Dave Zeltserman - Outsourced

“Just nerves, dude. You’ll be fine.”

When they arrived at Shrini’s apartment, Dan joined him inside for a few shots of tequila. After his third shot, his uneasiness faded somewhat.

Dan pulled into his driveway a little before five and was surprised to see Carol’s car there. Usually she didn’t leave work until five. He found her sitting alone in the kitchen, an open bottle of wine on the table in front of her. Carol was not a big drinker, but it looked like several glasses had already been poured. She looked up at him, her eyes watery, her face pale and drawn. She told him she had been fired.

“They waited until four o’clock to tell me,” she said, almost as if in a daze. “They claim I’m being fired for cause. Because I was late for a meeting. All of three minutes late.”

“They’re firing you for that?”

“That’s what they’re claiming. The real reason’s because I happened to be standing nearby when Nancy told the senior partner to go screw himself. That little egotistical prick probably couldn’t stand the idea of having me around after that.”

Dan rubbed a hand across his jaw considering what Carol told him. “So fuck them,” he said. “You didn’t like it there anyway. You’ll look for another job, collect unemployment-”

“You don’t understand. I was fired, not laid off. They’re going to fight any unemployment claim I make.”

“Can they do that?”

“That’s what they’re doing. How can I fight an office full of lawyers?” As she looked at Dan, her blank expression gave way to hopelessness. She appeared utterly, completely lost. “Please tell me again that your interview went well.”

He stared at her for a moment before he remembered what she was referring to. “Yeah,” he said. ‘It seemed to go well. We’ll see next week. The follow-up is scheduled for next Thursday.”

“I don’t want to put pressure on you, but if you don’t get that job I don’t know what we’re going to do. We have no money coming in now and I don’t know how I’m going to be able to find another job. Other firms are going to know I’ve been fired.”

He struggled trying to think of something to say.

“Please,” she pleaded. “Whatever you do, don’t say everything’s going to be okay. Whatever you do, don’t say that. I’ll go insane if you do. I swear to God I will.”

Dan nodded. He fully accepted now that he was going to go through with the bank robbery. He couldn’t help feeling somewhat dead inside. “Where are the kids?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Brandon’s dad is taking Gary to a baseball game. Susie left a note that she’s with Julie and will be home by seven.” Carol showed a sad smile. “I need you to join me upstairs in the bedroom. Please, for the next hour try to be with me.”

He followed her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. When they got to the bedroom, they both took their clothes off, neither of them saying a word. For that one hour he lost himself.

Gordon set his alarm for six and was on the road by a quarter past. By eleven-thirty he was pulling into the Asbury Park Beach. A couple of teenagers leaning against a Mustang convertible and playing gangsta rap on a boom box smirked at him as he made his way by. Gordon ignored them, ambled along to an empty spot on the beach, and plopped himself down on the sand. He started to take his shirt off, noticed how white and flabby his stomach looked and slipped his shirt back on.

After feeling the sun on his face for a few minutes, he pushed himself into a sitting position as two girls walked by. Both were around eighteen, thin, long-legged and darkly tanned. Both were wearing string bikinis. One had long black hair that fell past her shoulders, the other had bleached her hair blond.

Gordon called out to them, asking if they were Brazilian. They stopped, their mouths falling open as they stared at him. “What you saying to us?” the bleached-blond demanded. “What you mean by that?”

“Nothing at all.” Gordon could feel himself start to sweat. “I’m about to date a girl from Sao Paulo and I just wanted to ask if you were from Brazil.”

“We look like we’re from Brazil?” the dark-haired girl asked angrily.

“I don’t know. You’re both thin and tall and beautiful. I thought maybe you were.”

“We were born here in New Jersey, asshole!”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

The dark-haired girl turned to her friend. “I think this old fat pendejo is trying to pick us up.” The bleached-blond snickered and slowly licked her lips as she stared at Gordon. “Is that true?” she asked. “You think we would want anything to do with a pajero like you?”

“First of all,” Gordon said, jutting out his chin. “I resent being called old. I don’t have a single gray hair or wrinkle. For all you know, I could be in my thirties.”

The dark-haired girl shook her head. “Can you believe this guy?” she asked. The bleached-blond just kept staring at Gordon, licking her lips in an exaggerated motion. “You didn’t answer my question, stud,” she said. “You think you have a chance with either of us?”

“Well, I don’t know. What if I were rich?”

“He thinks we’re whores,” the bleached-blond said to her friend. Then to Gordon, “Who you try to fool? You don’t have no money, but even if you did I would never let you touch these.” She cupped her breasts, staring defiantly at him.

“I could have a lot of money,” Gordon said. “More than you could imagine.”

“Look,” the dark-haired girl said as she pointed at Gordon’s crotch. “This old pajero has a stiffy. I think he’s going to start fingering himself.”

“I don’t have an erection,” Gordon insisted.

“Creep! Pendejo!” the bleached-blond yelled as she grabbed her friend and pulled her away. The dark-haired girl spat in the sand. As they walked away, Gordon made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and shot imaginary bullets through their thin beautiful torsos. He was still doing it when they stopped to talk to two muscle-bound guys in their twenties. The guys stared in Gordon’s direction and then started moving fast towards him.

“Oh, jeez,” Gordon murmured to himself, then got the hell out of there.

Petrenko looked dully at his Arab hosts while his jeweler sat at a table in the corner and examined the diamonds. Abbas stared intently back. There was a fourth Arab this time. Three of them made a show of the Glocks they were carrying. The one with the scowl had his right hand bandaged and was holding a gun with his left. The only noise came from the old jeweler grunting occasionally as he shifted positions.

Petrenko had brought both Yuri and Sergei with him. He also had four other men sitting in a car outside. They were listening in on an open line from a cell phone that Petrenko had slipped into his shirt pocket. If they heard a commotion, they’d be in the house in seconds. Petrenko didn’t expect any trouble. His gaze shifted to his two men. Both of them were standing like marble statues.

Petrenko, bored, winked at Abbas. “They could stand like that for hours and not move a muscle. Maybe I should make a little extra money and rent them out to guard that palace in England. What do you think?”

Abbas ignored him. Petrenko fell back into his dull stare. It was hot and stuffy in that house and these Arab bastards couldn’t even offer him a drink. No business sense whatsoever.

There were a few more grunts from the old jeweler before he pushed himself out of his chair, approached Petrenko and nodded, indicating that the diamonds were of the same quality as the others.

Petrenko considered briefly trying to squeeze a few more dollars from the price, but decided he had pushed these Arabs as far as he could. He handed Abbas the attache case he had brought with him. Abbas opened the case and counted through the stacks of hundred-dollar bills inside. When he was done counting, he closed the case and indicated to the other Arabs that the money was all there. While they all acknowledged him, none of them bothered to put their Glocks away. Or loosen their grips.