Dave Zeltserman: Outsourced

The bar was mostly empty, which was typical for a Wednesday at two in the afternoon. Dan Wilson had the bartender pour him a Guinness Draft and a Harpoon IPA, and brought the beers back to a table in the corner where his companion, Shrinivas Kumar, sat waiting.

Dan, a large affable man with close-cropped hair that was far grayer than it should’ve been given his forty-eight years, handed the Harpoon IPA to Shrinivas – or Shrini, as he liked to be called – and took a seat across from him. As usual, Dan’s mouth was twisted into a slight grin. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed his typical good humor, however.

Shrini was fourteen years younger than Dan. He had a medium build, olive-color skin, and a serious demeanor. He dressed neatly and wore a musk-scented cologne. Shrini grew up in a northern region of India, near New Delhi, before moving to the States to attend college at the University of Florida. Majoring in computer science, he had moved to Massachusetts after graduation where he worked steadily as a software engineer until a year and a half ago. That was when the small software company he and Dan worked for had shut its doors. Since then he’d had one short-term contract job lasting four months, but nothing else. He took his wallet out.

“How much do I owe you for the beer?”

“Shrini, come on, buddy, put your wallet away. You get the next round, okay?”

“In that case, cheers,” Shrini offered, lifting his glass.

“Just like old times, huh?” Dan said, a sadness in his eyes countering his grin.

Both men drank quietly, both deep in their own thoughts. Shrini started to say something then closed his mouth, his body tensing as he looked around to make sure no one was within earshot.

“You are meeting your friend, Joel, this afternoon?” Shrini asked, his voice low.

“That’s right. I got a two-hour drive up to the boondocks of New Hampshire. Goddamn redneck bastard. His house is in the middle of nowhere. The damn place is like a military compound.”

“You are sure you can trust him?”

“We worked together for eleven years. I can trust him.” Dan paused to sip his beer. “Joel and I have kept in touch the last seven. He’s a good guy, good heart. A little abrasive maybe, but a good guy.”

“And you think he will want to do this?”

“I’d have to think so. He was laid off two years ago and hasn’t worked since. I know he never made any big money and with three divorces I’m sure he didn’t save shit. At this point, he’s probably spending down his 401K like the rest of us.”

“That is still a big leap to being willing to do this.”

“I know the guy. He’ll want to come onboard. And what the fuck else is he going to do? A fifty-five-year-old software engineer out of work for two years? Maybe go back to school for bioengineering? At his age? Or how about becoming a real-estate agent? How many real-estate agents do we need?”

Dan had worked himself up with his speech. He drank the little Guinness he had left and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. When he looked up, he noticed his companion frowning deeply.

“Shrini, buddy, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this. This is very big what we’re doing, and I don’t know your friend. I know people in India I could bring here-”

“You got to be kidding me,” Dan said, raising an eyebrow. Then, muttering under his breath so it was barely audible, “I’m not bringing in people from overseas. With the way things are today, the FBI would be on us in a heartbeat.”

“Please, hear me out-”

“Shrini, you’ve got to trust me on this. Joel is exactly what we need. Politically, the guy is far right to the point of being nuts and his religion now is the goddamn second amendment. He’s got all the guns we need, and I guarantee you none of them are traceable.”

Shrini, very low, “There are other places we can get guns.”

“Yeah, there are. But not without putting us at risk. And there’s more to it than that. When you meet Joel, you’ll think he looks like nothing. Five foot six, a hundred and fifty pounds maybe. But he works out every day, and bumping into him is like bumping into a brick wall. And he’s definitely got the balls for this, maybe more than the two of us.”

“Dude, I got the balls to do this.”

“I know you do, buddy, and I trust you. I wouldn’t be here talking with you if I didn’t. Let me tell you more about Joel. He was kind of a fuck-up in college, dropped out in the middle of his freshman year so he could go to Israel and enlist in their army. This was nineteen seventy-three. He ended up fighting in the Yom Kippur War. You could never tell by looking at him, but this guy is as hard as nails.”

Shrini was frowning again. “How did he end up back in the United States working as a software engineer?”

“After his army service, he married an Israeli woman and then moved back to the States. For a number of years he sold bathroom accessories to department stores. I guess he got sick of that and went to school at night and got a degree in computer science. His first job as an engineer was in my group at Vixox Systems. We drank a shitload of beers together when he went through his first divorce.”

Dan lowered his gaze to his empty beer mug, and started pushing it back and forth between his hands. Shrini chewed on his lower lip as he sat silently.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you, Shrini?” Dan asked after a while. “Because if you are, that’s okay. We can walk away from this anytime.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m very serious. I’m doing this.”

“You look so damn worried. We’ve worked out all the details. This is going to work fine. And don’t worry about Joel.”

“I won’t worry about your friend. I’ve been working with you long enough to trust your judgment.”

“Then why do you look so constipated?”

“Fuck you.”

“Come on, talk to me.”

“I keep thinking about Gordon. Whether we are making a mistake.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“But he is so strange.”

“I’ve known Gordon almost twenty years. Yeah, he’s a little different, but he’s more eccentric than strange. But, you know, we need him. This won’t work without him.”

Shrini showed a slight smile. “I think you worked out the plan so we would have to need him. So you could help Gordon out one more time.”

“Yeah, that’s my mission in life, to help out my misfit friends. Gordon, Joel… you.”

Shrini responded by flipping Dan the bird, a good-natured smile breaking over his face. The smile faded as the moment passed. “You are sure we can trust him?”

“No question. I’m willing to bet my life on it, aren’t I?”

“You mean both our lives.”

Dan looked back at his empty mug. “We can trust him.”

“So we are really doing this,” Shrini said.

“Yep, we’re really doing this.” Then very low, barely loud enough for Shrini to hear, “We’re going to be robbing a fucking bank.”

Shrini finished his Harpoon. “I’ll buy us another round.”

“I better not.” Dan sighed. “I’ve got to head off to the boondocks of New Hampshire.”

Dan wore dark shades as he drove, and even so, had to squint against the glare from the sun. It was a struggle keeping his eyes open. Seven months earlier an ophthalmologist had told him that he had retinitis pigmentosa. According to the doctor, he’d probably had it since his mid-thirties. At least it explained the problems he was having with bright sunlight and driving at night. He knew things were getting worse. Over the past couple of years he felt as if he’d been losing a portion of his peripheral vision and recently he’d been having trouble focusing on small print. He hadn’t told anyone yet about his condition, especially his wife, Carol. That was the last thing she needed to hear now.