The Clause

by Brian Wiprud

  7. EOCTF Supervisor Palmer: schedule reconvene @ 1300 EDT Monday, August 9.

  ******************MEETING ADJOURNED******************

  Eighteen

  It was twilight as I motored my bike to a Starbucks on River Road. With a large latte and a cookie in front of me, I lit up Phone #2 and called Doc. “Gill! I tried calling. You did not answer and there was no message machine.”

  I could have held her feet to the fire over the punk with the leather vest out in Queens, but what was the point?

  “The paper and tickets: are they ready for delivery?”

  “Yes. Where’s the drop?”

  “Boulevard East and 77th Street, North Bergen, east side of the street, under the street lamp. Put the money inside a volleyball so I’ll know the courier, and I’ll need the courier’s phone number.”

  “I’m coming myself.”

  “Even better. But still put it in a volleyball.”

  “Where am I going to get a volleyball this time of night?”

  “I’m sure that store on Main Street there in Flushing must have one.”

  “What if they don’t? And how am I supposed to get the stuff inside a volleyball?”

  “Swipe a volleyball from your kids if you have to. Just slice it and then put a piece of duct tape over the slice once you insert the passports and tickets.”

  “Is this really necessary?”

  “That’s the way it has to be. Can you be there in two hours?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Should I even ask you not to bring your friends from Hong Kong?”

  “I’m on the up and up, Gill. You know me, I deal fair and square.”

  “Good to know. See you at eleven.”

  Phone #2 off and battery out. I gobbled down my cookie, and took the coffee with me. Sticking around to see if the Hong Kong friends were going to show up at the Starbucks didn’t seem like a good idea. After the punk in the vest I had to assume they would ping my phone this time, too. If I hung around they’d be more careful in their approach and tighten their net more carefully as they moved in.

  Time to purchase some camo. Not for hunting but for being hunted. I pulled into a CVS and waited half an hour before going in. That way I’d pretty much seen everybody who came out and went in other than the people who worked there. The Kurac wouldn’t have any way of knowing I’d be there, but they were in the neighborhood, and I didn’t want to risk any chance encounters with those snotbag goons.

  Nice ’n Easy said on the box exactly what I wanted in a hair dye, and I bought something called Born Blonde Maxi. I wanted my hair to be almost white when I got done with it. Then I grabbed a Jets ball cap, a straw trilby from the seasonal section, and a pair of large sunglasses. They had shirts in back, crappy drab tropical ones on sale, so I tossed one in my basket.

  It was getting late and I needed to get online and I needed a place to hide out overnight, possibly even sleep for an hour or two if I could manage it. If not maybe just rest, lie still for a couple hours, which is almost as good as sleep.

  My laptop was hidden in my Screen Man truck in a commercial parking lot in back of a gas station on River Road, but I didn’t dare go anywhere near it. Libraries were all closed.

  I began to cruise the neighborhoods in Edgewater away from the river at the base of the cliff. I needed a dark house, one with those circulars and newspapers piled up on the front step. If they’d gone to the shore or the mountains for the weekend, they’d probably be home already, and it being August a lot of folks were on vacation for a week. Likely as not they would vacation Saturday to Saturday—that’s how most vacation houses were rented.

  A woman was on one porch picking up circulars, and I saw her move off toward a house two down.

  I pulled over. The house she’d been at had a porch light on, and an upstairs light on behind the curtain, but all the other windows were dark. The only reason she would be over there lifting their circulars was if they were out of town and she was doing them a favor by not letting the circulars pile up, so it would look like they were home. If she was picking up circulars at that hour it probably meant they weren’t coming home that night. The mailbox said: GARBER. There was an ACE SECURITY SYSTEMS sticker by the front door, but I recognized that as one of the many stickers on the market that are phony, for people who want to pretend they have an alarm system. A sign in the yard that had the name of a real security company would have had me move on.

  I decided to play it safe.

  I went to the door of the woman who was collecting circulars and rang the doorbell.

  She cracked the door, the chain across the gap. She was older, with too much blond hair than she knew was good for her at that age. She wore a snuggie, and the TV flickered in the living room behind her.

  “Hi, thought I’d stop by and let you know I’m staying at the Garbers’ tonight.”

  “What?”

  “I have the key.”

  “You do?”

  “They told you, right? About Phil?”

  “Phil?”

  “That’s me. Phil Greene.” I pulled my wallet and showed her my Jersey license. “See? I live nearby, and my apartment building is being fumigated for bed bugs. They said I could drop in and stay the night.”

  “Fred didn’t say anything about this to me.”

  “Well, how else would I know to come here unless Fred told me to?” I smiled. “I mean, sure, it could be I’m just driving around looking for a house to break into, and so decided to announce it to the neighbors and show them my driver’s license. Right? You can call Fred if you want.”

  She relaxed a little, and I could see on her face that she didn’t have a number to reach Fred.

  “How long will you be there?”

  “Just tonight.”

  “I’m not comfortable with this.”

