Dave Zeltserman - Outsourced

Resnick watched the rest of the tape, watched as the two other men ran back into the bank lobby, both carrying duffel bags. He watched as four of the men fled the bank. The shooter stayed behind. Almost as if he were in a trance, he stood over O’Donnell, his gun arm fully extended. Then, realizing he was alone, he lumbered out of the bank.

Maguire let out a tired sigh. “Watching this crap is wiping me out. I need to take a break and get something to eat. You want anything?”

Resnick shook his head. “Which of these haven’t you looked at yet?”

Maguire went through the stack and pulled out six tapes. “These are all from outdoor surveillance cameras.” He got out of the chair, stretched and pushed a hand against the side of his head, cracking his neck. “I’ll be back in a half hour.”

Resnick took his place and fast-forwarded through four of the tapes without seeing anything useful. The fifth tape showed the five men running towards the bank, all with their ski masks and overalls already on. He fast-forwarded to the point where they were fleeing the bank. One of them stopped, took off his mask and looked back before running out of the view of the camera. Resnick rewound the tape and froze the picture at the place where the man’s profile could be seen clearly. For a long moment all Resnick could do was stare at the screen, his heart beating a mile a minute. Then he just let out a long whistle.

Joel had dumped out the contents of the duffel bags on to the floor and was now counting the money for a second time. The first time he had counted four hundred and three packets of bills, each packet held together by two rubber bands. They all seemed to be of the same thickness. Picking a dozen of them at random, he counted fifty hundred-dollar bills in each. Thumbing through them he saw nothing but hundreds. That meant he had over two million dollars. He finished his second count and came up with the same number.

Outside of the money they had also taken photographs, documents, videotapes and computer disks from Petrenko. He separated those items out and packed them away in a box. At first he thought about sending the box anonymously to the police. While he liked the idea of fucking that commie asshole one more time, he decided it would be safer to just destroy the items. For all he knew the FBI would be able to trace that package back to him no matter how careful he was in sending it. Better not to be a schmuck. Just keep the money and be satisfied. Anyway, it was no skin off his nose whether or not Petrenko ended up in prison.

The robbery also netted six silk pouches and he had their contents spread out on the kitchen table. Diamonds. Ninety of them. He picked one of them up. The diamond felt substantial, heavy, and it sparkled like crazy as he held it to the light. Squinting at the stone, it looked flawless to him, but what the hell did he know? He had an uncle who worked in the diamond district in New York. In a few days he’d visit him, find out what they were worth.

One day he’s down to his last few thousand bucks, the next he’s sitting on over two million large. When Dan had first told him about the robbery, he thought he’d be lucky to clear fifty grand from the job. He had to hand it to the guy, Dan knew what he was talking about. Outside of Gordon going nutso in that bank, things worked out exactly as planned. He felt a tinge of regret about the way he had cut Dan off, but he had warned him about bringing Gordon along, told him a number of times he’d hold him responsible if that nutjob acted up and, if nothing else, Joel considered himself a man of his word. Being cut off was the price Dan had to pay, and besides, he’d had plenty of warnings.

As far as Gordon went, Joel had no regrets whatsoever – except that he hadn’t taken care of that nutjob before they ever entered the bank. Thinking how Gordon shot those two women while they were both bound and defenseless made his blood boil. May he rot in hell! Given the opportunity, he’d shoot him again, and be glad to do it.

He had no regrets about Eric either. The prick was going to have the audacity to go back on the deal they had and try to hold him up for fifty percent of the take? When he was brought in, it was for a twenty percent cut, and he damn well knew it! Just because things might’ve changed with the others didn’t affect what Eric was entitled to. Besides, molesting that girl inside the bank probably triggered the episode with Gordon. He deserved what he got as much as Gordon did. And realizing how Eric had lied to him over the years about how he had ended up in jail gave Joel the creeps. They might’ve known each other for fifteen years, but so what? What did they really have in common? Politics, guns, drinking beer? Eh, good riddance.

Joel gathered the diamonds back into the silk pouches and stacked the money into one of the duffel bags. The diamonds had to be worth at least half a million. With two and a half million dollars, he was going to be able to do whatever he wanted. While there were certain things about his house he would miss – the privacy, twenty acres of woods, having a shooting range in his basement – maybe it was time to move. Maybe he should just go to Florida and get the hell out of where he was. He didn’t have to rush into a decision, though. He’d have some time to think about it. For now, he’d spend a little money, fortify the house a bit, do some of the improvements he’d been wanting to do for years.

A grin broke over his face as he thought about how his fortune had changed. His eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, his grin stretching wider. “You’re finally letting me roll sevens. About fucking time.”

Stillwall and Hollings showed up at the station minutes after Resnick had played the surveillance tape showing Raymond Lombardo.

“You lose our FBI friend?” Resnick asked.

“At five o’clock on the dot he was gone,” Stillwall said, scratching his chin. “Joys of being a federal employee.”

“That’s a shame. I’ve got a few things I’d like to show him.”

Resnick showed them instead, first playing the tape of the robbery and then the one of Lombardo taking his ski mask off. Stillwall’s large face dropped into a hangdog expression when the tape froze on Raymond Lombardo’s profile. “You got to be kidding me,” he complained. “We waste all this time questioning witnesses when we had this tape all along?”

“Them’s the breaks,” Hollings said, shaking his head in awe. “This is huge, my friends.”

Resnick knew he should’ve felt better than he did, but there was something about the tape that bugged him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was replaying it frame by frame when Maguire walked in.

“Fucking unbelievable,” Maguire said.

“We’re going to be here all goddamn night,” Stillwall moaned. “Not even a chance now of catching the last few innings.”

Hadley was brought in. After a flurry of phone calls with the district attorney, FBI, and Lombardo’s lawyer, an arrangement was made for Lombardo to surrender at ten the next morning. No one seemed happy at that.

“A double murder and another woman in intensive care, and we’re going to let him waltz in here at his convenience?” Stillwall asked.

Hadley’s soft face looked worn out. “It’s out of my hands. There’s more to this, Tom. We’ve got to work with the organized crime task force, an ongoing federal prosecution-”

“This still sucks. Ah well, tomorrow morning then.”

“Not here, though. Raymond Lombardo will be surrendering at the FBI building, downtown Boston.”

“They better not make a deal with that murdering son of a bitch.” Stillwall’s voice trailed off, anger flushing his face. “You should see how those two women were shot,” he said when he could. “Alex, maybe you should play the captain that tape.”