Andrew Price - Without A Hitch

“‘Nighttime,’ huh? Did they have ‘Vegas Morning’ or ‘Summer Dumpster’?”

“Not in stock.”

Corbin chuckled. “May it be everything you hoped it would be.”

“How are things going with your roomie?” Molly had yet to say anything nice to, or about, the new guy, though no one protested as he hadn’t endeared himself to anyone. Indeed, he barely spoke to anyone, including Corbin. By this point, Corbin saw him mainly as a silent apparition that haunted his office.

“Fine. How are things with ‘Clerk Guy’?”

“That’s not his name,” Molly said, rolling her eyes and trying to sound annoyed, though she struggled to suppress a smirk. “I told you, I may have been a bit hasty when I called him that.”

Molly met Clerk Guy at a bar in Georgetown. He worked as a salesclerk at the mall, causing her to name him “Clerk Guy” and to rhetorically question whether he earned enough to afford their dates. When she continued dating him regardless, Theresa quipped that “he must get one hell of an employee discount.” Though Molly later claimed to regret naming him “Clerk Guy,” she clearly got a kick out of using the name and implying that he made significantly less money than she did.

“Have you given ‘Shoe Guy’ the boot yet?” Corbin grinned.

Despite the derision Molly initially poured onto Shoe Guy, she ultimately kept dating him. Corbin never did understand why. Indeed, not a day passed where she didn’t mention some new flaw of his, followed by a short dissertation on how little she liked him. After she met Clerk Guy, Molly even assured Corbin she would dump Shoe Guy “ post-haste ,” but as the days passed, he hung in there.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Molly replied drolly.

“Sorry, no pun intended. . it just slippered out.” Corbin chuckled.

Molly punched Corbin on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Corbin laughed, throwing his hands up in mock-surrender.

Molly punched him again.

“Ouch!” Corbin exclaimed to prevent Molly from thinking she needed to throw another punch to make her point. He struggled to stop laughing.

“I’m going to tell him next week.” Molly readjusted her blouse and her bracelet from the aftereffects of throwing the two punches. “Speaking of getting rid of people, how do we get rid of the F-N-G?”

“I don’t think that’s within our power.”

“We should do something. I’m sick of him and his blue suits. Doesn’t he know they sell other colors?”

“Just ignore him.”

“If I wanted defeatism, I wouldn’t have brought the issue up.”

Corbin shrugged his shoulder. “I got nothing for ya, sorry. But I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Fine! I’ll figure it out myself.” Molly stepped off the chair and slid off the desk.

“Where are you going now?”

“I’m going to give this toothpaste a whirl. Then I’m going to plan a murder.”

She didn’t return the chair.

Corbin returned the locked attache case to his hallway closet, next to the three duffel bags. The case contained the remaining documents and cell phones. The duffel bags contained the money. Corbin hadn’t thought about the money since giving Beckett his share. On the one hand, they agreed not to touch the money for six months. On the other, he still had no idea what to do with it.

The phone rang. It was Alvarez. “You got the stuff ready?” Alvarez meant the checks. He was driving those to Philadelphia in the morning, so they could be mailed with Philadelphia post marks.

“Yep. Just finished,” Corbin replied, stepping onto his balcony. The balcony was bathed in orange sunlight as the sun touched the horizon.

“I’m pulling up to your building now.”

“I see you.” Corbin watched Alvarez’s white two-seater pull up to the curb. “I’ll be right down.”

Two minutes later, Corbin climbed into Alvarez’s car. He placed the envelopes into the glove box. “Those are the last ones until we do the change of address bit. Remember, no tickets and don’t use anything traceable, like a credit card.”

“Got it. You up for dinner? You can tell me all about this mystery chick again.”

“Yeah, why not.” Corbin reached for the seatbelt.

“I want to spend some of the money,” Alvarez said cautiously, once they were out in traffic. “Have I mentioned that?”

“Nope, that’s news to me.”

“I need a new dishwasher. Mine’s not working. It just dry humps my dishes.”

“Sounds unpleasant.”

“It is. That’s why I need a new one. . which I can’t afford on my current salary.”

“This isn’t going to become a habit is it?”

“No. It’s only a couple hundred bucks, that’s it.”

“All right,” Corbin agreed.

“You heard anything yet at work?”

“Not much, just something about a three-state manhunt for someone named Nobody Alvarez,” Corbin deadpanned.

“That would suck,” Alvarez laughed.

“I assure you, if I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

“How’s work treatin’ you?”

“Haven’t really noticed. I’ve been busy thinking about my music, so I haven’t paid much attention to work. Fortunately, Kak doesn’t want us working, so he leaves me alone as long as I don’t do anything.”

“Must be nice. My boss works me to death.”

“Actually, it’s demoralizing, but what do I care? I’ve got other things to keep me busy. So tell me again, what is it you do?”

“Associate supervisor.”

“I know that part. What does that entail?”

Alvarez shrugged his shoulder. “I-dun-know. It changes. I do whatever I’m told.”

“When your boss tells you, ‘you’re the worst blank I’ve ever seen,’ what does she fill in the blank with?”

“‘Son of a bitch.’”

Corbin laughed. “Ok, I give up!”

“I’m not trying to be evasive, well not too evasive, but I really don’t do anything in particular. Today, I worked with the marketing reps. Yesterday, I watched the tech guys install new phones. That’s my life, at least until I can start tapping those beautiful duffel bags.”

“I take it you’ve got plans for the money?” Corbin asked.

“I’m gonna buy a villa. Then I’m going to spend my days cruising the net and my nights cruising for hookers. I’m going to get a straw hat and demand that everyone call me el Presidente .”

“Sometimes I worry about you. Where is this villa going to be?”

“Either back in Arizona or somewhere in Mexico, down by the sea. I’ve always wanted to live on the ocean.”

“Hold the phone Pancho Villa, you don’t even speak Spanish.”

“Yes, I do,” Alvarez insisted.

“Ok, say something Spanish.”

Alvarez looked around for a moment. “Ok, you don’t think I can speak Spanish. How about this, ‘puede contener mani cacahuate.’”

“That doesn’t sound Spanish, that sounds Hawaiian.”

“It’s Spanish.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means stop insulting my ancestors.”

“What was it again?”

“Puede contener mani cacahuate,” Alvarez repeated.

“You sure that doesn’t mean, ‘may contain nut products’?”

“You speak Spanish?”

“No, but I can read.” Corbin picked up a McDonalds cup from the floor of Alvarez’s car. Written on the side of the cup was: “puede contener mani cacahuate” just below “may contain nut products.” Corbin dropped the cup back to the floor. “I’d rethink the Mexico plan, amigo.”

“It’s a work in progress. What are you gonna do with your share?”

Corbin shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t have any plans for it.”

“What do you think dipshit will do with his?”