Dave Zeltserman - Outsourced

Yuri reported to Petrenko that the Arabs had contacted him. “They cried, but eventually agreed to your price,” he said.

Petrenko cracked his knuckles, a glimpse of satisfaction flashing over his dead eyes. “Didn’t I tell you so?” he asked.

“You were right. We will be stealing those diamonds at that price. Ten cents on the dollar.” Yuri paused, showing extensive denture work as he smiled. “Maybe we should still consider stealing those diamonds with guns. Afterwards trade that dead Arab to the FBI for one hundred thousand dollars’ reward money.”

“Not enough. Our Arab friends were expecting maybe half a million dollars for those diamonds. Which means they need to smuggle more into this country to raise the money they need. We could end up taking millions from them. No, Yuri, we will stroke this golden goose a while longer.”

“Why wouldn’t they simply sell them in Europe for a better price?”

Petrenko shook his head as if talking to a child. “How would they bring the money here? Not so easy, especially with the FBI watching everything. Besides, to them diamonds are cheap. Having cash here is what is priceless to them. When do we make the purchase?”

“Monday. They have a new address for us. I don’t think they stay in any one place too long. Or maybe they are setting us up?”

“They’re not setting us up. They need us for now. And don’t fret, after we have squeezed every golden egg we can out of this goose we will cut off its head. Our last transaction will be with guns. Someday we’ll be heroes to the FBI. But not yet.”

Yuri nodded and started to leave, but Petrenko stopped him.

“These store owners,” Petrenko said, “let them know their rates are being raised another eighty dollars a month. That they can thank their fellow zhid grocery store owner for that.”

They pulled up to Joel’s house a few minutes before twelve. Dan got out, opened the trunk, took out a trash bag that he had filled earlier and swung it over his back. When Joel answered the door, he met Dan and Gordon with a curt nod, shook hands with Shrini and led them into his living room where his friend Eric Hoffer was reclining on the sofa drinking a Bud. He looked pretty much how Dan remembered him. Small eyes that seemed almost buried in a pig-like face and skin the color of boiled ham. As they were all being introduced, Hoffer grunted and pushed himself forward so he could offer Dan a moist handshake.

“I understand you’re the brains of the outfit,” he said, forcing a wide grin. He talked slowly, deliberately, as if he’d had a stroke, or maybe had marbles in his mouth. “Thanks for having me along, chief.”

Dan freed his hand. “You got your buddy Joel to thank for that.”

Hoffer’s grin turned somewhat plastic. “Anyway, chief, I’m not gonna disappoint you.”

“All right,” Joel interrupted. “Enough fucking pleasantries. We have business to go over.”

Gordon had talked incessantly during the trip to New Hampshire. Once he stepped inside Joel’s house he clammed up. He carried a kitchen chair to a spot near the wall so that he could lean back and sat with his arms folded across his chest. Shrini also seemed more reserved than usual as he sat quietly on the sofa.

Dan went over the details of the robbery. As he talked, Gordon closed his eyes, his head dropping towards his chest as if he were dozing off. Hoffer just kept nodding enthusiastically, his plastic grin firmly in place. Shrini sat quietly, attentive. Joel was beside himself. He kept looking over at Gordon, becoming more and more agitated. Finally, he had enough. He got up and kicked out one of the chair legs, almost sending Gordon and his chair crashing to the floor except that Gordon was able to fling his arms out and grab the wall and somehow maintain his balance. Breathing hard, he positioned his weight forward so that the chair’s front legs fell back to the floor.

“Schmuck,” Joel swore, his face white with anger. “You’re going to sleep through this? You think this is some sort of game?”

“What is your problem?” Gordon demanded. “You do something like that again and you’ll end up with my shoe up your ass, understand?”

“You fucking clown.”

Indignant, Gordon turned to Dan. “I don’t have to take this from that weasel. I’m out of here!”

“Weasel, huh?” Joel said. “I didn’t like it when you nicknamed me that at Vixox and I don’t like it any better now.”

Gordon stood up, his large fleshy hands balling into fists. “Then don’t act like one!”

“Joel, Gordon, for Chrissakes, both of you sit the fuck down,” Dan implored. “I know we’re all stressed out here. I mean, shit, whoever thought we’d be talking about a bank robbery. But let’s not ruin this over something stupid.”

Reluctantly, Gordon lowered himself back into his chair. Joel stood where he was.

Patiently, almost as if talking to a child, Dan asked Gordon to repeat what he had been saying before Joel acted like an asshole.

“You were explaining how after the robbery we’re going to sit on the money for several months to make sure it’s safe.”

Dan turned to Joel. “Joel, take a deep breath. We can do this if we just stay calm, okay?”

“Don’t fucking lecture me. I thought he was sleeping.”

“He wasn’t. He was paying attention, probably much more than you. Why don’t you get us some beers, see if we can relax a little.”

Joel looked like he was going to say something, but instead he clamped his mouth shut and left the room. Hoffer followed him. When they returned, the two of them handed out beers. Gordon grudgingly took his.

“I won’t charge for these,” Joel told Dan. “’Cause you’re right, I acted like an asshole. Next round, though, you pay for them.”

“Okay, Gordon,” Dan said, ignoring Joel. “This is as much of an apology as you’re ever going to get out of this guy. Are we all friends again? Or are we going to walk away from this?”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Gordon said. “I was just sitting here minding my own business.”

“You okay now, Joel?”

“Yeah, I’m just peachy. I got a question. Where are we going to keep the money while we’re sitting on it?”

“Two years ago I rented a storage locker to hold some old furniture. I got stuck with a five-year lease so I’m still holding on to it. I’m going to hide the money there.”

“Why do that? I have twenty acres up here. There’s plenty of places to hide the money. Why take the chance of having the police search your locker?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Dan said.

“Famous last words. Let’s take a vote. Anyone else agree it makes more sense to hide the stuff here?”

Only Hoffer’s hand went up. Sneering, Joel gave a slow look around the room. “That’s the way it’s going to be, eh?” he asked. “You’re going to outvote me three to two on everything. Fine, I’ll just shut up, then.”

“Joel, if you don’t trust me, let’s end this right now.”

“Fuck you, I trust you. Let’s just move on, okay?”

“Good enough, we’ll move on.” Gordon and Shrini both sat stone-faced. Hoffer’s grin only grew wider, making him look more like a village idiot. Dan picked up the garbage bag he had carried into the house and dumped its contents on to the floor. Inside were work overalls, gloves and ski masks. He handed them out, asking if they’d try them on.

“I only got four sets of these,” Dan said to Hoffer. “I didn’t know that you were going to be along for this when I got them.”

“No problem there, chief. I have stuff at home I can use.”

“Anyone going to be able to recognize it?”

Hoffer shook his head. “Not a chance.” He sat on the sofa with his grin intact while the rest of them put on their outfits. With the overalls, ski masks, and gloves, they looked like they could be bank robbers instead of the odd collection of out-of-work software developers that they were. Gordon was studying Shrini. “We’re supposed to look like Italian mobsters, right?” he asked. “I’m going to have to put some makeup around Shrini’s eyes, lighten up his complexion somewhat. Or maybe he could wear sunglasses.”