An Incidental Reckoning (29 page)

"And you, too, Jon. Said he looked you up, knew where you lived, that you were practically neighbors. Said he knew about Erin. Hey, you didn't say anything to that Detective, did you? When he called about… the missing person?"

"No. I told him we helped to look and that was it. Didn't get Br...the other guy's name." After Will's statement about the visit, Jon experienced a growing sense of paranoia, of being watched and listened to. He went to the window and looked outside, studied the darkest patches of night concentrated between the streetlights, searching for a reflection on metal or a moving shadow.

"Good. That's all I told him, too. Pushy bastard, though."

"He was."

"Okay, well I'm going to go, then. Hang in there, Jon. I think it's better that we start soon. Better than waiting. You probably shouldn't call me again, just in case he finds out. He's keeping an eye on us. Don't want to give any reason to suspect we're plotting something.”

"Okay, yeah. Probably right about that. I guess I'll see you. Sometime."

"Yep. Bye, Jon."

Jon hung up the phone and sat down. His hands shook and he waited to see if the knot in his stomach would ease without having to throw up to resolve it. He took deep breaths and held out his hands periodically until they were steady. Erin had gone over to a home party of some kind, candles or kitchenware or whatever, hosted by one of the ladies at work. Jon was glad she wasn't here for the conversation, to see him in its aftermath. If he reacted as poorly as this, how would he cope when they actually did...whatever they were going to do? His worst fear lay not in that he succeeded on Team Brody, but that he would freeze up and choke. And how would Brody react to that? He would have to force himself to think of Erin, of all of the things he wanted to do after, claim them as the prize for pushing through and coming out on the other side.

Jon went upstairs and quickly changed his clothes, putting on a pair of cut-off sweat pants and a blue cotton t-shirt, came back down and went into the garage for his bicycle. He hadn't ridden it in some time, had bought it with a plan to commute the six miles to work when weather permitted, but in the end had never attempted it. Not even once.

He pumped up the tires, opened the garage door, and rode out into the night, letting the motion and cool breeze act as a balm to his troubled soul. He rode until his thighs and his chest ached, until the only thing that his thoughts had any room for was the pain.

Chapter 20

Will tried not to fidget as Mr. Stanley, the HR rep from Allied Armored Services, looked over his resume, his brow furrowed halfway to a scowl. He wondered if he should say something to fill the silence, feared seeming overeager and bit his tongue. Instead, he stared at the hair that sprouted from the man’s ears. His speech and brusque manner at their initial meeting suggested a military background, as did the treatises on war found amongst the HR themed books and manuals in the small library set against the wall of his immaculate office. He had to be close to seventy, Will thought, but he wouldn’t want to try him in a fight. Despite the age and the paucity of hair on his head compensated by the bristly abundance of the stuff shooting from his ear canals, he seemed sharp and fit.

“Mr. Roup, I’m having a hard time with this.”

“With what, Sir?”

The furrows smoothed slightly with the use of “Sir”, Will guessing correctly that it would please him.

“At why you’re here. Your background is in sales. You didn’t serve in the military, have no prior experience driving a truck or in the security field, no firearms training, and you’re…well, I’m not supposed to talk about this, but I call “bullshit”, bullshit, when I see it… you’re not exactly young. And I can imagine that the potential for earnings as a salesman is much greater than what you’ll make here. We’re talking about ten bucks an hour.”

Will paused and looked at his hands, trying to convey an impression of deep thought.“I understand all of that, Mr. Stanley. But I’m tired of selling things. I’m facing a divorce. I need a change. When I was a younger man, I had considered joining the Army. But instead I went to college. I don’t see this as the same thing, as military service, but I’m too old to sign up now, and have always wanted to know what it’s like to wear a uniform, to do something that could be important. Selling kitchen counters, or anything else, didn’t cut it.”

The man stared at him for long minutes, and Will hoped he hadn’t laid it on too thick or come across as foolish. If he failed to get the job here, he didn’t know what he would do. Maybe just call everything off. And then what?

“You didn’t come in here with dreams of glory, I hope. Mostly, you’ll ride around town babysitting bags of money and maybe get a sore ass. The single reason I called you in here was your proven work record. I get too many kids who think they’re applying for the position of Wyatt Earp. Most of them don’t last a month once they actually do the job.”

“No. No, Sir, I don’t think that. I realize…”

He waved a wrinkled but strong looking hand at Will.

“Fine. As long as we’re clear on that. Can you lift a 50 pound bag?”

“Yes.”

“Have any problems getting in and out of a truck? You seem fit enough.”

“No problems at all.”

“You’ll have to take a drug test, and we’ll do a background check as well. Any problems with that? No point in going any further if you do. Just get up and go, no questions asked.”

“No problems with that
.” At least not yet.

“You’ll have to complete a firearms training course first. We’ll pay for it, but you won’t receive any compensation for your time. Okay with that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“All right, Mr. Roup. I’m willing to take a chance on you. Don’t let me down.”

Will stood up and reached across the desk. “Thank you, Mr. Stanley. I’ll do my best.”

He looked him in the eyes, trying to picture them when a few million dollars went missing and carrying the burning knowledge that he had put the man in place to make that happen. Will nearly shivered, in excitement and fear; fearing a meeting with Stanley afterwards, perhaps out of a job and vengeful, but thrilled in pulling off the deception of presenting himself as a viable candidate.

