Dave Zeltserman - Outsourced

Two of Stellini’s wise guys started to move towards Petrenko. He knew he could take care of them if he had to, but he was beginning to have doubts about Raymond Lombardo’s involvement. Maybe the FBI did manufacture the video of Lombardo outside the bank. Maybe they were even behind the bank robbery. Petrenko knew there were high-level government officials who would do anything to get their hands on the computer disks and videotapes that he was keeping in his safety deposit boxes. If they had found out about his boxes, then maybe…

Both wise guys were stopped in their tracks by the look Petrenko gave them, their hard smirks drying up on their faces. Petrenko nodded curtly to Stellini, stood up and left the room. When he saw Yuri, he told him in Russian that things were not good. “I am afraid we might need to relocate to Europe.”

During the ride back to Lynn, Petrenko tried to sort out what his next steps were going to be. He still had connections in his home city of Volgograd and could set up operations there. As far as funds, he had maybe one hundred and sixty thousand that was liquid. That would be all he could take. He would have no choice but to leave Yuri behind and entrust him with selling off his other holdings.

When he arrived home, he was surprised to find a message on his answering machine. His number was unlisted, and usually his associates would call only on his cell phone.

The message stated that for a hundred thousand dollars Petrenko would be told how to get back his stolen belongings. The person added that he would call back on Sunday at ten in the morning. Petrenko stood rubbing his knuckles as he replayed the message. The second time around he had no trouble detecting that the caller was of Indian descent.

Dan’s mind raced as he played back the events at the cemetery. He tried to slow down his thoughts and concentrate on what was said, trying to detect any nuances from the way the cop had looked at him and any changes of inflection in his voice. He couldn’t help cringing every time he thought about Wendy telling that cop about Gordon’s community theater work. Of all the times for Wendy to have to open her big mouth…

The central air was on, but Dan had still sweated through the boxers and undershirt he wore to bed. He pushed himself up and squinted at the alarm clock. Four seventeen. At least two more hours before he’d have an excuse to get out of bed. He knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to get any sleep.

Carol was on her side with her back to him. She had been sleeping fitfully through most of the night. He knew the cop showing up at the cemetery had affected her too. Thank God Lombardo had been arrested! But even so she must still have her doubts. Not enough so she’d come right out and say anything, but they were there. During the ride back, he could feel her studying him. A few times he caught glimpses of her in the rearview mirror and saw the way she was biting her lip and how pale her skin had become. He knew she was beginning to wonder about that picture of Raymond Lombardo outside the bank with his ski mask off. They’d been married seventeen years and had known each other twenty. Maybe she’d seen something in that picture she’d been in denial about, at least until she had seen that cop at the cemetery. When they had gotten home he had buried himself in his office, claiming he had work to do to finish his contract.

He tried to think through everything that had happened and every conversation he had. Even if that cop did suspect something, there was no evidence against him. Nothing that could link him to the changes he’d made to the bank’s security software, or him breaking into their databases or really anything involved with the robbery. He’d made sure there were no records of him purchasing those drills, or the safety deposit boxes he and Shrini had practiced on, or the overalls and the ski masks. All of it had been hidden under a labyrinth of untraceable Internet transactions. There was nothing for that cop to find.

Of course he could be tied to Joel, and if Joel had been careless enough to keep those guns or not hide the money well enough…

Fuck it. He was making too much of this. What could that cop possibly know? That he and Gordon were friends? What did that prove? That Gordon used to do make up for a community theater? Knowing that was still a long way from suspecting that Dan had been made up to look like Raymond Lombardo. And even if the cop did suspect that, what could he prove? Dan’s mind buzzed as he wondered whether the FBI had any advanced imaging software that could identify him from the security tape. He would have to try to research that, but he doubted the security cameras could provide enough resolution for something like that to be feasible. Still…

Enough already! He had been worrying himself sick over this for hours now. Forget it. No more. There was nothing to tie him to the robbery. Hell, there was nothing to even tie Gordon to it. All they had was Gordon’s body being found outside the bank and… and that nobody knew what he was doing there. That still didn’t put him inside the bank. They had nothing, and more important, there was nothing for them to find.

Dan took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. It was funny how the mind worked. After the robbery all he could think about were the victims and the damage that was done to them, now all he could think about was self-preservation. He decided that was normal. It didn’t make him a bad person. He never would’ve gone through with the robbery if he had any idea people were going to be hurt. How could he have expected Gordon to do what he did?

How could any rational person have expected that?

But all that was in the past. There was nothing he could do now except move forward and do what was best for him and his family. He had to somehow forgive himself, but for now he needed to empty his mind and relax, at least before the pressure inside his head exploded.

He looked over at Carol and studied the outline her hips made under the sheets. They were so slender, her waist seemingly thin enough for him to wrap both hands around. At forty-four she still had a better body than most thirty-year-olds – hell, forget that, most twenty-year-olds. He touched her hip lightly. He didn’t want to wake her. He just wanted to have some sort of physical connection to her, to somehow make himself feel like there was still a reason for hope.

He gently rested his hand on her hip. She made a grunting noise in her sleep and angrily pushed his hand away. He lay paralyzed for a moment, feeling as empty as he had ever felt. Then he just started laughing. He couldn’t help himself.

Par for the fucking course, he thought.

Later, when he heard the thud of the Sunday paper against his driveway, he decided he’d been in bed about as long as he could stand. Carol was tossing restlessly, but she was still mostly asleep. Moving quietly, he got out of bed, put on a robe and went outside to get the paper. When he saw the front page, he stood frozen for a long moment not knowing what to do next. Then, resigned to the situation, he headed back inside.

Petrenko let the phone ring six times before he picked up. He placed his hand over the mouthpiece and listened silently.

“Hello, hello?”

It was the same voice from the answering machine. Petrenko didn’t bother saying anything.

The pitch of the caller’s voice rose in confusion as he tried again. “Hello, is anybody there?”

Petrenko answered softly, “You have items that belong to me, correct?”

“I don’t have them.” There was a hesitation, then, “But I know who does.”

“And why should I believe you?”

The caller told him the numbers of his safety deposit boxes. “You had mostly packets of hundred-dollar bills rubber-banded together. Also videotapes and computer disks. Will you pay me a hundred thousand dollars or do I hang up?”