  “I’m sorry Fred forgot to tell you I was coming. But he left me a key, so …”

  “Phil Greene.”

  “I live just over in North Bergen. If anything goes missing or anything, tell the cops to arrest me.”

  She relaxed a little more, and almost smiled. “Leave the lights the way he has them.”

  I drifted back from her door. “I will. Good night.” I saluted and went back to my bike for the saddle bag. Around back of the house I looked under the mat—no key. Not in a magnet box under the Weber grill, either. I turned over some stones in the garden until I found one that rattled. Fake rock with a key inside, which unlocked the back door. It amazes me that people think these gadgets fool burglars. Don’t they think we go to Lowe’s or get clever catalogs with these gadgets in them, knowing exactly what to look for? Don’t they think we know the name of all the local security companies and know which stickers mean business?

  The kitchen was late-model and smelled like dust and grease and needed the tops of the cabinets cleaned, probably a change of curtains. I opened the fridge with a dish towel. Just instinctive—I wasn’t hungry, it’s just what you do when you’re about to make yourself comfortable in someone else’s home: you want to see what’s in the fridge. They had Oreos in there, and beer, and cold cuts, and some fruit that was past due. At least they’d gotten rid of the milk. I’d never seen anybody keep cookies in the fridge before. I took a sport drink and shut the door.

  I didn’t spend too much time on a tour of the Garber place. It was a split-level, three bedroom, one doubling as a den downstairs with a computer on the desk. The lights of the modem blinked next to it. With the desk lamp clicked on, I sat at the swivel chair, plugged in my secure flash drive, and fired up the CPU. Not the newest equipment, I only hoped it wouldn’t be really slow. The Microsoft tune trumpeted from the speakers and I was in—no password protection. Not much of a surprise that people are even laxer with their computers than they are with their safes. I mean,
who really expects someone to break into their home and use their computer?

  The thermostat was turned pretty warm so I cranked up the AC. I was headed back to the den with the sport drink when the doorbell sounded. I looked through the peephole.

  My stomach shriveled. Cops.

  A very important part of being a successful thief is being able to talk your way out of situations with the cops rather than running from them. When you run, they catch you, and when they do, they are not gentle; you have given them an excuse to get physical. Also, by the very fact that you ran they know you are guilty.

  Sport drink in my hand, I opened the door. “Hi.”

  One was a Hispanic female, the other a pimply white male, both young, thumbs in their belts next to their guns. The Hispanic said, “Can we see some identification?”

  “Sure, it’s in my wallet, so don’t shoot or anything, okay? I guess Missus Whatshername thought I was a shady character.” The cops didn’t reply; they just flexed their jaw muscles. I handed them the wallet with my license.

  “You know the Garbers?” She cocked an eye at me.

  “Yup, they gave me the key.” I held up the key. “And that’s why I went over to the Whatshername house to tell her I was staying here tonight, because I didn’t want to have to waste your time.”

  “You’re not wasting our time,” Pimples said. He didn’t like me. She wasn’t so sure.

  “Look, officers, I’ve shown you my license, and that I live one town over, and you know I’ve done my best to make sure everybody knows I’m here on the up and up. You want to come in and look around?”

  Pimples spoke before she had a chance. “If you don’t mind.”

  I held the door open, and switched on a living room lamp.

  “You always sit around in the dark?” she asked.

  “I just got here. And I’m just staying downstairs in the den, no need to light the whole house up. I was just going to do a little work on the computer, have a snack, and turn in.”

  Pimples approached the step and looked down toward the den and glowing computer. I think if he’d had his way they’d search my belongings. The sparks, cash, and burglar tools would have been a deal breaker. But she turned toward the door.

  “Just checking, Mr. Greene. Have a good night. Let’s go, Andy.”

  They thumbed their belts all the way back to the squad car.

  I indulged in a huge sigh. Then I took a long hot shower, remembering back when Phil Greene died. When I got out of the shower, the doorbell was ringing again. Still in my towel, I opened the door. It was the blond neighbor.

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Greene, about calling the police. But I am responsible and I didn’t feel right.”

  “That’s fine, no worries.”

  “My name is Florence. My friends call me Florrie.”

  I smiled. “I’d shake your hand but then I’d drop my towel.”

  Florrie blushed, and laughed. “Oh, my, well …”

  “But you did the right thing. If you don’t feel right about something, call the cops. And I have nothing to hide. I could always go to a hotel, but Fred said …”

  “Again, I’m so sorry, you seem like a nice person, but how am I supposed to know? It’s always the nice ones.”

  “You’re right, it is always the nice ones. Well, I …”

  “You have enough to eat? I could fix you something.”

  “Thanks, Florrie, I’m just having a snack and turning in. Monday morning is just around the corner. Gotta get up early for work.”

  “Where do you work, Mr. Greene?”

  “I’m the Screen Man. I repair screens, screen doors, install storm windows.”

  “Really? I’ve seen your van! You have a card? My screens are in terrible shape.”

