Andrew Price - Without A Hitch

“Ok, tell me one thing you’ve finished in the past month.”

“That’s not a fair measure of what I do!”

“Then what is?”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this.”

“It doesn’t bother you that taxpayers are working hard to support my napping habit?” Beckett’s tone sharpened.

“ I don’t nap at the office!” Theresa barked indignantly.

“Face it, if you had to hire someone for a job that mattered, you’d never hire anyone who worked as little as the people do in this office, including yourself!”

Theresa stepped toward Beckett, shaking her finger in his face. “Not everyone wants to work in a dog eat dog environment. I don’t want a job where my boss can fire me because he doesn’t like me or because he thinks I don’t work hard enough. I want the security this job provides, and you don’t have a right to criticize my choice.”

“That’s enough, both of you!” Corbin said, rising from his seat and pulling Theresa away from Beckett. He ushered her toward the door, where she stomped off down the hall. Corbin watched her march the length of the hallway before turning to Beckett.

“You’re just determined to be all kinds of popular around here aren’t you?”

“She started it.”

“Yeah, and she was gonna finish it too.”

“I’ll drop by later and make it up to her.”

“Why do those sound like famous last words?”

Every criminal scheme needs a moment where the schemers stop thinking of it as a theory and start thinking of it as a fact. If that moment doesn’t come, the scheme never attains reality, it just slowly fades away into the realm of forgotten dreams. But if the moment does come, the plan takes on a life of its own, an inevitability, and it gains a momentum which pulls the participants relentlessly toward their fate. No one could say exactly when Corbin’s plan became a fact, but by early May it had.

Corbin and Beckett sat on opposite sides of Corbin’s desk. The door was closed and one of the extra chairs was pushed against it to stop anyone from barging in. Corbin reached into his leather wallet and pulled out various items. “Observe: one social security card, phony; one social security card, real.” Corbin set the two cards down side by side. “One Virginia drivers license, real. Another Virginia drivers license, phony. One Pennsylvania license, phony. You tell me, what’s phony, what’s real.”

Beckett picked up the social security cards. They were identical except for a nearly imperceptible coffee stain on one card. The Virginia drivers licenses also were identical, except for a frayed edge on one card and the laminate on the other appearing thinner and cheaper.

“Pretty amazing, I’ll give you that.” Beckett rubbed the social security cards with his thumb. “They even feel similar. Still,” Beckett held up the card with the coffee stain, “you can’t fake a coffee stain.”

“Actually, you can. It’s a digital image I added to the card.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“What about the licenses? Which one’s real?”

Beckett examined both Virginia licenses closely. “My money’s on the one with the frayed edge and the professional lamination.”

“Wanna bet lunch on it?”

“Apparently, not.” Beckett returned to the social security cards. “Where did you find the paper?”

“Staples. The clerk thought I was crazy feeling all of their card stock.”

“These are amazing, but I’m no expert. I don’t look at these things for a living. A banker might not be fooled.”

“My banker was,” Corbin said matter-of-factly.

“What?!” Beckett snapped.

“I switched banks this weekend, and I used the phony documents to do it.”

“And you lecture me about taking risks?!”

“Someone had to test the documents. That was always part of the plan. Since I used my real numbers, the risk was low if things went wrong. Even if the cops got involved, they would assume something went wrong when the DMV issued me the license. They’d probably just make me get a new one.”

“So what happened with the bank?”

“Nothing. They didn’t even blink. I was in and out in five minutes.”

“I take it you weren’t nervous?” Corbin’s lack of nervousness had become a point of frustration for Beckett.

“Not for a second.”

Beckett smiled through gritted teeth. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Corbin chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it. By the way, take another look at the fake social. Do you see anything just below the seal?”

Beckett put the card to his eye. “There’s some dirt or something, but I can’t make it out.”

Corbin pulled a magnifying glass from his desk. “Here, use this.”

“It looks like a number. . a credit card number?”

“When I scanned my social into the computer, I discovered the number from one of my credit cards imprinted on the social security card itself, probably from being pressed together in my wallet. I used the image editor to rearrange the number and then transfer the new number to the fake social. Now, if the cops examine the social, they’ll find a partial credit card number imprint. No doubt, they’ll assume the forger got careless. If this ever goes to trial, they’ll have to explain that investigation to the jury. Since none of us owns a card with that number, it’ll implicate someone other than us.”

“Whose number is it?”

“Kak’s.”

Beckett choked. “Are you crazy!”

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Trust me, the thought of pinning this on Kak might be viscerally satisfying, but it would also be very stupid.”

“Then whose number is it?”

“I have no idea. The first part of the number indicates a New York bank.”

“If you don’t know who the card belongs to, how do you know you aren’t setting somebody up to take the fall for us?”

“Listen to yourself. Do you understand the level of coincidence that would entail?”

Beckett looked at Corbin doubtfully. “You don’t do anything by random chance. Whose card is it?”

Corbin shrugged.

Beckett’s jaw suddenly dropped. “You’re setting somebody up, aren’t you?!”

Anger flashed across Corbin’s face. “What?! Who the fuck do you think I am, Evan?!”

Corbin’s outrage startled Beckett, and he instantly regretted his words. “I didn’t mean that! That came out wrong. I just don’t want anybody getting hurt because of this.”

“Neither do I, Evan,” Corbin spat out. “But get this straight, if it comes down to someone else or us, that choice is already made.”

Beckett didn’t respond.

Corbin rose and walked toward the door, but stopped before opening it. “As for framing someone, I left the last three digits off the card number. The cops can trace it to the bank, but that’s as far as they’ll get.” Corbin walked out.

Corbin sat in the downstairs coffee shop staring through the plate-glass window into the nearly-empty mall. He watched Molly approach. She had a distinctive, yet graceful walk, but she certainly took her time. The warming weather made this more apparent, as gone were the long coats and pantsuits and other heavy clothes. Her blouses were getting tighter, her necklines lower, and her skirts shorter. She’d already gone from calf length skirts to just above the knee, and if last summer was any indication, they would get significantly shorter yet. Today she wore a short gray skirt and tight black silk blouse. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she achieved a lot with what she had, and Corbin had to admit she was attractive.

“Your little plan not going so well?” Molly asked, as she joined Corbin.