Dave Zeltserman: Outsourced

He lifted a finger to the bartender, indicating another bourbon was in order. As he downed the shot, he made a decision. He got off his barstool, threw twenty bucks down and left the bar.

He didn’t have any real plan as he drove to Wilson’s house, but somehow he was going to get through to the guy. If it meant dragging him to Mary O’Donnell’s bedside, he was going to get through to him.

When he got to Wilson’s house his wife answered the door. He felt a tug at his heart when he saw lines creasing her face that hadn’t been there only hours earlier. She told him her husband wasn’t home and she didn’t expect him to come home any time in the future.

“Why is that?” he asked.

“Something personal between the two of us. Nothing I care to discuss.”

Resnick hesitated, then asked if he could come in.

“I really have nothing to say to you.”

“Please, just give me a few minutes.”

“Fine, a few minutes.”

She tried to smile as she stepped aside. Or maybe she was trying to keep from crying. Resnick couldn’t tell which it was.

He stood in the living room, waited for her to take a seat on a sectional sofa, and then took a seat kitty-corner to her.

“This looks like an expensive house. Pretty expensive neighborhood also.”

Carol didn’t respond.

Resnick felt another tug at his heart while he watched her sitting with her hands clasped tight together, struggling to keep her composure. “When your husband lost his job, things must’ve gotten difficult financially,” he said.

She nodded, bit her lip. “I found a job. Dan got himself a contract. We did okay.”

“His contract pay anywhere near what his salary used to?”

She shook her head.

Resnick took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. He hated what he was doing but he had no choice. He handed her the same crime-scene photos of Mary O’Donnell and Margaret Williams that he had shown Dan earlier. Her face went white as she looked at them.

Resnick said. “I know your husband planned the robbery. He’s responsible for what happened to those two women.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” she said, her voice coming out in short gasps.

“Mrs. Wilson, I know you had nothing to do with this, but I need your help.”

She broke out sobbing, her face becoming a mask of pain and hopelessness. Blindly, she stood up, her shoulders rising up and down rhythmically with her sobs. Then she held out her arms.

Awkwardly, he stood up. He knew this wasn’t right. He was trying to put her husband away, for Chrissakes. But what was he going to do, just let her stand there and bawl?

She fell into him, her head hard against his chest as she sobbed.

Damn, this is just not right, he thought. He put one arm around her and patted her back.

He understood fully what she was going through. She had just lost her husband, the father of her children – really her whole way of life. As he held her, felt the smallness of her body and her tears soaking through his shirt, he started thinking of his own losses. His beautiful wife, Carrie, and that heart-wrenching smile that she had. All those years wasted in his self-imposed isolation. And Brian…

It was the first time he had truly let himself think about losing Brian – actually admit to himself that he was never going to see his boy again – and the thought overwhelmed him.

Brian was gone.

There was no way of ever bringing him back.

His boy was really gone…

As the realization forced itself upon him, the pain became so unbearable he didn’t think he could live. It was as if his heart were going to explode. All of the pain came crashing down like a tidal wave, catching him in its currents, tossing him about in a dizzying fury. God, how could he survive this? Survive knowing his boy was really gone. That he’d never hold his Brian again. Never see his boy again. How in the world was that possible?

Resnick realized he was sobbing also and that he was holding Carol even tighter than she was holding him.

Dan drove until he was bleary-eyed, until he couldn’t focus any more, and then stopped at the first roadside motel he came to. Where was he, Ohio? Indiana? He had no idea. All he knew was that he was exhausted.

The desk clerk asked him if he had any bags. Dan couldn’t help laughing when he told him only one. The clerk looked at him as if he were crazy. Fine, let him.

When he got to his room, he dumped the contents of the duffel bag on to his bed. Packets of hundred-dollar bills covered the bedspread, some of them spilling on to the floor. He guessed he had over a million dollars. There were a bunch of silk bags among the money. He emptied out dozens of diamonds from them.

All that money lying in front of him. All those diamonds glistening under the dim light from a sixty-watt bulb.

He tried to figure out what he was going to do with all of that money. Finally, he came to the conclusion that he didn’t have a clue.

Not a fucking clue.