by E. Z. Rinsky
“Oh my god,” Mindy whispers to me. “He looks horrible.”
It’s true. In the photos he had an athletic build. But his once round, steely face is withered and gaunt. His cheeks sag. His legs are terribly skinny, and he’s favoring one knee.
He quickly sits down next to me, and I nearly gag at his odor. It smells like he lives in that coat. Up close I can see he’s so pale that his acne-tinged face has an almost blue pallor.
He’s sick or something.
His eyes are glazed over like he’s stoned, and he’s blinking fast. Nervous.
“Hi Rico,” Mindy says. “Congrats. You’re getting what you want.”
Rico glances at her for a moment, eyes empty. I’m not sure he recognizes her.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” he says, his voice weak and strained. He unslings the bag quickly and unzips it. “Here, they’re all there.”
He’s holding the bag open, offering them with a weird kind of eagerness.
He wants to get this over with.
Mindy pulls on a pair of latex gloves, removes a penlight from her purse, then reaches over my lap, into the bag and plucks one out.
The book is bound in yellowish leather, which she caresses with a gloved hand as one might a baby’s face. The front is unmarked, although on the back I see some black etchings which roughly approximate a face: two eyes, nostrils, mouth. I look over her shoulder as she opens to the first page.
No letters of any kind. Only lines, pictures, shapes, etchings—pale blue lines and twisted marks of dark red. Some pieces are raised, like Braille—maybe these are the parts that Mindy said couldn’t be copied. After a few seconds of staring I start to get a headache, like I’m at the eye doctor.
“Is it real?” I ask Mindy.
“Of course it’s real,” says Rico. His expression is pained. He’s having a hard time breathing, I think, like that turtleneck is cutting off his air.
“Hold on . . .” Mindy mutters to me. “This looks real but . . . the twenty-four I had, only seven were already bound in leather. And this is bound now, but it’s not one of the seven that was before. If he undid the binding he easily could have removed pages.”
“Did you mess with some of them?” I ask Rico.
He flinches.
“Some . . . were bound,” he replies. “But they’re all there. I’m not trying to trick you,” he pleads. His knees are shaking, like he has to pee. “Now put it back. They belong together.”
“I need to check that each volume is complete and authentic,” she says. “A single removed page would be enough for you to force us to go through all of this again. You know that.”
He holds the bag open, stares at Mindy insistently, as she takes her time turning from page to page, inspecting the twine binding under her penlight, perhaps counting the number of pages as well.
“Rico, don’t you want to check the bonds?” I ask, nodding to the pink duffel under my arm. He’s staring into space, panting heavily.
“Yes, yes.” Rico comes back to earth, coughs into the elbow of his puffy jacket. “Of course.”
I open the pink duffel so Rico can see all the bonds, but don’t let it out of my grip.
“You can reach in and select a few at random,” I say.
Rico gropes around in the bag, and pulls out a few papers. His fingernails are yellow, his hands are peeling and dry. I watch his eyes while he examines the bonds. He feels the weight of the paper, quickly inspects the watermarks on the lower right hand corner.
He’s in a hurry. Something’s wrong.
“Okay, yeah,” he says, putting them back in the pink bag. “Fine, fine. Let’s trade.”
“What? I need to look through all of the books,” says Mindy, pointing to the green bag on Rico’s lap. This suggestion makes him recoil.
“What! They’re all there,” he rasps. “I’m not trying to trick you. Let’s do this and be done.”
“Rico,” I say gently. “We’re giving you forty-eight million dollars. We can’t trade until we know they’re all there. I’ll keep the money right here between us.”
He bites his lip, and looks like he’s about to cry with frustration.
“Of course,” he whimpers.
I take the green bag from him and hand it to Mindy. She eagerly opens it and starts stacking them on the bench. Opening each one and flipping through the pages, really taking her time.
Something catches my eye.
