Dave Zeltserman - Outsourced

“I got to admit,” the bartender said. “The drinks did you a world of good. When you came in you looked like shit. You’ve got your color back. Buddy, you look like a new man.”

“Amazing the recuperative properties of a Guinness,” Dan said with a wink, his good humor back. “How about another round, both the beer and the shot, see if I can get a bit healthier.”

“No problem.”

Dan watched him pour the draft. Then his gaze drifted towards the television set and to the Red Sox highlights. The Sox had been playing well of late, winning their last seven games. While he was watching the highlights, they were interrupted by a news flash. The sound was off, but he knew right away what the story was about. Up on the screen as bright as day was Gordon’s driver’s license photo. Dan felt a sinking feeling in his stomach when he saw that. He had known Gordon would be identified eventually, but realizing it had already happened brought back his uneasiness.

The bartender brought over his drinks. Dan didn’t even taste them. He could just as well have been drinking water, or mud for that matter. They had no effect on him. All he felt was an almost unbearable uneasiness and the urge to get moving. He stood up and tossed twenty dollars on to the bar.

He knew the quicker he faced Carol the better. If he waited too long he wouldn’t be able to do it. On his way home he decided to play it as straight as possible. Sure enough Carol met him at the door, her face both anxious and excited.

“That was Gordon who was killed,” she told him, her words coming out in a breathless rush. “I knew it was him!”

Dan forced himself to meet her eyes. “I know. I was in a bar and saw it on the news.”

“This is so unbelievable.” Her eyes were wide as they searched his. Dan knew what she was looking for. Some sort of sign that this was a surprise to him too. As strong as the temptation was to look away, he forced himself to maintain eye contact.

“Why would he go to that bank?” she asked.

“I don’t know. He was probably looking for work.”

Her eyes were still searching his, almost desperately. “They weren’t hiring, were they?”

Dan felt himself shaking his head.

“Then why would he go there?”

“God knows. He knew I finished a contract with them. For whatever reason maybe he thought it was worth talking to them. That must’ve been why he called the other day.” He shook his head as he looked away from her. “I have some great news,” he said. “This kind of spoils it, though. The bank hired me to examine the software they got from those Indian contractors.

They want me to try to figure out why it didn’t work. Guess how much they’re paying me?”

Carol shook her head.

“Thirty-two thousand dollars. I had them pay me up front. The money is already in our account.”

Dan moved past her. “I know this is kind of weird after what happened to Gordon,” he said. “But we should do something to celebrate, maybe go out to dinner.”

“Thirty-two thousand dollars,” she repeated softly to herself.

“Thank God. I was sure we were going to lose the house. But we can’t go out. You have your phone interview at seven.”

Dan made a face as if he had forgotten about it. “Yeah, well, why don’t I blow that off? I’ve already got a contract.”

“It can’t hurt to have another one lined up.”

She was still studying him, still trying to read something in his expression.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “Well, let’s at least have a drink.”

The only alcohol left in the liquor cabinet was a bottle of Kahlua that they had brought back from Mexico years ago. Dan opened it, filled two glasses halfway, then added some ice and milk. As Carol sipped hers, the increasingly familiar tense expression returned to her face.

“You don’t think Gordon could’ve been involved in the bank robbery?” she asked.

Dan almost coughed up his drink. Damn, she was intuitive! He knew she wanted to ask more than that.

“You’re kidding, right?” he said. “This is Gordon we’re talking about. How in the world would he get himself involved in a bank robbery? Come on, let’s be serious here.”

Her soft blue eyes were holding steady on his, still searching, still trying to uncover something. Finally she looked away. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it was a crazy thought.”

“Yeah, it was.” Dan finished his drink. Without looking at Carol, he told her he had better go prepare for his interview. He could feel her eyes on him as he left the room. As he sat in his study, he felt shakier than ever. If she was suspecting Gordon of being involved in the robbery, then what else was she suspecting? He already knew the answer to that. He had been able to see it in her eyes. A cold chill went through him. He could imagine what she must be thinking – about his phone calls, his meetings with Joel and Shrini, the rash he had had the other day – and how she must be trying to make sense of all of it. Trying to understand how it could be related to Gordon being killed and that bank being robbed.

He felt both drained and anxious. Like he couldn’t move a muscle, but at the same time couldn’t sit still. He tried playing back the phone conversations he’d been having, trying to figure out if she could’ve overheard anything incriminating. He was still doing that when Carol opened the door, her face flushed with relief.

“They caught the person behind the bank robbery,” she said. “They just had the story on the news.”

“Who was it?” Dan asked. He could feel his heart racing wildly in his chest.

“I can’t remember his name,” Carol said, a big smile breaking over her face. “Someone connected to the mafia. I think from Revere.”

As Dan looked at his wife, he could see all doubt was gone. At that moment her smile looked brighter than any Christmas tree.

Th ank God, he thought, thank fucking God.

*

Petrenko had sent three of his men to snatch Craig Brown and was pacing impatiently while waiting for them to return. One way or another he was going to get to the bottom of what happened. If it meant skinning another man alive, so be it.

The television set was on in the background. Petrenko was only half paying attention to the news when the story broke about Lombardo’s arrest. Slowly, he made the connection between what the reporter was saying and what it meant to him. For a good twenty minutes he stood completely still, the wheels spinning in his head, his eyes as dull and lifeless as sand. In his mind he played out the possible steps he could take next, from kidnapping members of Lombardo’s family to having an all-out war with the Boston Mafia. He couldn’t see any of them working. The money and diamonds were lost. Dispassionately he accepted that. The best he could do to salvage the situation was to make a deal for the documents that he had lost.

There was a knock on the door. He looked over to see Yuri Tolkov enter the room.

“Did you get him?” Petrenko asked.

Yuri shook his head, his expression blank. In Russian, he said, “A cop was watching him.”

“Which one, the zhid?”

“No, the other one, his partner, the dumb-looking one. The only way to grab the bank manager is to take care of this cop first. What do you want me to do?”

Petrenko thought about it, frowning heavily. “We’ll do it another time. Right now we have more important matters to deal with.”

Yuri nodded matter-of-factly. “I heard the news on the radio.”

“We’ll have to make a deal with the Italians,” Petrenko said.

“Are you sure? There are other ways we could handle this.”

“None would do us any good.”

“I don’t know, we could try to-”