Without a Hitch (4 page)
“No record, and
he’s never been fingerprinted.”
“So he’s not a
lawyer?” Beckett reasoned, knowing that lawyers get fingerprinted as part of
their bar applications; Corbin didn’t confirm Beckett’s supposition. “Can he
keep his mouth shut?”
“Yes,” Corbin
said.
“How do you
know?”
“Same reason I
know he’s good under pressure.”
“Extreme
pressure changes people. Have you seen him under extreme pressure or just
normal pressure?”
“I can vouch for
him.” It was clear Corbin wouldn’t divulge further details.
Beckett didn’t
speak for a several seconds. When he did, his enthusiasm was plain: “I say we
pick Philly, it’s closer! That gives us more time to do this and get back. I
do think though, we should limit the number of cards we apply for at each
mailbox. The last thing we need is some suspicious mail clerk calling the
cops.”
“I’m planning
three occupants per box, three cards per occupant. Where necessary, Joe Nobody
can give the clerk a story about being a college student who was sent by his
two roommates to get a mailbox because their mail keeps disappearing.”
“Is he young
enough to pass for a student?”
“Grad student.”
Beckett tilted back
in his brown leather chair. “One final question.”
“I wondered when
you’d ask.” Corbin rose and walked toward his filing cabinet.
“What am I going
to ask?” Beckett asked, somewhat taken aback.
Corbin flipped
through a folder and pulled out a photocopy of a computer printout. “You were
going to ask about this.” He handed Beckett the printout.
Beckett’s jaw
dropped. “Where did you get this?” he whispered hoarsely. “Holy crud!
They’re all on here!”
“Everyone from
the office: all seventy-five senior executive appointees, plus every attorney,
every staff member, and everyone in the mailroom. Obviously, we’re only
interested in the big earners.”
“Where did you
get this?” Beckett repeated, as he scanned the printout, which contained
financial information on everyone in the office, from salaries to social
security numbers to home addresses and more.
Corbin smiled.
“Stuart.”
“Somebody
trusted Stuart with this?!”
Corbin laughed.
“It’s his job to carry this little gem to the payroll department on M Street
once a month.”
“How did
you
get it?”
“Do you remember
that day you and Theresa were cutting up the newspaper? Do you remember Stuart
coming in and dropping off the mail? He was holding this. I followed him down
the hallway and liberated it from his mail cart long enough to make copies.”
“Did he see you
take it?”
“Doubt it. If
he did, he never said anything.”
Beckett looked
at the printout again. “Full names, dates of birth, socials, salaries.
Incredible! Hey, you make as much as I do! I thought I made more.”
“Life is full of
surprises,
Cecil
.”
“That’s a family
name, long story.” Beckett handed the printout back to Corbin. “Do you think
these guys have good enough credit for our purposes?”
“Are you
kidding? They’re untapped wells of credit. If any of them ever spent a penny,
they did it kicking and screaming. Look at Kak, he drives a ’74 Dodge, lives
in a run down shack, hasn’t taken a vacation in seven years, buys his suits at
Wal-Mart, and hasn’t left a tip in living memory. The rest of them are just as
tight, except for maybe Wilson and Nesbit. Nesbit’s got the coke problem, and
Wilson’s got an expensive divorce habit. The rest should be fine.”
“I’d still feel
better if we surveyed their houses.”
“Not a problem!
We have their addresses,” Corbin laughed, holding up the printout.
Corbin sat on
his couch in the dark eating cold Chinese food from the container. Through the
big glass door leading to his apartment’s balcony, he could see endless lines
of headlights inching their way across the bridges from the District. It was
raining. His phone rang. He checked the caller ID before answering.
“Hey Vez.”
Corbin knew Tobias Alvarez, or “Vez” as Corbin called him, since college.
“Hey Corbin, you
had dinner yet?”
