by Andrew Price
“You nervous about something?” Corbin finally asked.
Beckett let out a disgusted laugh.
“Let’s try this again. Are you nervous about something?” Corbin repeated.
“I’m fine.”
“Doesn’t look that way from here.”
“You must be mistaken.” Beckett chuckled ominously.
“Oh, I doubt that. What’s the problem?” Corbin was becoming annoyed.
“There’s no problem,” Beckett countered, still without turning to face Corbin. They sat in silence for nearly a minute. Beckett stared at his computer, tapping his pen against his desk. Corbin stared at the back of Beckett’s head.
“So there’s nothing I need to know.” This was a statement, not a question.
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“You’re ready for tomorrow.”
“Yes,” snapped Beckett.
“You’re not going to back out on us in the morning?”
“I’m not backing out on anything. I don’t have a choice at this point,” Beckett said snidely.
Corbin’s lips took on an angry curl. “Why don’t you just drop the theater and say what’s on your mind?”
“You know what’s on my mind? This whole thing is immoral. It’s wrong.”
Corbin let out a single, derisive laugh. “There’s no denying that. So what?”
“So I don’t like doing things I think are wrong.”
“Then back out,” Corbin said calmly, even with a hint of enthusiasm.
Beckett was shocked. “What?!”
“Hey, if you’re gonna back out, there’s nothing I can do about it, and frankly, I’d rather we just get it over with now, so Nobody and I can move on without you.”
“You know I can’t back out. I need the money. I’ve already quit my job.”
“Then man up, friend. You stepped up to the plate. The bat’s left your shoulder. Stop worrying about whether or not you like baseball.”
Beckett faced Corbin. “I said before that I’m not backing out. So drop it.”
Corbin waited several seconds before responding. “All right, you’re in. You wanna talk about tomorrow?”
“Yeah, let’s go over it one more time.”
The tense atmosphere in the room cleared significantly.
“You arrive at your usual time, o’ dark thirty. Bring your stuff up here. Turn on your computer and head down to the dumpster in the parking lot. No one can see you there. I’ll pick you up and take you to the station, where you catch the train north. I’ve got your ticket in the duffel bag, which will be sitting in the backseat of my car.”
“I meet Nobody in Baltimore.”
“Right, he’ll have the seat opposite you. He’ll be wearing a blue button-down dress shirt and gray slacks, no tie. He’s got black-brown hair and brown eyes. He’ll answer to ‘Joe.’ I told him you’d answer to ‘Jeff.’”
Beckett looked at his watch. “Shouldn’t we be going to lunch?”
Corbin checked his own watch. “Yep. Don’t forget, we make that funky order today, the one that looks like only one of us is eating.”
“I remember. It’s a good thing I’m not very hungry.”
“Just stick with the order we discussed and don’t say anything unusual to the waitress. Treat this like a normal lunch.”
Chapter 11
As he pulled into the deserted parking lot, Corbin saw Beckett pacing in the dark by the dumpster. Beckett wore his navy-blue suit pants and a white shirt. He kept beating his palms together. When the car stopped, Beckett flung the passenger door open.
“We have a problem! We can’t use this information!” Beckett screeched.
Corbin squinted at Beckett. “Why not?”
“We work with these people! I can’t believe I didn’t see this before. All it’ll take is for one of them to spot us on a security video and we’re done!”
Corbin let out a hissing sound through his gritted teeth. “Joe Nobody will be the only person who ever appears on video because you aren’t going inside. No one knows Nobody, so no one can identify him from a videotape. And let me remind you, there won’t be any videotape by the time they finally figure out something happened, if they figure out something happened and if anyone cares enough to investigate.”
Beckett bit his lip and climbed into the car. “Oh man, I feel like an idiot.”
Corbin didn’t respond.
As they drove in silence to the train station, Beckett kept looking over his shoulder at the duffel bag in the backseat. His mouth was dry. When they neared the station, Beckett pulled the duffel bag onto his lap. It was heavier than he’d expected. Before them stood Union Station, with the fifty state flags displayed proudly along the semi-circular road that ran past the station. Behind them to the right stood the Capital Building, just beyond a stand of trees.
Corbin nodded toward the crosswalk at Massachusetts Avenue. “I’m gonna let you out at the corner. Don’t forget to give me your wallet.”
Beckett stepped out of the car and handed his wallet and keys to Corbin. He looked at Union Station, his gateway to Philadelphia and destinations unknown. “What have you gotten me into?”
“A brighter future,” Corbin said without hesitation.
Without another word, Beckett disappeared into the early-morning crowd.
Corbin tossed his suit jacket onto the spare chair. Beckett’s navy-blue polyester suit jacket already hung from the coat rack. Corbin added a hot cup of coffee to Beckett’s desk and entered Beckett’s password, causing Beckett’s computer to dutifully report Beckett’s presence to Kak’s computer. Corbin took his own seat and began his day. He felt great.
