Dave Zeltserman - Outsourced

They moved quickly into the car. Dan could feel himself trembling as he gripped the wheel, not out of fear but from a white-hot rage. He pulled the car on to the street and headed towards the highway.

“You would’ve shot me back there,” he said.

“If you didn’t get those overalls off in time, yeah.”

Dan drove another minute stewing in silence. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m calling for an ambulance. That woman in the bank, the one shot in the stomach, needs one.”

“Forget it. I’m sure someone heard the gunshots, and I’m sure plenty of ambulances are on their way.”

Almost prophetically the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. Within seconds the noise grew louder until it was almost deafening, and then just as quickly it faded. The police cruisers and ambulances must’ve traveled past them on a parallel street.

“You fucked us,” Dan said to Joel after it became quiet again. “It was bad enough what Gordon did, but what you did fucked us. The police are going to tie him to the robbery. You screwed up the frame we had in place for Lombardo.”

Joel squeezed his jaw with one hand while he used the other to hold a gun on Dan. “I made an executive decision,” he said. “No way I was going to trust my life with that loon, not after seeing what he did in that bank. Fuck him anyway, he got what he deserved for what he did to those two women.”

“You still fucked us.”

“I didn’t fuck anything. I used the same gun he used. That means ballistics are going to match up and the cops are going to figure that he was shot by the same bank robbers, probably so they could take his car. They’ll look at him as simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“That’s right, chief,” Hoffer snickered from behind. “Nothing at all to worry about.”

Joel glanced back at him, giving him a look to shut up.

“What happened in there?”

“Exactly what you should’ve expected.” Joel showed a pained expression, shook his head. “Even worse, exactly what I should’ve expected. I never should’ve agreed to let you bring Gordon.”

“He just started shooting them?”

“Pretty much. He started talking to that girl, the one he shot in the chest. I don’t know what the fuck he was saying to her, shit about Brazil and the Jersey Shore and God knows what else. She called him a couple of pretty rough names and he flipped her over and shot her in the chest. Then that other woman started mouthing off, and he flipped her over and shot her also.”

“You couldn’t stop him?”

“How?” Joel asked. “What could I have done?” He shook his head angrily. “No, pal, this is your fault. You insisted that he be part of this. You promised me you could control him for ten lousy minutes.” His voice choked off as he stared at Dan, his features hardening, making him look like an old man. Then, softly, “I didn’t sign up for a felony murder rap. Sorry, Dan, but this changes everything. You’re going to drive to your buddy’s car, the two of you are going to get out and you’re going to forget about any share of the money.”

“This isn’t right, Joel.”

“The price you have to pay, Dan.”

“What about me?” Shrini asked from behind.

“Sorry, Gunga, but that’s your price also. As far as I’m concerned Gordon was as much your mistake as Dan’s. My advice, go back to India and forget this ever happened.”

Dan turned into the mall parking lot where they had left their cars. He pulled up to Shrini’s Civic.

“This is not a good idea, Joel.”

“Why not? You’re going to tell the police on me?” Joel made a face. “I don’t think so.” His eyes glazed over as he trained the gun on Dan’s chest. “If either of you do anything other than quietly get into that car, I’m going to cut the two of you down right here and take my chances. Have a nice life, okay, pal.”

“Nice seeing you again, chief,” Hoffer added.

Dan sat frozen until he felt the barrel of Joel’s forty-five push into his ribs. He turned to say something, but the look in Joel’s eyes convinced him that it would be useless. He got out of the car. Shrini stared helplessly at Dan before joining him. They stood and watched as Joel slid over into the Chevy’s driver’s seat and Hoffer moved up front. As they drove off, Hoffer rolled down his window and saluted them with his middle finger.

Alex Resnick noted the location of the surveillance cameras as he entered the bank. Two other detectives, Tom Stillwall and Phil Hollings, were already inside talking to a witness. Resnick nodded to them and then glanced at the dead woman. Over the years he had grown mostly numb to the sight of dead bodies, but seeing this girl weakened him in the knees. She was just too damn young to have something like that happen to her. He heard a low groan, and saw his partner staring in her direction.

“Damn, there’s a lot of blood,” Maguire said.

Stillwall approached the two of them, both hands pushed deep in his pockets, his face frozen in a constipated frown. He was a big man, messy, his hair uncombed, a thick six o’clock shadow already showing. His suit, which was several sizes too big, looked as if it had been slept in.

“Hey, boyos,” he greeted them, his constipated look growing more pained, “what a mess, huh? We’re going to be here all goddamn night. And just my luck, I’ve got Sox tickets for this evening.”

“Two people were shot?” Resnick asked.

“Yeah, we had two of them all right.” Stillwall consulted a notepad. “One Mary O’Donnell, forty-two, lives right here in Lynn.” He closed his notepad. “She was in pretty rough shape when they took her out, shot point blank in the stomach with a forty-five. Whoever did that wanted to inflict much pain, my friend.

“Now this poor girl,” Stillwall went on, waving a hand in the direction of the dead woman. “Margaret Williams. Only barely twenty-three. Always hard to imagine when they’re dead, but she must’ve been something to look at when she was among the living. This was a pure execution. And like the other shooting, a forty-five was used. Two shots, two casings. We got them both.”

“Why’s she still here?”

“FBI’s sending over one of their CSI experts, although I don’t see the point of it. I mean for crying out loud, we know what happened, and even if we didn’t we’ll be watching videotape of it later. But what are you going to do, rules are rules.” Stillwall moved closer to Resnick. “Let me give you a quick rundown,” he said, lowering his voice. “Six or seven guys stormed in here, all wearing masks, all with guns drawn. Several of them had assault rifles, maybe AK-47s. They laid everyone out on their stomachs and taped their wrists and ankles behind them.”

Stillwall stopped in his tracks, his frown deepening as he held his stomach. “Damn acid reflux,” he said after a while. “I had a sausage sub for lunch and I’ve been paying the price ever since.”

“So everyone’s on the floor…” Resnick said patiently, trying to get Stillwall back on track.

“Okay, so after everyone’s on the floor, they go for the safety deposit boxes. They didn’t try for the vault or bother with any of the money from the cashier drawers.”

“What about the shootings?”

“I’m still not clear on what happened. That guy over there with Phil, the pencil-necked individual who looks like he’s about to pass out, is one Craig Brown, the manager of this fine banking establishment. According to Brown and several other witnesses, there was something going on between the two victims and one of the gunmen.” Stillwall edged closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Now something I find interesting; this bank has a new state-of-the-art security system. We tried it five minutes ago and the system worked like a champ, yet during the robbery the damn thing’s a bust. You got to ask yourself why.”