Across the room, someone’s looking at me. It’s one of the Gap guys on the aquarium tour. He’s staring at Mindy with some kind of disgust, as if she’s handling not some books, but an urn containing his grandmother’s ashes. When he notices me looking at him he quickly looks back to the tour guide. In fact, the tour guide is trying to move on to another room, but one of them is keeping her here, pointing at the otters and asking questions.
My stomach clenches. I knew something was off with their outfits. Their shirts should be tucked in. And I’m pretty sure I spot bulges on two of their hips.
“Are those guys with you, Rico?” I ask. “That was not part of the deal.”
He hesitates.
“They’re just checking that everything goes smoothly,” he says.
I swallow and turn slowly to Mindy.
“Mindy,” I whisper in her ear, with as much calm as I can muster. “Put the books back in the bag. We need to swap and get out of here.”
“What do you mean?” Mindy looks at me. “I haven’t gone through them all yet.”
“There’s twenty-four books there, right?” I’m trying to make sure Rico can’t hear me, but the truth is he doesn’t seem interested in our conversation. He’s struggling with his breathing. “That’s good enough for me.”
Mindy shakes her head, whispers back, exasperated. “No, no, no. There’s twenty-four volumes. But like I said, he easily could have pulled a page out.”
“I don’t give a shit about one page.” My voice cracks. “Let’s get the books and leave before these guys lose their patience.”
Her brown eyes widen.
“You don’t understand,” she hisses in my ear. “These aren’t normal books. Each page references hundreds of others. It’s a complete set, and if one piece is missing the whole thing is incomplete. If we were missing a square centimeter of the Mona Lisa, would that be close enough? He already undid the binding on some of these. I have to check.”
“How long do you need?”
“Forty-five minutes,” she says. “At least.”
I take a deep breath. If what she’s saying about one missing page is true, and Rico knows that . . .
Is that why Rico’s trying to rush us? And these guys are here to make sure she doesn’t have enough time to check all of them?
“Put the books back in the bag,” I whisper to Mindy. “We’re going to reschedule for tomorrow. On our terms.”
“No, no.” She shakes her head. “We’re not walking away without the books. I’ll just look them over and confirm—”
I snatch the book she’s holding from her hands and throw it back into the green duffel. Then quickly scoop up the ones on the bench and toss them in as well. The look she gives me has enough venom to kill an elephant.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” she snaps.
“What if you find a missing page?” I say. “You think these guys are just going to apologize for the misunderstanding?”
I turn back to Rico, hand him the bag of books and smile. “I need to go speak to Sampson in private before we finalize the swap,” I say. “Mindy and I will be back in a second.”
Before I can stand up, Rico puts a yellow hand on my knee. He leans in a little closer. I can smell whatever fungal colony is thriving under that coat.
“Don’t stand up, and don’t look at them again,” he whispers. “They’ll kill you if you try to leave with the money.”
My chest constricts and I feel my pulse pound in my neck. Two of the Gap guys are looking at us.
“Don’t be a fool. Yo
u have no idea the horrors I’ve seen. They won’t hurt us if this goes smoothly,” he mutters lowly. “Take the books and go, like you’re supposed to.”
My mind races.
“This wasn’t part of the arrangement. You were supposed to come alone.”
He raises his eyebrows in disbelief.
“Do you not understand what’s happening here?”
I don’t like any of this. We need to get the hell out of here with the money and meet again tomorrow, where he doesn’t have armed backup and Mindy won’t be rushed.
“We just need to speak to Sampson,” I say, standing up, squeezing the bag of money like it’s a life preserver. “We’ll be back in a few minutes. Mindy?”
She’s still sitting on the bench. I grab her by the elbow and jerk her to her feet. She doesn’t fight me, but her eyes stay glued to the green bag of books I handed back to Rico.
Rico remains seated. Looks up at us. His voice is bitter, and he’s choking back tears.
“Pray that Sophnot kills us quickly.”
Mindy stiffens. I’d love to ask a follow-up question, but one of the khaki-clad guys leaves the group, starts making his way toward us. I lower my right hand to my waist and grip the hilt of my knife, then tug Mindy briskly toward the walkway that leads to the front entrance. Her body is half-limp, like she’s in shock at what just happened.
