He went down the stairs. He had expected them to be as creaky and noisy as the front ones, but he descended without a sound. The rubbery lining that covered them did a great job of concealing any squeak.
Mike and the blond guy stood in the kitchen, butts leaning on the kitchen island. They were having coffee while watching a small flatscreen TV nestled in a narrow countertop section bookended by solid wood cabinets.
“I could have one of these,” Morrison said.
They turned their heads. They hadn’t heard him coming down.
“Help yourself,” Mike said.
Morrison picked up a black mug on the counter and filled it. Mike turned his attention from the TV set to look at him with piercing eyes.
“Sleepin’ in, Morrison?” he said.
“You know me. I need my beauty sleep,” Morrison said. He noticed the dark circles under Mike’s eyes. Same for the blond guy. They must have stayed up pretty late. “Looks like you could use some too.”
Mike waved his hand dismissively.
“This ain’t prison anymore,” he said. “You’re gonna have to get off your butt.”
Morrison sneered. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Just make sure you leave me 20K before you go.”
Mike arched his eyebrow.
“So you’ve already gotten yourself busy, then.”
“What did you expect?”
“You could’ve gone soft in prison. It’s happened to others before.”
Morrison shrugged. “It only happens if you allow it,” he said. He took his first sip of coffee. It was strong and real hot.
For his part, Mike drained the dregs of his cup and put it down in the sink. He nodded toward the TV and said, “There was something on the news about the sheriff’s department seizing ATM skimming equipment at half a dozen banks late last night. Do you know anything about it?”
Morrison shrugged. “How could I? I just got up,” he said.
“You have to admit it’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it?”
“And you?”
“Me what?”
“Do you have anything to do with these ATMs?”
“Nah.”
“Do you know who might?”
Mike shook his head. “No. Probably just some newbies,” he said. “But I’ll ask around. Just in case.” He motioned for the blond guy to dump his cup and follow him. The blond guy passed in front of Morrison and gave him an arrogant stare. The guy would always be the thug who had held him at gunpoint. Like it made him superior. Morrison had to admit it kind of started their relationship on the wrong foot, but he didn’t resent the blond guy’s arrogance. Quite the opposite. He knew he could use it against him later on if he needed to.
“If you want breakfast, help yourself,” Mike said. “There’s plenty of stuff in the fridge. Bob will leave your money out on the credenza in the lobby. See you around.”
Morrison took another sip from his mug and foraged in the fridge and the kitchen cabinets. Mike was right. They were well stocked. But he wouldn’t have breakfast there. That morning, it would come from Elena’s. He was dying to eat one of those cinnamon buns. And he bet Johnson was too.
Chapter 16
The two extra rolls of money bulged in Morrison’s jacket pocket. Twenty thousand dollars. That was the amount he had agreed upon with Johnson to get him started. He drove to town to make his first payment. The Navigator had yet to merge on the county road. It was still bouncing from one pothole to another on the property’s private road.
While he wrestled with the wheel one-ha
nded, Morrison called Johnson directly on his mobile phone. His hacker friend picked up on the first ring.
“Good, you’re still up,” Morrison said. “Mind if I drop by?”
“If you have my money, please do,” Johnson said.
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll pick up breakfast, or a late snack for you, on my way. I was thinking of cinnamon buns from Elena’s. Good enough for you?”
“Bring ’em on. I sure could use ’em.”
“Tough night?”
“You remember when you went to school? The first day? How you felt all lost and out of place? That’s how it’s been all night.”
“Don’t tell me it’s that bad.”
“Three years is a long time, Morrison. I’m wallowing in the dark, here.”
“But are you getting somewhere?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve picked up on a thing or two. But that’s a one-thousand-piece puzzle full of clear blue sky. It’s not gonna be the work of a moment.”
“It’s all right. As long as it doesn’t take too long either.”
Johnson scoffed. “No pressure,” he said.
“I only put on the pressure because I know you can deliver.”
“You know, during these three years, I really didn’t miss you all that much, Morrison.”
“Wait till you see the money.”
“Right. And don’t forget the buns.”
Morrison flipped his phone shut and slid it into his jacket.
Finally, after having bounced around on that bad private road for a few minutes, he reached the county road. What a relief. It was smooth as silk. He gunned down the engine just for the fun of it, just for the pleasure of feeling the acceleration rush push his backside deep into the leather seat on that perfect ribbon of blacktop. He reached seventy miles an hour in the blink of an eye. Then eighty. The big V8 engine rumbled and roared, loving it as much as he did. Then he came back to his senses. It wasn’t a very smart thing to do. Last thing he needed was a patrol car chasing him down full blinkers on. He looked up in the rear-view mirror. There was a lone gray car, far behind. For a moment, he thought, Shit, that could be an unmarked car. So he proceeded to slow down to the prescribed fifty miles an hour and punched the cruise control button to lock down that speed. He looked up to the mirror again. Noticed that the car behind had kept the same gap relative to him. So it must have slowed down too.