Corbin looked at
the half-empty food container in his hand. “Sort of. But I’ll tell you what,
I’ll join you anyway. I need to talk to you about something.” Corbin heard
his doorbell ring. “Hold on a second, somebody’s at my door.” Corbin walked
to the front of his one-bedroom apartment, turning the kitchen light on as he passed.
Looking through the viewer, he saw his seventy-year-old neighbor’s grey hair. “Hi
Mrs. Tuttle, I’ll be with you in a second.” He returned the phone to his ear.
“Let me call you back. My neighbor just got back from the store, and I always
help her with her groceries.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Actually, hold
on. Where are you going for dinner, I’ll meet you there.”
Corbin thanked
the blond girl in the skintight blouse and slid into the booth. Alvarez had
already ordered. He still wore his work clothes, a pair of khaki pants and a
golf shirt with the name of his employer embroidered across the chest pocket.
Corbin wore jeans and a blue oxford shirt.
“Can I get you
something?” the girl asked.
“Just a Coke
please. I’ll look at the menu later,” Corbin responded. The girl smiled and
walked away.
“Sorry, I
couldn’t wait, I’ve been starving all day.” Alvarez began disassembling his
burger. “They always put these things together wrong.”
Corbin looked
around to make sure no one could hear them, which wasn’t a problem with the
deafening noise from the capacity crowd. “I broached the subject with Beckett
today.”
Alvarez raised
an eyebrow. “What did he say?”
“He’s on board.”
“Really?”
Alvarez pulled
a pickle out from under the patty
with his fork. “I hate pickles.”
“He’s agreed to
manage the duffel bag for you on the first trip.”
“Does he know
who I am?”
“No, he only
knows you as Joe Nobody.”
“I have to say,
this really surprises me. When you said a couple weeks ago you thought he
might be willing, all I could think of was how many times you told me he’s got
this strict moral code.”
“Desperation can
be very liberating. It lets people do extraordinary things, and he’s getting
increasingly desperate trying to find a way to support his wife and kids. When
he finally got turned down for that promotion. . . well, that was too big of an
opportunity to pass up.”
The waitress
returned with Corbin’s Coke and took his order while Alvarez reassembled his
burger. When the waitress left, they returned to their conversation.
“Is he solid?”
Alvarez asked.
“Mostly. He
gets weak, but he can be shored up.”
“Great,” Alvarez
smirked. “So I have to babysit?”
“No, not at all,
but I do want you to watch him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid like
use his own credit card, and make sure he doesn’t keep any souvenirs from the
trip.”
“You don’t trust
him?”
“I trust him,
but trust is no reason not to be cautious.” Corbin pointed at the pickle on
Alvarez’s plate. “You gonna eat that?”
Alvarez shook
his head.
“Oh, and don’t
tell him anything about yourself when you meet. He doesn’t need to know
anything
about you,” Corbin said.
“Are you sure
you trust this guy?”
“I’m just being
careful, that’s all.”
“Do we really
need him?”
“Do you want to
go up there by yourself?”
“No, I can’t
take all those documents into the banks.”
“There’s your
answer.”
Beckett arrived
at work energized the following morning. He’d come up with several ideas
during his commute home the prior evening, and he was excited to discuss them
with Corbin. But every time he tried, one of their coworkers appeared at the
door. They had just seen off the most recent visitor and now Beckett rose to
close the door.
“Why are we so
popular today?” Beckett asked rhetorically.
Corbin shrugged
his shoulders without putting down his magazine. “Our advertising must be
working.”
Beckett peered
both ways down the hallway and then closed the door. “I’ve been thinking. If
this thing works, and it should, then I can go back to my old job because I
don’t have to worry about the salary. Whatever we get out of doing this would easily
make up financially for the lack of a promotion.”
“Ok,” Corbin
said cautiously. He put down the magazine, pursed his lips, and scratched his neck.
