Джеффри Дивер - Nothing Good Happens After Midnight - A Suspense Magazine Anthology

Venn burst into motion, all thoughts of rogue ATM machines vanished for that moment. He was close enough to a massive SUV that had slammed its brakes in futile fashion to smell the scorched rubber when he grabbed hold of the woman’s Angora sweater and yanked her from its path just in time.

“Uh,” she gasped, losing hold of the phone that had nearly been the instrument of her death.

Venn retrieved it from the pavement. “Here you go,” he said.

The woman, clearly flabbergasted, could say nothing but, “Thank you.”

She said a bit more, some muttered explanation, but the words were lost to the hammering of Venn’s heart and air pocket that had seemed to form in his head. He backed off. The woman kept her eyes on him until the cross-street light turned green again and she moved back into the street, cocking one last still shaken gaze back his way.

“Whewwwww,” Venn said out loud to himself, before a shudder overcame him.

YOU’LL KNOW WHEN YOU GET THERE...

Meaning what he was supposed to do, what the machine had sent him there to do. Had he just done it, saved a woman’s life who’d be splattered across the pavement now if not for his intervention?

Only one way to find out.

The phone booth containing the ATM was dark again when he returned, out of breath more from the rush of what had just happened than keeping a jogger’s pace all the way back. He stepped inside and once again folded the door closed behind him, the booth’s dome light flickering as the ATM sprang to life.

GOOD WORK, VENN.

HOW DID YOU KNOW? Venn typed on the small keyboard, taking the time necessary to que up the proper letters.

KNOW WHAT?

ABOUT THE GIRL.

In response, Venn heard the familiar thwack of twenty-dollar bills being counted out internally. The cash dispenser opened and a thick wad emerged.

PLEASE TAKE YOUR CASH, the screen reminded.

Venn managed to capture the wad in a trembling hand. “How much is this...”

He’d just been thinking out loud, but the machine answered him anyway.

$1,000. THERE’S SOMETHING YOU NEED TO DO WITH IT. YOU’LL KNOW WHEN YOU GET THERE.

WHAT? Venn typed with quivery fingers.

OR YOU CAN KEEP IT, IF YOU WANT.

WHAT ABOUT MY CARD?

IF YOU KEEP THE MONEY, DON’T BOTHER COMING BACK. IF YOU CHOOSE TO COMPLETE YOUR ASSIGNMENT, GO TO DYCKMAN STREET AND NAGLE AVENUE.

Venn memorized the address, a working-class neighborhood not known for a lot of activity at night. He’d turned more than his share of tricks in the general Inwood area over the years and seemed to recall an apartment building turned rooming house popular among hustlers and prostitutes right in the area of that intersection.

WHAT ABOUT MY CARD?

No response.

WHAT DO I NEED TO DO WITH THE MONEY?

The machine went dark.

Venn had never had this much cash in his hand before, not even close. He lavished that new bill smell for a time before pocketing the neat stack of fresh twenties, tempted to leave it tucked right there, his ATM card be damned. But something, curiosity as much as anything, made him head down Dyckman Street where it joined with Nagle Avenue, clinging to the shadows to avoid crossing the wrong person’s path.

The rooming house he recalled was indeed there, complete with a faded marquee missing all of its bulbs. No one was about, other than the customers inside an all-night diner who were visible through a plate glass window. Except for a few bars that catered to locals, there wasn’t much else in view to speak of. Nothing but darkness, still and silent.

Okay , he thought, talking to the ATM in his mind, I’m here. No one to save this time.

Then Venn heard a voice.

“Hey, bro, you looking for a date?”

Startled, Venn swung quickly, scaring a kid who looked no more than fifteen.

“’Cause I can give you a good time,” the kid resumed, collecting himself. “Guaranteed.”

The kid could have been him circa his foster and group home days, the resemblance uncanny, right down to the scent of stale soap and unwashed hair that was mussy and long, casting shadows over the kid’s eyes.

“You need a better spiel,” Venn said, because he could think of nothing else.

“Huh?”

“For approaching a trick.”

“Huh?”

“I should know. I was you, I am you.”

Something turned in Venn’s stomach. The wad of cash burning a hole in his pocket seemed to shift.

“You’re new at this, aren’t you?” Venn asked the kid.

“What’s the difference?”

“Lousy corner to work, that’s all. Not enough traffic. And the nearby bars? All locals, guys with families and bills. You might think you could kick ass in these parts but all you’re going to do is get your ass kicked. Where do you really live?” Venn added, an afterthought.

The kid tried to look seductive. “Answers’ll cost you, too.”

“How much?”

THERE’S SOMETHING YOU NEED TO DO WITH IT.

The kid’s eyes bulged when Venn slipped the wad of folded twenties from his pocket.

“You’re new at this and now you’re done, done before you start hating yourself or get something shoved up inside you that won’t come out so easy.”

He handed the kid the cash, pressed it into his hand but didn’t let go.

“Go home. Go anywhere you can that’s not here. Hide the money in your shoe and get lost. You hear what I’m saying to you?”

The kid nodded, but his wide blue eyes remained rooted on the cash Venn hadn’t quite let go of yet.

“This is your golden ticket off the streets. You hear me?”

Venn let go of the money and the kid ran off into the night without answering him, gone from the world inside the fleabag joint sure to be furnished with ratty, cum-stained mattresses covered by similarly soiled sheets. The kid was already long out of sight when he looked back down the street.

YOU’LL KNOW WHEN YOU GET THERE.

The telephone booth light flickered to life again when Venn folded it closed behind him, illuminating his ATM card lying on the steel grated floor like it had landed there after the machine spit it out. He had it back, free to bleed its funds from a normal ATM machine or just hightail it back to the homeless shelter away from this fucked-up night.

But something kept him right where he was, staring at the empty black screen. He tapped the glass a few times, as if to roust it back to life. When that produced no result, Venn slid his card back into the slot and watched it be gobbled up.

The screen glowed to life, Venn focusing on a button that he hadn’t noticed before, or maybe it hadn’t been there, labeled SPEAKER alongside a grid of recessed lines.

“Good work again, Venn,” a mechanical voice said, loud enough to echo through the phone booth’s cramped confines.

“What’s going on? Who are you?”

“You didn’t want your card back?”

“I want to know what the fuck’s going on.”

“You gave it back to me. Another test passed. Congratulations.”

“Are you going to send me someplace else now?”

“Many people need help. Few of them know where to find it.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You found me. You passed the test most fail. You passed twice.”

“I almost kept the money.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You’ve got my card.”

“You want it back?”

“I want this to stop.”

“Then you wouldn’t have given it back to me.”

“Just tell me where to go. Where am I supposed to go this time?”

“You like helping people.”

“What’s the difference?”

“It’s who you are, who you really are. Look at the screen, your reflection.”