  “I have them back at my apartment. Just look me up, and I’ll come by and fix what needs fixing.”

  “Wonderful! Well, have a good night, Phil.” She backed off the porch.

  “Good night.” I latched the door and threw on the useless chain, hoping that was the end of the visitors for the night.

  Nice ’n Easy was as advertised, and I quickly had the goop combed into my hair waiting to work its magic. It said forty-five minutes was all it would take to make my hair snowy white.

  I put on one of Fred’s velour track suits—not a bad fit—and sat down at the computer. Typing in my password to the flash drive’s encrypted browser, I accessed the private network tunnel and secure sessions service.

  I typed into Google and went into my backup Gmail account, the one I only used at the library. I composed an email to

  tim@bernardscaybonefishlodge.com:

  Hi, Tim: I decided I might take you up on that fishing trip to your lodge. You must be shocked after all the times you invited me. Think you could teach me to bonefish? I’m between jobs with a severance package and am thinking about coming for a month to clear my head. Hope you can accommodate. Email ASAP as I am booking a flight for Nassau tonight. Looking forward to catching up with an old army buddy. Yours, Gill.

  I wanted them to think Trudy was alive, that I was at the beach house, that I was dumb about phones, and that I was headed to Iceland. A misinformed adversary can be your best ally. The name on the passport was so generic that even if it fell into the wrong hands it would be of little use.

  It seemed inevitable that when those Serb shitbags returned from their beach holiday they would get wind of what was going on and confront the Hong Kong friends. In fact, I hoped they would. Let them go after each other instead of me.

  I went to the Bernard’s Cay Bonefish Lodge website. It boasted that it catered to the hardcore fly-fishing angler as well as their “non-fishing spouse” who might like lounging by the pool, snorkeling, or combing the white sandy beaches. There were lots of grip-and-grin shots of people with silvery fish in the bright sun and blue waters, as well as happy couples hand in hand frolicking in the surf and sipping drinks by the sunset. That had been me, once, a jillion years ago, and never again. My only hope was that one day I might somehow think back on Trudy and be warmed by the memory instead of chilled. The regret was acid on my tongue, my mouth dry with fear of being alone.

  The out islands of the Bahamas looked perfectly isolated, yet at the same time accessible by air and boat, and a guy with cash could keep moving. It looked like you could hit a new island every couple weeks for a year. I’d never really known what fly fishing was. I opened a new Explorer window to YouTube, where I found videos showing how it was done. Unlike the kind of fishing where the line is cast from the reel, fly fishing was all about using the plastic line to draw itself out by swinging it through the air. The casts looked freaky, like a slow whipping action. There were a lot of details to how it was done, and with what kind of equipment, but the exactness and complexity attracted me. It was tactical: the fish were adversaries to be outmaneuvered, and teamwork was often required. As a tactic for my situation, going to a remote location alone with a guide on a motorboat with lots of escape options was ideal. I’d fit right in.

  It would help if I had the equipment when I went to complete my cover as a genuine traveling angler. I flipped out of YouTube and searched for a fly-fishing store in Manhattan. There was one in the Twenties on Fifth Avenue, and I jotted the address onto a gum wrapper. They booked trips to the Bahamas.

  “BAHAMAS OFFSHORE BANK” also got me a lot of results. Apparently the banks in Nassau and Freeport aren’t as shifty as those in Panama, but shifty enough. The home page of Warranty Trust Bank claimed to be “highly specialized,” “respectable,” and catered to “discriminating individuals.” Anybody that feels the need to say they’re respectable isn’t. “Confidentiality is entirely protected by the Bahamas Banking Code.” Translated, that means they can figure out a way to accept large sums of cash without setting off any alarms. That’s what I wanted to
hear. I didn’t bother to write the address down on a gum wrapper.

  I realized I was running late to meet Doc, so I plucked out the secure flash drive and turned off the CPU. Fred’s tracksuit came off and I changed back into my canvas shirt and cargo pants—my new CVS shirt and trilby hat would be for Monday, once the Sunday duds were completely sweated out.

  The Nice ’n Easy had to be rinsed from my hair, so I hosed off my head and toweled off. My wet hair was blond as straw, and I scrunched the Jets cap on top of it.

  The rinse and gloss steps would have to wait until I returned. Saddle bag over my shoulder, I locked the Garbers’ house and straddled my bike.

  Nineteen

  DCSNet 6000 Warrant Database

  Transcript Cell Phone Track and Trace

  Peerless IP Network / Redhook Translation

  Target: Dragan Spikic

  Date: Sunday, August 8, 2010

  Time: 2304–2308 EDT

  SPIKIC: TALK TO ME.

  VUGOVIC: THE INFORMATION FROM THE CUBANS WAS BAD. WE ARE COMING BACK TO THE CITY. UNDERWOOD NEVER CAME DOWN TO HIS HOUSE, AND IT CONTAINS NOTHING OF VALUE. I THINK UNDERWOOD USED THE CORPORATION TO FEED US MISINFORMATION, TO BUY TIME.