“If I give Kak
my notice so I can quit and take back my old job, and we do this on my last day
here, no one would ever think I wasn’t here. As long as I’m back in time for
the goodbye party, everybody’ll swear I was here all day.”
Corbin winced.
“That adds a level of difficulty. . . we wouldn’t have any flexibility about
the timing for one thing. Plus, it’ll be hard to do your out processing
without you here.”
“True, but I
think it would be worth it. We should do it!”
Corbin bit his
lip. “It’s an interesting idea, but we need to look at all the angles first.
You realize we can’t use the money for some time, right?”
“That doesn’t
matter. What I save in commuting costs
should
more than see me through for a few months. A train ride from New Jersey every
morning isn’t cheap.”
Before Corbin
could respond, Theresa knocked on their door. She entered without waiting to
be invited, closing the door behind her. Nodding at Beckett, who waved
politely, she perching herself on the edge of Corbin’s desk, where she always
sat when visiting Corbin. Today she wore a black suit, as did Corbin, though
his was of a more recent vintage. Moreover, he had removed his jacket,
something she never did in the office. After crossing her legs, Theresa
smoothed her skirt and pulled it to the top of her knee. She then stuck her
right leg out in front of her and pulled imaginary fluff from her black
stocking. When she finished, she let her leg hang and her shoe dangle from her
foot. The show was intended for Corbin, but he refused to let his eyes be
drawn to her legs.
“What’s this I
hear about you having a bad date? Why didn’t you tell me?!” Theresa asked,
trying to sound jocular, though hints of distress permeated her voice. As she
spoke, she tugged at the single strand of pearls hanging around her neck.
“Tell you?! I
didn’t tell anyone. They all just seem to know. Our office must be bugged,”
Corbin said, raising an accusatory eyebrow at Beckett. “How did you find out,
Theresa?”
“Ignore him,
Theresa,” Beckett interjected. “He’s just grumpy.”
“I am not,”
Corbin shot back.
“Why is he
grumpy?” Theresa asked.
“The date didn’t
go well,” Beckett said.
Theresa folded
her hands in her lap and grinned at Corbin. “Do tell.”
“There’s nothing
to tell.”
“Who’s the
girl?”
“There’s nothing
to tell,” Corbin repeated.
“She’s a banker,
right?” Beckett interjected again.
“Banker,
accountant, circus freak, what’s the difference?” Corbin asked.
“Oooh, a banker,
that should be right up your alley, with that huge brain of yours,” Theresa
said, smiling at Corbin. “What went wrong?”
Corbin looked at
Beckett. “You’re doing a good job telling the story, why don’t you continue?”
“Sure. ‘What
went wrong,’ you ask? Too normal. Lover boy doesn’t like the straights. He’s
into the
crazies
.”
“I am not into
the crazies!” Corbin protested.
“Crazies?!”
Theresa laughed sharply. “Don’t let him anywhere near Molly! Heaven help us.
The gates of hell would open up and swallow this office whole if the two of
them ever got together.”
In an office
with little to do, feuding becomes a form of entertainment. Sometimes, these
feuds spin out of control. Of all the feuds taking place in the office, the
worst was easily the one between Molly and Theresa. No one knew exactly how it
began, but what turned the spark of disagreement into an all-out conflagration
was Molly’s discovery that Theresa suffered from a great deal of insecurity
regarding her attraction to Corbin. This was a big red button that was just
too tempting for Molly not to push. And push it she did. Theresa retaliated by
sniping at Molly’s physical traits, especially her height, which was a good
five inches greater than Theresa’s, and her perceived lack of modesty in her
relationships with the male sex. Theresa particularly took these shots when she
spoke to Corbin, as she hoped to ensure that Corbin didn’t fall for any charms
Molly may have. Corbin tried to stay neutral, but that wasn’t helping.
“I do not like
the crazies,” Corbin repeated. “I like normal, thank you very much. And for
your information, the date went well. She was just a little. . . dull, that’s
all.”
