Dave Zeltserman - Outsourced

“Sorry, a felony crime has been committed. You do have to answer me, or if not me, I’m sure I can arrange for you to testify in front of a grand jury. In the meantime, I’d be more than happy to arrest you for obstructing a criminal investigation.”

Petrenko sat expressionless, his dead eyes holding steady on Resnick’s. After several minutes passed, he looked away and poured himself a glass of vodka. “I had nothing in those safety deposit boxes,” he said.

“You’ve been paying for eight empty safety deposit boxes?”

“I’ve been meaning to close my account at that bank.”

“Who else knew your box numbers?”

Petrenko shrugged. “No one that I can think of. Detective, this vodka has made me very sleepy. Please, I doubt I can be of any further assistance to you.”

“That’s quite all right. And don’t worry about a thing. I’m sure there must’ve been items in those boxes that you’ve forgotten about. Maybe papers, maybe other things. I want you to rest assured that I am going to dedicate myself to finding who did this and recovering what was in those boxes. I’ll be working on this twenty-four-seven if I have to. You can count on it. And when I find what was stolen, you’ll be the first to know.”

The two men stared at each other. There was no misunderstanding what Resnick was promising. After Resnick left, Petrenko sat staring blankly as his hands slowly clenched into fists.

“That fucking zhid,” he swore. “He came here just to rub it in. Someday soon, I will make it my pleasure to take care of him personally.” He then turned to Yuri Tolkov, who had been sitting to his right. “Find out if these Arabs were stupid enough to have kept that briefcase.”

Yuri nodded, pushed his chair back and got up from the table. The other two men followed him, leaving Petrenko alone, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Carol gave her husband a concerned look when she saw him. “What happened to your face?” she asked.

Dan ran a hand lightly across his jaw. “Shrini made lentils with green curry for lunch. I got some sort of allergic reaction from it.”

Thin lines creased Carol’s brow as she moved closer to him. “That’s funny,” she said, her eyes narrowing, studying the pattern that the rash made. “You’ve had Indian food before without having any reaction. And this rash seems so isolated, mostly on your nose and jaw.”

“I guess it’s just one of those things.” He waved a hand in the air as if that would wave the issue away. “I am so damn beat right now. I’m going upstairs to take a nap.”

She was still frowning as she nodded to him. “Dinner will be ready soon. I’ll let you know when the food’s on the table. Oh, I almost forgot, Gordon called.”

For a second Dan felt as if his heart had turned to slush. Barely under control, he asked Carol what time that was.

“Right after you left this morning.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Only that he wanted to talk to you.”

“I’ll call him back after I take a nap,” he said.

As he walked up the stairs, he really did feel exhausted. All he wanted to do was lie down on the bed and close his eyes. Just hide someplace dark. When he got to the bedroom, he pulled the window shades down, then collapsed on to the bed. Lying there, he thought about all the lies he’d been telling Carol. Before this robbery business he had never lied to her. Not once. Now he was telling her one lie after another. At first, he had felt guilty about it, maybe even remorseful. Now he felt almost nothing. It was amazing to him how easy the lying was becoming.

He was drifting off when the lights turned on. He saw Carol moving towards him, her face flushed with excitement.

“You won’t believe what’s on the news,” she said, breathless.

Dan pushed himself up and sat helplessly as Carol turned on the television set. The top story was about the bank robbery. When they showed a high-school graduation picture of Margaret Williams, all Dan wanted to do was slink off into some dark corner and die. According to the report, the other woman, the one shot in the stomach, was in intensive care and the doctors weren’t sure yet whether she was going to make it. “We’ll know more in the next forty-eight hours,” one of the doctors was saying. The story seemed to go on forever. Dan sat there dreading what was going to come next, praying that they wouldn’t show a photo of Gordon. When they came to report on the dead man found outside the bank, they described him as being in his early sixties, wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt and shorts. Police were working on the assumption that the robbers killed him either for his car or because he might’ve seen something. Instead of showing a photo of Gordon’s corpse, the news aired a police drawing of what the dead man would’ve looked like if he were alive. They asked for anyone with information about him to contact the Lynn Police. Carol gasped when she saw the drawing.

“Do you know who that looks like?” she asked.

Dan could feel himself shaking his head.

“I swear that could be Gordon. And that Grateful Dead T-shirt-”

“Come on,” Dan half heard himself saying, “a lot of guys wear those types of T-shirts. And that doesn’t look at all like Gordon. Jesus Christ, that’s a drawing of an old man.”

“It looks a lot like Gordon to me,” she said. “Go ahead, call him, see if he’s home.”

“I’ll call him later.”

“I’m telling you, that’s him. If you don’t try calling him, I’m going to.”

Dan picked up the phone and dialed a movie phone line. He waited until he got the recorded message as to what was now playing, pretended to leave a message for Gordon, and hung up. All the while, Carol watched, anxiously pulling at her fingers.

“He’s not home right now,” Dan said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. He’s always out. Who knows, he could be on his way to the Jersey Shore right now.”

“I’m going to call the police,” Carol said. “I’m sure that’s him.”

Dan stopped her as she reached for the phone. “Come on, you know how Gordon is. If you send the police to his apartment, the guy will get weird on me and probably never want to talk to me again.”

“You’re saying that as if it’s a bad thing,” Carol said, only half-joking.

“Gordon’s not that bad.”

“He’s very strange. Most of the time when he’s talking to me, I don’t know what he’s saying.” Carol shook her head. “I wonder what he was doing at that bank.”

“How can you be so sure that’s him? From that one police drawing?”

“I really think it’s him,” she said, but some doubt had edged into her voice. She hesitated for a moment, her mouth opening slightly. “When I was watching the news downstairs, they mentioned something about the bank’s security system not working. Isn’t that what you built for them?”

“I architected the system, I didn’t build it. If they had let me code it instead of farming the coding out, I bet you it would have worked today.”

“You don’t think the system not working was because of a mistake you might have made?”

“No, I don’t. What’s wrong – you’re worried no one’s going to want to hire me after this?”

Carol tried to smile, but it faded fast. “I guess I’m worried about everything these days. It just doesn’t sound like a very good endorsement having a bank security system you built-”

“Architected,” Dan corrected.

“Okay – architected – being broken into. Maybe you should remove that last contract from your resume?”

“Probably not a bad idea,” Dan agreed.

“Do you think they could try suing you?” Carol asked, her face now racked with worry.