Dave Zeltserman - Outsourced

“How’d you find this?” he asked.

“I was checking around for any abandoned vehicles. This guy’s car had been dumped at the Revere Mall.”

“Raymond Lombardo’s neighborhood,” Hadley observed.

“Yeah, it’s almost as if someone’s trying hard to connect the dots to Lombardo,” Resnick said. “I’m going to head over to the Revere Mall, see if they have any surveillance cameras covering their parking lot-”

“Stop.”

Resnick gave Hadley a puzzled look. “What’s up, Ken?” he asked.

“I’ve had a long talk with Agent Spitzer and we’ve both come to the conclusion that Raymond Lombardo is responsible for the bank robbery.” Hadley took a deep breath. As he exhaled, his round face deflated like a punctured tire. He added, “As far I’m concerned, this case is closed.”

“Has anyone tried to verify Lombardo’s story?”

“And what would that prove? I’m sure his barber is going to say whatever Lombardo tells him to. Same with his golf buddies.”

“We have so many leads we haven’t checked out yet,” Resnick said, shaking his head angrily. “Someone inside that bank has to be involved. If we shut this down now, we’re never going to get to the bottom of what happened.”

“We know what happened. It’s over, Alex. We have the man who did this on videotape. That’s more than enough for me and it should be for you too. Let the FBI finish this up.”

“Ken, this stinks. We’re going to just let the FBI force Lombardo into a deal and watch this case quietly disappear?”

“Sometimes it works out that way.”

“And it doesn’t matter how many people were hurt?”

“Of course it matters.” Hadley sighed heavily, his eyes empty as he stared at his detective. “But unfortunately, not this time.”

For a long moment all Resnick could do was stare back. His voice low and catching in his throat, he said, “What if Lombardo brings a dozen witnesses forward claiming he was playing golf at the time of the robbery? This could blow up in your face, Ken.”

“I don’t believe that’s going to happen. Anyway, as I said, it’s over. A press conference is going to be given at six tonight. As far as you’re concerned, I don’t want you spending any more time on this. In fact, I’m giving you what you asked for earlier. Until further notice, you’re on Viktor Petrenko. Watch him twenty-four hours a day if you can.”

“And what about Walt?”

“He’s to watch that bank manager, Craig Brown, which I believe is something else you suggested.”

“So that’s it, huh? How long are you going to keep us on these assignments? Until the FBI finalizes their deal with Lombardo?”

Hadley tried to smile, but it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. They remained as pale and lifeless as glass. “That’s as good a guess as any,” he said.

Later that afternoon Dan was still amazed that he had been able to pull off what he did with that cop. It was like dodging a bullet during wartime. While it’s happening, your adrenaline’s pumping too much to realize how much danger you’re in, how close you are to being turned to shit. Only afterwards does it register. Forget dodging a bullet, he dodged a whole clip from a machine gun. His hands were still shaking when he deposited the check Brown had given him. Thirty-two grand. He still had over four thousand dollars that he had taken from Gordon. All that money should’ve made him feel better. Instead he felt unsettled.

It was four thirty. He didn’t feel up to heading home and facing Carol or his kids. Would he ever feel up to facing them again? Maybe. Given time the robbery could become an empty memory. Something that might or might not have ever happened. He had other empty memories. People he might’ve once known, but was no longer sure of. Even the first girl he ever had sex with. They were both sixteen at the time and had snuck out on to a golf course one night with a blanket. At some level of his consciousness he knew it had happened, but it also didn’t seem possible. He could barely remember it. He could barely remember the girl. Of course, this was different. But maybe over time this could become like all those other distant, vague memories of his past. Maybe years from now he wouldn’t be able to believe this had ever happened either.

Now, though, he couldn’t stop thinking of that dead girl. Or the other woman. When he was driving to meet Brown, the news over the radio reported the other woman’s status as touch and go. He hoped she wouldn’t die. But how would her life be now, after having a bullet rip through her stomach? Would something like that ever really heal?

Thinking about it made him start perspiring again. Jesus, he was shaky. If anyone saw him they’d probably think he had some sort of neurological problem. He needed something to calm his nerves. A drink would help.

He stopped at the first bar he came across. The bartender gave him a funny look when he tried ordering a Guinness and a shot of Jameson’s.

“Are you okay, buddy?” the bartender asked.

“I’ll be better after you bring me my beer and a shot.”

“You know, I’m not allowed to serve alcohol to someone already intoxicated.”

“I haven’t had a drop yet. Honest. What do you want me to do, recite the alphabet backwards?” Dan proceeded to do just that. The bartender lifted up his hands in a show of surrender. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I believe you.” But as he poured the draft, he raised an eyebrow and gave Dan a doubtful look.

God, he wished he could forget the robbery ever happened. Let Joel keep the money. At this point he didn’t care. He just wanted to distance himself as far from that memory as he could. But he knew that wasn’t possible. Shrini wasn’t going to let that happen. Tomorrow the two of them were going to drive to Joel’s, and he knew Shrini wasn’t going to give up on this until he got his cut. Deep down he also knew Joel wasn’t going to give in. The damn thing had the potential for spiraling even further out of control. Fucking Joel. If he would be reasonable, they could move past this. The robbery could some day become one of those empty memories.

The bartender brought over his drinks. Dan took the shot and then sipped the Guinness, trying not to drink it too fast. The thirty-two grand would buy him some time, maybe enough so he could find a job and end up with long-term disability insurance. The beer was in one of those promotional glasses that breweries give out. He held the glass at arm’s length. In bright light he was still able to make out details, even read text on a computer screen, but here in the dimness of the bar the lettering on the glass was fuzzy and he couldn’t make out what it spelled. He wondered how much time he had before he would be unable to function. A year, maybe less.

Next week sometime he would get back in touch with Brown and report why the software malfunctioned. There was no reason to hide anything. Let them think he was being completely honest and above board. The conclusion would have to be that one of the Indian programmers intentionally put a backdoor into the software. Let them prove otherwise. Dan laughed sourly, thinking about how the papers would pick up on the story. Maybe it would end up scaring the shit out of other financial companies that had farmed out critical software. Maybe even drum up some business for him.

That was an interesting thought. He could do more than just scare the shit out of these companies. With a little bit of luck he could create a panic. First thing, write some articles about what happened to Lynn Capital Bank. Fuck, maybe even propose a book about it, detailing the risks to financial institutions and highlighting the case of this bank.

For the first time in a long while Dan felt excited, his mind racing with ideas. All those banks and brokerage firms were going to go crazy when they heard about what happened to Lynn Capital Bank. They’d all be forced to check any software built offshore for possible hidden backdoors. And Dan could do that checking. He could start a software firm tomorrow focusing on that and drum up business with articles and a book. As the ideas swirled in his head, he felt a dryness in his mouth. He looked up and saw the bartender studying him.