Dave Zeltserman - Outsourced

“I think I’ll wear the sunglasses, dude,” Shrini answered.

“And what’s with the tape over the mouth hole?” Gordon asked.

“I’m hoping it helps muffle our voices.”

“What if one of us has a stuffed-up nose? We’d suffocate.”

“Come on, Gordon-”

“Well, I could always just talk like this,” Gordon said, imitating a Swedish accent.

“For Chrissakes,” Joel swore under his breath.

“When we’re in that bank it’s important that we talk as little as possible,” Dan said. “Only when absolutely necessary. And no foreign accents, okay? Just try to talk as low and guttural as possible. All of you practice that. And whatever you do, don’t use any of our real names. I did a little research and found some names of Raymond Lombardo’s associates. If for whatever reason we need to talk to each other I’ll be Ray, Joel, you’re Tony, Shrini, you’re Vinnie, Eric, you’re Sal, and Gordon, you’re Charlie.”

“Why do I have to be Charlie?” Gordon asked. “Why can’t we pick our own names?”

“I fucking give up,” Joel spat out. “He’s nothing but a goddamned infant.”

“Relax, okay?” said Dan. “He’s just doing a riff on Reservoir Dogs.”

Gordon’s belly bounced up and down under his overalls as he laughed at his joke. A glint in his eyes showed there were still hard feelings from before and this was partly payback for that. “What’s wrong with you, Joel, too much high-octane before we got here? Jeez, lighten up, guy. Take that stick out of your ass.”

“Gordon, it’s been an absolute pleasure not working with you the last seven years. Too bad we have to break that streak now.”

“Same here, Joel.”

Joel ignored him and turned to Dan. “Eric and I are going to be using assault rifles to keep control in the bank. Nothing like looking down the barrel of a Kalashnikov to shut you up. You three are going to be carrying Smith amp; Wesson forty-five caliber pistols. They’re good guns and they’re made right here in the USA.”

“I don’t need a gun.”

“Sure you do. All three of you do. No fucking way I’m going into that bank otherwise.”

“Dan, I have to agree with your friend,” Shrini said.

“We’re going to be in and out of that bank in ten minutes. There’s not going to be any shooting. No one is firing any guns. Shrini and I don’t need them.”

Joel took his ski mask off. “Let me explain something to you, pal,” he said, his black eyes smoldering. “When we walk into that bank, this gets serious. All bets are off. You may not want to shoot anyone, but if a cop ends up wandering into that bank he’s sure as hell going to want to shoot you. Or me. I’m only willing to do this if you’re prepared to do what it takes. And that means backing me up and shooting someone if you need to. Obviously, nobody wants that to happen, but we have to be ready for it.”

Dan turned to Shrini and Gordon. They had both taken their masks off. “The weasel’s right,” Gordon said.

“I don’t even know how to use a gun,” Dan said weakly.

“Typical Massachusetts liberal,” Joel sneered. “Expect others to fight your battles for you. Not this time, buddy boy. I have my own private shooting range dug out in the basement. I’m going to teach you how to fire a gun. And I want to see how your two buddies do also. All of you, downstairs now.”

Joel led the way down to the basement. When they got there, Joel picked up a Kalashnikov AK-47 rifle and admired it. “Eric and I have to get two of these babies into the bank. How long will it take us to get from the parking lot to the front lobby door?”

“Maybe ten seconds running.”

“I could try hiding this in my pant leg, but I don’t see much point. Five guys entering a bank in overalls and ski masks will be suspicious whether or not we’re carrying these Kalashnikovs.”

He put the rifle down and unlocked a cabinet, taking out a handgun and a box of shells. After handing out cheap earplugs, he put a more expensive set of earmuffs on himself. A narrow alley of about forty feet ran the length of the basement. At the end of it was a target attached to a large dirt pile. Gordon held out his hand to Joel.

“You want me to go over how to use this first?” Joel asked.

“Just hand me the gun and some shells.”

Joel did as asked. Gordon slid out the magazine, loaded it, then, snapping the magazine back in place, he held out the gun as he weighed it in his hand for a few seconds, and then squeezed off five rounds. Joel squinted as he peered towards the targets. “Three bullseyes, two near bullseyes,” he muttered. “Nice shooting.”

“A little rusty,” Gordon said. “You can’t blame me. It’s been over thirty years since I fired a gun.” He handed the weapon back to Joel.

Joel went over the basics with Shrini and Dan, showing them how to hold the gun and how to use the front and rear sights to line up a target. Shrini learned quickly. By his fourth round he started hitting the target. Dan just couldn’t see the damn thing. He was having trouble focusing, the targets blurring into the dirt wall. He went through two magazines and missed wildly.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Joel asked. “Are you blind?”

“It’s too dark down here,” Dan said.

“Don’t give me your excuses. It’s plenty light enough. When we’re in that bank you’re not going to be able to control how well lit the room is.” Joel gave Dan a hard look, his eyes dulling. He nodded to himself as if he understood he was dealing with damaged goods. “Just hand me that gun. I’ve let you waste enough shells. If we’re in that bank and you need to shoot, make sure you’re close enough to your target so you don’t blow my head off by mistake. Okay?”

The five of them went back upstairs. They finalized their plans and agreed on a time and location for them to meet before the robbery. As they were leaving, Gordon asked for the ski masks, suggesting that he could do something with them to help with their disguises.

Walking back to the car, Dan couldn’t shake a sense of uneasiness. It was almost as if when he breathed he could feel the uneasiness deep in his lungs. Kind of like a tingling sensation. Over the years he had gotten together many times with these people in different combinations for beers and to shoot the breeze. While this meeting had the same juvenile feel, they weren’t just bitching about pointy-haired managers and screwed-up projects. This was something that was going to change their lives. Something that once done, they wouldn’t be able to turn back from. He just prayed that it would work as planned and that there would be enough money to justify him losing a bit of his soul.

None of them seemed to feel like talking. Even Gordon sat quietly in the backseat, a somber expression darkening his face. When Dan let him out at his condo, Gordon told him he was going to spend a few days at the Jersey shore but he would be back by Tuesday night. After they pulled away, Dan asked Shrini what he thought.

“Your friend Joel is very excitable,” Shrini said.

“That’s one way of putting it. We could be kind and call him passionate. He’s not what worries me, though. What did you think of his buddy, Eric?”

“He looked like a small hog walking on two legs. Dude, something’s not quite right about him.”

Dan nodded, feeling his uneasiness now every time he exhaled. “So what do we do, call this off?”

“I still want to do this,” Shrini said. “Our plan makes too much sense not to go through with it. How about you?”

“I don’t know, man. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Just a case of nerves, dude. Don’t think too much.”

“I’ll try not to.” Dan laughed. “Damn, I had been feeling pretty good about this. I don’t know, something about Joel and his buddy put me off.”