The recently-renovated Baltimore station rolled into view outside the train’s window. The platform was busy, even though the morning rush hour had yet to begin. Several travelers boarded Beckett’s car, but none fit the description of Joe Nobody. Beckett stood up to get a better look around the car. He tapped the back of his seat and scowled. He heard the door chimes ring.
“If that son of a bitch doesn’t show up,” he said to himself.
As Beckett spoke, an Hispanic-looking man entered the rear of the car. The man wore a light-blue, button-down shirt and gray slacks, with headphones wrapped around his neck and thick glasses stuffed into his shirt pocket. Sure enough, the man sat down opposite Beckett.
“You’re Joe.”
“You’re Jeff.” Alvarez checked his watch. “You have the bag?”
“Of course,” Beckett said, patting the duffel bag on the seat next to him. “You’re late.”
“How am I late? It’s a train. If I was late, I wouldn’t be sitting here, would I?” Alvarez pulled his headphones to his ears and fiddled with the volume control.
“Are you going to do that the whole way?”
Alvarez pulled off the headphones. “Do what?”
“Never mind,” Beckett replied, not bothering to hide his annoyance. He waited for Alvarez to replace the headphones before speaking again.
Alvarez removed the headphones again. “What did you say?”
“I said to make sure you’re awake when we get to Philly.”
Alvarez went to replace the headphones again.
“I didn’t know you wear glasses,” Beckett said, nodding toward the glasses in Alvarez’s shirt pocket.
“I don’t. I borrowed these.”
“Can you see through them?”
“Not well.” Alvarez returned the headphones to his ears. The next time Beckett spoke, he didn’t remove the headphones.
Molly stood in Corbin’s door watching him type. Despite the warm day they were expecting, she had abandoned her recent near-miniskirts for a tight, black, silk skirt with a red rose print, that fell to the lower end of her calves. The skirt was so snug it visibly restricted her movements. The combination of the tight skirt and her higher-than-normal high heels made her appear precariously balanced. A wide black belt rested just above her hips and three silver bracelets stood out prominently be
low the short sleeves of her dark-red blouse. Her lips, her fingernails, and her toenails visible through her open-toed shoes and tan stockings, all matched the dark red of her blouse.
Corbin didn’t look up, but he did acknowledge her presence. “Molly.”
“Corbin,” Molly echoed his tone.
“How are you today?”
“Ceteras paribas, ceteras paribas.” Molly made her way to Beckett’s chair. She spun the chair to face Corbin and sat down, crossing her legs with no apparent difficulty.
“Ceteras paribas?” Corbin asked, without stopping his typing.
“It means same shit, different day.”
“Doesn’t it mean, all else remains unchanged?”
“That’s what I said.” Molly picked up Beckett’s coffee cup. Corbin drunk half the contents ten minutes prior. “Where’s your diminutive friend?”
“What is this, big word Tuesday?”
“I’m feeling loquacious.” Molly smiled.
“Clearly. I have no idea where he went. He’s in high demand today, with this being his last day and all.” Corbin looked up from his keyboard. He looked Molly up and down. “What are you dressed up for?”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Do I need a reason to look nice?”
Corbin shook his head.
“Have you met the F-N-G yet?” she asked.
“‘F-N-G’?”
“Fucking new guy.”
“Ah, no, I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“It’s no pleasure, I assure you.”
“I take it you’ve met him?”
“Yes, I have,” Molly said, as she swirled Beckett’s coffee in her hand. “They sent us a dud. . . a real dud. . . weapons grade boring. His last name should be Bland, Mr. Bland.” Suddenly, Corbin realized the reason Molly was dressed up.
“Wonderful. At least he won’t interfere with nap time.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t sleep around this guy.”
“Why not?”
“He’s got desk rage written all over him.”
“I thought you said he was Mr. Bland?”
“He is, but those are the ones you need to watch. They’re always ready to blow. A little too much caffeine and bam!” Molly slapped her hands together. “Mr. Bland goes postal! If I were you, I wouldn’t turn my back on him for a minute.” Molly rose. “Tell your friend I’m looking for him.”
The train raced through the Maryland countryside. Alvarez stared out the window, listening to his music. Beckett twiddled his thumbs. He was bored and anxious.
“What are you listening to?”
Alvarez pulled the headphones from his ears. “What?”
“You’re listening to ABBA, aren’t you?” Beckett asked accusingly.
“No,” Alvarez responded defensively.
“I know ABBA when I hear it. That’s ABBA.”
“It’s not ABBA.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s not,” Alvarez almost growled, “and you can stop saying that now.”
“Why? Does it bother you?”
“What’s your problem?”
“No problem.” Beckett scratched his chin. “How long have you known Corbin?”
“We’re not supposed to talk about that.”
“I’m just trying to pass the time.”
Alvarez glared at him.
Beckett rose. “I’m going to the can. You stay here and watch the bag and listen to your ABBA.” As Beckett walked away, he began loudly humming “Dancing Queen.”
Alvarez bit his tongue.
Corbin slipped silently into the hearing room. Despite its name, the “hearing room” was nothing more than a large empty room with two dozen chairs and three desks arranged in an “L” shape at the front of the room. Five people sat in the audience. The court reporter gathered their names. Corbin positioned himself at the clerk’s desk. In ten minutes, the hearing would begin and the federal government would provide him with the perfect alibi.