“What made her
so dull? Did she lecture you on how to deduct your socks on your taxes?”
“She was just
dull. She was too. . . corporate.”
“‘
Corporate
’?”
“Yeah, like
she’d been processed, like a chicken McNugget. Everything about her was
conventional, standard issue. Her past, her plans for the future, all
conventional. Her opinions, all thoroughly vetted by the Post. She even
ordered bland food.”
“I think, my
friend, the problem lies within,” Beckett opined.
“What’s that
supposed to mean?!”
“You’re bored
with yourself, so you find other people boring.”
“That would
explain why he’s drawn to the crazies,” Theresa teased Corbin.
“I think you’ve
both lost your minds. And you never answered my question, how did you find out
about this non-date?”
“How do you
think,” Theresa said.
“Molly.”
“Yep. She told
her secretary, who told my secretary, who told me. You know the drill.”
Theresa picked up Corbin’s watch off the desk. “Speaking of our girl, I saw
you downstairs with her yesterday. So. . . what did she tell you?” Theresa
asked coyly.
“Nothing.”
Theresa’s happy
mood instantly succumbed to irritation, and a scowl crossed her face. “She
must have said something. Speak!” She waved her hand at Corbin.
“All she said
was she looking for some shoes,” replied Corbin, ignoring Theresa’s
irritation. He shifted his attention to his computer and took a sip of his
coffee.
“Shoes? Hmm. I
didn’t know they made shoes in her size. . . at least not women’s shoes.”
Theresa flashed an ugly smile, which created wrinkles underneath her eyes.
“Before you
start,” Beckett interrupted, “you might want to get back to your office. Kak’s
on the prowl today, and he’s already been in here twice.”
Theresa waved
off his comment. “I don’t care about Kak.” She shifted slightly so she could
see Beckett more easily. “Apparently, our little Molly had a date the other night
with a banker, and it didn’t go well.” Theresa often described Molly as
“little,” to ironically emphasize Molly’s larger-than-average build.
“There seems to
be a lot of that going around lately,” said Beckett, referencing Corbin’s
failed date. Corbin shot Beckett a nasty look in return, though Theresa didn’t
notice.
“You won’t believe
this!” Theresa said, far too happily. “This guy was
perfect
for her!
He’s rich, which we all know is her primary requirement. He’s an up-and-coming
junior partner at a local investment bank. He’s older than her, so we avoid a
repeat of last summer’s crisis.”
Corbin and
Beckett nodded involuntary at the memory of Molly’s behavior the prior summer.
“What’s more,
for some reason I’ll never understand, he adores her! He’s apparently
completely smitten with her, even though he knows all about her, uh,” Theresa cleared
her throat, “unusually experienced past. Can you believe he doesn’t care about
that? Incredible!”
Corbin ignored
Theresa’s rant and opened his e-mail.
Beckett,
however, couldn’t ignore her. “What’s the catch?”
Theresa’s smile
broadened to the point that it appeared dangerously close to spreading beyond
the confines of her face. “He’s two inches shorter than she is!”
Corbin rolled
his eyes, thinking back to Molly’s comments about heels, but he remained
silent.
“So what?”
Beckett asked. He sounded confused.
“Exactly!”
Theresa verged on giddiness. “For normal people like you and me, that wouldn’t
be a big deal. But for her, a shorter date is an affront to her dignity! She
spent the whole morning complaining to anyone she ran across. Then she called
the friend who introduced them, and she yelled at her for setting her up with
‘McShorty.’ Afterwards, she called McShorty himself and told him he was too
short for her.”
“She didn’t!”
Beckett gasped.
“She did!”
Theresa laughed. “This is the fifth guy she’s dumped in the last two months,
and always for the shallowest reasons: too young, too cheap, too old, too
bald, and now too short. Two more and she becomes some twisted Snow White.”
