Andrew Price - Without A Hitch

Corbin waved generally toward the door. “By all means, don’t let me keep you.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Not.” Corbin knew she would tell him no matter what he said, so he enjoyed tweaking her.

“I thought you would,” Molly said confidently.

“Wait a minute, I just said I didn’t.”

“You said ‘no,’ but you clearly meant ‘yes’.”

“I see. . my mistake. Please continue.”

Molly set her coffee down on Corbin’s desk after taking another sip and leaned a little further back in Beckett’s chair.

“So we’re at the restaurant and he tells me he forgot his wallet.”

“You already covered that part.”

“I’m just backing up in case you forgot. Soon we’re making small talk. He tells me about his job and where he went to school and all that-”

“What does he do?”

“Do you mind? That’s not the point. Suddenly, he tells me I’m beautiful.”

“Are you sure he didn’t say ‘gorgeous’?” Corbin laughed.

“I’ll thank you to drop the sarcasm.”

“He didn’t break into poetry did he?”

“Will you stop interrupting.”

Corbin acted property chastised.

“That’s when it all went wrong. The next words out of his mouth were, ‘I like your shoes.’ Can you believe that?” she said, wrinkling her nose. The question was rhetorical, and Corbin knew not to answer. “That was it. Fini, right there. There’s no way I’m dating ‘Shoe Guy.’”

“It didn’t come to blows right there in the restaurant, did it?” Corbin struggled to contain his smile.

Molly pursed her lips and held up her pointer finger toward Corbin. “Ya know. . this story is going to take a really long time if one of us doesn’t stop interrupting.”

Corbin again acknowledged his chastisement.

“To answer your question, no, it did not come to blows. But seriously, how can I date a guy who spends the whole night looking at my shoes. I mean, obviously he’s a freak.”

“Did you actually catch him staring or was it an off-the-cuff comment?”

“Does it matter?

“Maybe it was the only thing he could think of to compliment you on? Were you wearing a particularly ugly dress or something?” Despite his best efforts to say this sympathetically, the corner of Corbin’s mouth started to curl into a smile.

“If you’re not going to be serious, then there’s no point in talking to you.”

“Maybe you forgot to comb your hair?”

Molly rose and headed for the door. “Some of us have work to do.”

“Wait!” Corbin called out.

Molly stopped at the door. “What?”

“Nice shoes.”

Molly scrunched her nose and flipped Corbin off.

Beckett waited anxiously on a public bench near the bank. Alvarez had been in the bank a very long time. Beckett half expected to hear police sirens at any moment. When Alvarez finally emerged from the bank, Beckett was genuinely relieved to see him. Alvarez crossed the street and approached Beckett. He handed Beckett the bank documents and his wallet and sat down.

“How did it go?” Beckett asked.

“It went well.”

“You nervous?”

“Not so much. I was at first, but it went away once I got started. You?”

“Why would I be nervous? I’m just sitting here.” Beckett returned the wallet to the duffel bag before retrieving a new one. “If Corbin was here, he’d probably tell you ‘this is a moment you can tell your grandkids about, assuming they aren’t cops.’” Beckett opened the new wallet and read the name. “This time you’re Elmer Fudd.”

“Funny.” Alvarez looked at the wallet. “Jacob Primoventi.”

“Strange, you don’t look Italian.”

“Ha ha.”

“The next bank is behind me, two doors down,” Beckett said, pointing toward the bank. “I’ll wait here.”

“You do that,” Alvarez said with a hint of resentment. He and Beckett were not getting along well. They were, in fact, getting on each other’s nerves, primarily because Beckett kept reminding Alvarez of the danger he faced. This made Alvarez nervous.

“They really didn’t give you any grief at all?” Beckett asked.

“No, none. Quit asking.”

“This might really work,” Beckett said more to himself than Alvarez.

“Did you have any doubts?!”

“Of course I did! I thought they would slap the cuffs on you the minute you flashed that fake ID.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Alvarez growled.

“Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

“You need to calm down.”

“You need to shut the hell up!”

“Don’t go there friend. . all I’m saying is stay calm.”

Alvarez didn’t respond.

Molly leaned against Beckett’s desk. . again. Corbin had lost track of the number of times she was in his office today. “So when you take the calories and do the math, rather than just relying on what they list, it turns out it’s bigger than it really is.”

Corbin shook his head. “You’re like the verbal equivalent of M.C. Escher.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“If you insist.”

“So what’s this I hear about T owning a gun?” Molly’s voice contained traces of disgust, but not concern.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Word travels. Doesn’t that strike you as wrong somehow.”

“I own a gun,” Corbin said without emotion.

“ You ? I thought you were a Democrat?”

“So?”

“Don’t you people hate guns?”

“Not all Democrats. . and what do you mean, ‘you people’? I thought you were a Democrat?”

“Non-voter,” Molly replied indifferently.

“Felon?”

“Apathetic.”

“I see.”

Molly folded her arms and squinted her eyes. “Wait a minute, isn’t it illegal to own a gun where you live?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“You don’t see a problem with that?”

“Those laws are meant to protect stupid people from themselves. If they didn’t try to discourage average people from owning guns, they’d all be blowing each other away. There’s no danger of that with me.”

Molly frowned. “You do know there are hundreds of millions of guns in this country. .”

“Right.”

“. . and people aren’t blowing each other away all over the place?”

“What are you, the NRA?”

“No, but I think it’s a little hypocritical.”

“Maybe, but I know me, and I know I’m not a danger to myself or to anyone else. I can’t say the same for the people I see on television every night. Those are the people these laws are designed to protect.”

“That’s really cynical,” Molly protested.

“Maybe. Speaking of cynical, shouldn’t you be doing something unproductive?”

“Yeah, but I’m waiting for Beckers. I keep missing him, so I’m gonna stay right here until he returns.”

“Knock yourself out, just don’t expect me to entertain you,” Corbin replied, trying to sound indifferent.

Beckett leaned against the big blue mailbox as he waited for Alvarez to cross the street. This was the third bank Alvarez completed this morning. They were ahead of schedule. Corbin’s system for keeping track of the identities was proving to be effective and simple. The relationship between Beckett and Alvarez was proving to be strained.

“You seem nervous,” Beckett said, as he stuffed the bank documents into the appropriate plastic bag.

“Shut up,” retorted the annoyed Alvarez.

“Calm down, I’m just making an observation.”

“Well, don’t. I don’t need you constantly telling me I look nervous.”

Beckett ignored him. “Here,” he said, handing Alvarez a new wallet. “This time you’re Kenneth Wilson. The bank is up the street, five doors. I’ll meet you two doors beyond that at the coffee shop. See the red sign?”