We make it only a few steps before the guy steps out to block our path. He’s a bit shorter than me, but with a wrestler’s build. It’s hard to imagine the bulge at his hip, beneath his untucked shirt, being anything other than a gun he slipped past security.
“Something unsatisfactory, friend?” he asks.
“Everything’s fine,” I say. I look over my shoulder. Rico is sitting on the bench with the green bag on his lap, head in his hands. “I just want to speak with my employer for a moment to confirm he wants to go through with this.”
The wrestler smiles strangely.
“Of course he does,” he says. “He’s purchasing something with value beyond measure.”
“Not questioning that.” I try to return the smile, but my adrenaline is through the roof. “Just doing the job I was hired for.”
He reaches out and puts one hand on the pink bag.
“Why don’t you leave this here with me?”
“That doesn’t sound super prudent,” I say. “Excuse us.”
I take a half step away from him. His hand moves to his waist.
My reflexes take over. Whip my sheathed knife from my waist and slam the hilt into his left temple. He drops to one of his knees, dazed. I whack him again hard in the same spot, and this one puts him sprawled flat on the ground. Somebody behind me screams, and suddenly the hundred-odd people viewing the otter exhibit are in bedlam.
“Run!” I order Mindy, pushing her away from me. The other four khaki-clad men shove their way through the chaos toward me. Rico has left his bench, along with the green bag. I catch a flash of him dashing through the once taped up tunnel leading to the beavers. Two of the men in khaki follow him.
I whip out my headphones.
“Courtney, Rico’s wearing a puffy coat and turtleneck. The books are in a green bag. Keep on the perimeter—I think he’s headed for a side exit.”
Mindy is headed for the pathway back toward the main entrance. I take the other, upstream on the Colorado River. Past the otters is some kind of swamp exhibit. A tank that just looks like a neglected swimming pool. Two security guards rush past me toward the otters. I hear someone behind me scream something about a pink bag and yellow raincoat. I don’t slow to look behind me; I’m sure the khaki guys are close.
The Colorado River path winds uphill, spiraling upwards. The bag is really heavy. My legs are screaming as the path opens into a huge circular room with a pit in the center: a penguin exhibit.
I’m almost jerked backwards. Someone behind me got a handful of bag. I stop, whip around and crack the goon’s jaw with my elbow. He stumbles, but doesn’t release his grip until I stomp on his wrist.
The other three burst into the room. One is holding a gun low at his side.
Shit, shit.
Security has now successfully identified me, and the men pursuing me, as the source of the disturbance. But Colorado aquarium guards aren’t really accustomed to action, and the two I spot are just providing color commentary into their walkie-talkies as I scramble across the room. Chest feels like it’s going to explode. Someone screams, “He has a gun!” And the hysteria hits a new pitch. A bunch of people drop to their stomachs. I dash ahead, heading for the walkway opposite where we entered, then stop in my tracks. There’s another khaki-clad guy there, blocking my exit. He’s holding his hand under the fold of his button-up shirt; he also has a gun.
I look over my shoulder. One of the three goons has his pistol raised, trying to get a clear shot on me. The other two also are reaching for guns. Twist back around. The lone gunman just spotted me and is patiently holding his ground, well aware that he’s obstructing my only way out.
I’m at the lip of the penguin pit. About ten feet below, a couple dozen knee-height penguins flop and waddle around, unfazed by the action above.
The shoulder of the guy aiming at me twitches. I see the steely determination in his eyes and realize he’s hesitating only because I’m holding the bag of money against my chest, and he doesn’t want to damage any bonds. He fully intends to kill me.
I suddenly remember Courtney’s foresight: We can track this bag.
I heave it overhead and throw it down into the middle of the penguins. It narrowly misses one of their shallow pools. Smacks down beside one of the birds, who jumps in surprise, and then tenuously approaches the bright pink addition to her habitat.