Theresa grabbed a folder from Corbin’s desk and held it before her face.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the nuttiest fruitcake of them all.”
Corbin took the
folder back. “Don’t start handing out any poison apples.”
“I wouldn’t
dream of it,” Theresa replied innocently, fluttering her eyes. “Poison’s far
too slow,” she purred.
Beckett walked
over to his filing cabinet. “I don’t want to know any more.”
Theresa looked
at him. The smile on her face faded. She looked at Corbin, but he also seemed
unwilling to continue the discussion. Annoyed at their lack of participation,
she slid off Corbin’s desk and headed for the door. “I’m sorry to hear your
date didn’t go well, Alex.” Her tone did not match her words. “But at least
you’re still on the market, that’s all that matters. . . you’ll come around.”
When Theresa left,
Corbin whispered across the room to Beckett: “See what I mean?!”
“She’s just
lonely,” Beckett said, picking up his newspaper. “She’s got nice legs though.”
“Yeah, and she’s
got something else too.”
“What?”
“My watch.”
“She did say
you’d come around.” They both laughed.
A few minutes
later, Kak burst into their office without knocking. He never knocked. It was
immediately obvious he was furious. His face had turned bright red and was
trending toward purple.
“What. . . what
do you think you’re doing?!” Kak had difficulty expressing himself when he
became nervous or angry, and the angrier he became the worse it got. “If you
have problems. . . problems with the office, then you. . . then you tell me!
You don’t. . . you don’t do this!” Kak rubbed his palm against his receding
hairline as he yelled, and his gray beard shook. As he breathed, the buttons
on his dingy, polyester short-sleeve dress shirt strained to contain his
stomach. He wore no tie today, and no one even knew if he owned a suit jacket.
“What are you
talking about?!” Beckett demanded.
“Th. . . this!” Kak
waved a piece of paper at Beckett, before tossing it at him.
Beckett caught
it out of the air. It was a GSA “pre-inspection” form everyone had filled out.
GSA, the General Services Administration, was conducting inspections before
renegotiating the office lease, and they wanted to know everything that needed
to be fixed. Unlike everyone else, Beckett filled his out accurately.
“What’s wrong
with it?” Beckett asked.
“What are you trying
to. . . to do?!”
“I’m not going
to sign off on this office being safe without listing the things I think are
unsafe.”
“You’re not a s.
. . safety. . . you’re no expert!”
“No, but I know
exposed wires aren’t safe. Sparks aren’t safe. I know mold isn’t safe. I
know people around here have a lot of respiratory problems.”
“Y. . . you’re
not the expert! Let the expert do his job.”
“All I did was
fill out the form honestly. The form asks for comments. I made those
comments. What do you want me to do differently?”
Kak glared at
Beckett. His face was now purple, but his eyes registered trepidation.
Beckett followed the form to the letter, and Kak could do nothing about it, but
that didn’t stop him from getting very, very angry. Kak moved his mouth, but
no sound came out.
“I’m sorry, I
didn’t catch that? What did you want me to do differently?” Beckett repeated.
Kak took a deep
breath before continuing in a low growl. “If you make these claims, GSA will.
. . will need to address these with the. . . with the landlord. There’s no
reason to draw outside attention to this office!”
Beckett didn’t
back down. “What do you want me to do?” This wasn’t a question so much as a
direct challenge. “Tell me exactly what I should do, and I’ll do it.”
“Small conference!”
Kak roared, and he stormed off.
Beckett sighed
and shook his head. “I’ll be back.”
No sooner had
Beckett left, than Molly appeared at the door, holding a half-eaten cookie in
her right hand. Molly’s office abutted Corbin and Beckett’s, and she often
overheard what happened in their office, especially when the door was open.
“’Sup? Rumor
has it Kak invited your buddy to his lair.”
“What are you
doing, loitering in front of our office?” Corbin pointed at the cookie. “Hey,
I know that cookie! I see you two came to terms?”