Alvarez watched the clerk reach under the counter for the promised paperwork. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His mouth was dry. The fake glasses made him dizzy. Behind Alvarez, a wall of silver mailboxes stretched the length of the store. Another wall of silver mailboxes ran the width.
“I’m a grad student at Penn,” Alvarez offered.
The clerk shuffled some forms, but didn’t look up from behind her counter.
“Our mail keeps getting stolen,” Alvarez added.
“Uh, huh,” the clerk replied indifferently.
“That’s why I want the mailbox.”
The clerk surfaced from behind the counter with two forms. “Fill in your personal information on the top form and sign the rental agreement.” She pulled a pen from a nearby coffee cup.
“I have my own.” Corbin had instructed Alvarez to use his own pen to avoid leaving any physical evidence behind. As Alvarez filled out the forms, he couldn’t stop himself from rambling. “My roommates need to use the box as well.” Alvarez wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand.
“Just put their names on the first form.”
“Their mail gets stolen too.” Alvarez grunted at his failure to stop talking.
“Fine, whatever, just put their names on the first form. I also need $120 for the box.”
Alvarez tossed six twenty dollar bills onto the counter.
“‘You want how much?’ See, and I said it like I thought it was too much,” explained Felix Templeton, the third person to visit the office in the last fifteen minutes. So far, none of them voiced any suspicions regarding Beckett’s absence. “He looked at me and said, ‘I’ll see if I can find a better rate.’ And he did. He gave me a reduced rate! Sometimes you just have to stand firm.”
Corbin faked a smile and tried to look interested in Templeton’s hotel-booking story.
“Of course, I don’t know why we can’t get a federal rate. You’d think that would make sense with the number of federal employees who travel.”
“You would think so,” Corbin agreed.
“I guess I shouldn’t take up any more of your time. I just came by to wish Evan the best, but I guess he’s busy out processing.”
“He is in high demand.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No sir, just ‘out processing.’ He showed up, started something, the phone rang and he left. That was about ten minutes ago.”
“Ok. Tell him I stopped by.”
“I will.”
The old man left and closed the door behind him.
Corbin typed out a quick e-mail from Beckett’s computer before re-opening the door. “Open door means nothing to hide,” he told himself.
Alvarez emerged from the mailbox store and crossed the street to where Beckett waited. Beckett looked out of place standing around holding the duffel bag, but not enough to draw attention.
“How did it go?” Beckett asked.
“Fine.”
“Did they give you any trouble?”
“No, the clerk didn’t really care.”
“What did they say about the ID?”
“She never asked for it. I could have written Mickey Mouse on the form for all she cared. Just like Corbin said.”
“Corbin’s a good criminal, you’ve got to give him that.” Beckett took the wallet and the paperwork from Alvarez and placed them in their rightful place in the duffel bag. “Still, don’t get cocky. This one may have been easy, but don’t expect the banks to be easy. That’s where the real danger lies.”
Alvarez shot Beckett a dirty look. “Do you mind!”
“I’m just saying. Don’t get complacent.”
“I won’t. But listen, you can’t just stand there like you’re waiting for me. The clerk could see you out the window.”
“I thought you said she didn’t care?”
“She didn’t, but I don’t know what the next clerk is gonna think.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Walk out of sight or something. Don’t look like you’re
waiting for me.”
“Fine.” Beckett reached into the duffel bag. “Here’s the next packet.”
“What packet?” Corbin asked. Like everyone else in the office, he learned a long time ago never to trust Kak’s secretary Patricia. She did a lot of Kak’s dirty work. Thus, he viewed each of her requests with suspicion.
“His out-processing packet. I need a copy for our files.”
Corbin squinted at her. “Personnel keeps those. They don’t stay in this office.”
“We keep a copy here,” she responded without further explanation.
“Why not ask personnel to send you a copy if you need it?”
“It’s too hard to get these back from personnel once they get their hands on them.” Patricia’s already-unpleasant tone hardened. “I don’t know why I need to explain this to you.”
Corbin half-shrugged his shoulders. “All right, I’ll tell him when I see him.”
“I’d rather you e-mailed me when he returns. Then I’ll come get the file and make the copy myself.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” With that, she bolted from the office, slamming the door on the way out.
“Nasty, nasty, nasty. Hope you don’t mind spending the day just missing Mr. Evan Beckett.”
Alvarez sat at the assistant bank manager’s desk. She was about his age and completely oblivious to anything that didn’t interest her, and Alvarez didn’t interest her. She never once noticed him referring to his drivers license for basic information about himself or looking at his cell phone to figure out his own telephone number. “Maybe Corbin’s right? Maybe this isn’t so unusual,” Alvarez said to himself, as he signed the application form and slid it across the desk. Although he had already committed several criminal acts, to him, this was the moment the crime began. Thus, even though she seemed more focused on her e-mail than him, his hands were clammy and his heart raced.