I lock eyes with the guy who was about to shoot me. He doesn’t seem to find this development amusing. He lowers his gun and the three of them dash to the edge of the exhibit—now totally disinterested in me. All three leap over the edge without hesitation. I hear a scream—a couple broken feet probably—but I’m already shaking out of my raincoat, heading back down the Colorado River toward the front entrance, walking slowly, trying to blend in with the rest of the evacuating crowd.
“We had them . . .” Mindy says, for what must be the fiftieth time since the three of us regrouped. We’re on park benches, back on the walking mall. The GPS isn’t working. Courtney is staring rapt at the tracker, as if willing the chip to reveal itself. Mindy sits beside him, the two of them opposite me. I hope this doesn’t symbolize anything.
“I had them in my hands,” she says, growing more unhinged with every repetition. She’s tugging at a clump of her curly hair so hard that I can see a sliver of pale scalp. “Why would you throw the money in the water? Of all the boneheaded—”
“The chip is supposed to be waterproof. I read the user manual,” I lie.
“Water resistant,” mumbles Courtney. “It might just be waterlogged, and will show up once it dries out a bit.”
We spent the last hour combing the streets around the aquarium hoping to spot Rico or the guys in khaki. Nothing. They must have had well planned getaways, and I doubt aquarium security did much to slow them down. Sampson calls again, I hit ignore. Thirty-seven missed calls from him in the last ninety minutes. Each time his name pops up onscreen it’s like a vise clamped around my chest tightens a little bit. Don’t want to even imagine how he’d react to me explaining that not only do we not have the books, but that his forty-eight million dollars hinges on the water resistance of a thumbnail-sized GPS chip.
Forget the passport, he might just turn me in.
“I was holding the books. . . In my hands,” Mindy says, then shoots me a look that could wither a whole field of daisies. “And you gave them back.”
“There was nothing else to do,” I say, hoping desperately that it’s true. “Rico was trying to rush us. Get us to swap before you checked them all. Like you said, they were tampered with. Why wouldn’t he have taken a few pages out? If you think they were just go
ing to let you sit there for an hour and comb through them until you figured that out . . . The guy was going to shoot me in public!”
“And now you’ve lost both bags,” she says, voice drenched in bile. “Good work.”
“It will dry out,” says Courtney, focused on the GPS tracker. He’s desperately clawing at his cheek, like there’s gold buried under his skin. “I trust this brand. Very durable.”
“It will all be fine,” I tell Mindy, forcing a smile. Not admitting, of course, that if those guys simply decide to transfer the money to a new bag, our plan is pretty cooked. And with every passing moment, my bag toss is looking more and more dubious. But I don’t see any upside to admitting that at the moment.
Mindy pulls a little metal case out of her pocket and opens it to reveal several pre-rolled joints. The Zippo shakes in her hand as she lights it, and sucks greedily. Doesn’t offer us any.
“You better hope it will be fine,” Mindy says, exhaling a cloud of pungent smoke. “Because as it currently stands, my career is ruined, and you’ve just lost a United States Senator forty-eight million dollars. I don’t think you even comprehend the shit you’re in.”
“Instead of blaming me, you should be thanking me for saving your skin.” I jab a finger at her. “The situation was screwed from the start. Rico brought seven armed pals with him.”
“I don’t think they were his pals,” says Courtney softly, looking up from the GPS, his forehead creased with worry. “Didn’t you say Rico and two of those men ran away after you took one down?”
“Yeah.”
Courtney slowly rises from the bench, unfolding his spindly legs like a spider doing a sun salutation. There’s a look in his little eyes, like he’s staring at looming black clouds on the horizon. He hands me the GPS, apparently trusting me now that it’s worthless. He paces in a little circle between the benches.
“Who were they running from? Not from you and Mindy, certainly. I suspect Rico was running, with the books, and those two men were chasing him.”
I mull this. The Colorado dusk above us glows purple and orange. Under different circumstances I might find it soothing. Can feel the dry air on my tongue and fingertips.