It had dawned on Will, before coming in for the interview, that he would not have the luxury of staying in Erie after the robbery. He might not even have the luxury of remaining in the country. It only took a few moments for him to accept that fact, knot his tie, and walk out to his car to leave for the meeting. He was in too far now, leaving Justin his only regret, but one he believed he could eventually live with.

Stanley gripped his hand and gave it a quick squeeze and pump, all in one, and let go.

“When are you available to work, Will?”

“As soon as you want me.”

Will created an account on Yahoo, then sent a quick e-mail to Jon with the address of yet another new account. Will explained that Brody had contacted him and told him to pass it along, that communication between friends would be less suspect to anyone paying attention. He then went to an internet cafe downtown and wrote a message in the new account and saved it as a draft for Jon to read. Will enjoyed thinking like Brody, trying to express himself in the mannerisms he recalled, the sense of playfulness in the midst of shady doings.

Hey guys!

Time to get started. Hope I didn’t make you wait too long, as I know how excited you are about all of this.

There's a lot of work to do first, so just relax for now. I’m keeping the mission under wraps until it happens. The less you know the better, for now anyway.

I want you to check this address every day. When one of you reads a message, put your initial at the bottom. When you’re both done, delete it. Be in touch.

W

Will read it over, made some adjustments, then read it again, imagining it like one of those books on tape read in Brody's voice; Brody back from the from the dead via Will Roup. For all Jon would know - for all Jon knew, apparently, how he missed the news was anyone's guess - the message had been composed by Stape himself. He had considered telling Jon exactly what he, or Brody rather, planned, but as Brody said, the less Jon knew the better. Satisfied, he saved the draft and went home and to bed.

In the morning, at the cafe and with a cup of coffee in hand, he logged on and saw immediately that the draft folder was empty.

Chapter 21

Three more days.

Three more days of riding around dowdy little Erie in the truck.

Three more days of listening to Terrence's stories about Iraq and Afghanistan. Will had respect for soldiers, what they endured and had accomplished, but apparently Terrence had won every battle single-handedly with one grenade, a pistol and his fists. He wondered if the man had even seen combat. Will responded with "Gee" and "Really?" and an occasional "Wow", but these tepid remarks didn't deter Terrence in the least. And he complained. All the time.

Three more days of being poor. Three more days of being a middle-aged man making ten bucks an hour a few months away from a divorce hearing. Three more days of the old Will Roup.

Will actually liked the job: after years of hustling things nobody needed and most didn't want, thinking that the next call might be the one that pushed him over the top, that one more would add to his sales bonus and he could move up a tax bracket and start calculating monthly payments on big, shiny things, it was a relief to not have to care. There was the job, you did the job, you went home. Sure, the money sucked, but then he didn't take the job for the money. Well, he did, but not for the measly sum in his bi-weekly paycheck.

He liked the uniform. He liked the respect it garnered from most people, especially children who thought he was a cop. And he especially liked the gun.

In three days, it would be Saturday night. On Saturday night, at midnight, he and Terrence would pick up the spoils from the Lake Erie Casino and drive to the bank, where a condescending young man dressed in a suit would let them in and lead them to the vault. He would tap his foot and look at his watch while they hauled in that night’s take. Saturday night was the big night, when the grandmas rode up from Pittsburgh on the tour buses and the dock workers blew their paychecks before slinking home to their wives, if they still had wives left. It was late August, and it seemed that everybody was trying to cram in their last bit of gambling before the start of the school year and the onset of winter. Now was the time to act.

He had worked hard, never clocked in late or complained, volunteered for overtime, kept his uniform clean and his gun shiny; gave Mr. Stanley every reason to believe he had made the right choice in hiring him.

Will had thought of amending the original plan, waiting until inside the bank to pull his gun and take not only the casino’s money but also some of what the bank held in trust. But he decided it would be pushing it. In addition to Arnold the bank man, the bank had its own security on hand. He might run into a hostage situation, if he couldn’t get out before the cops arrived. He would have to depend more on Jon, and he didn’t trust Jon to hold up his end any more than necessary. Despite all of that, he was still tempted, only to see the look on Arnold’s face with a gun stuck in it. But he wasn’t stupid. Nobody’s fool. Not Will Roup.

On Friday night, Will drove to a section of abandoned warehouses several miles from the casino and on their route to the bank, passed by, and drove several more blocks to park near a bar that seemed to require ownership of a mud-covered pick-up truck for entry. He got out, and pulled the duffel bag from the back seat and set off walking back down the road.

He hummed a tune that had been playing on the radio and walked casually, stepping through high grass that complemented the dark and decrepit buildings ahead where the cracked sidewalk refused to go any further.

He reached the fence around the building nearest to him, the one he had picked after several stakeouts to watch for activity, and followed it away from the road, moving perpendicular to the warehouse. He had found what he had sought after seeing a bum dressed in several layers of clothing slip through the fence. At one of the posts, the chain links had been torn up and rolled back to allow access. Will looked around once more, then squeezed through, his jacket snagging on a piece of wire and tearing. He cursed and pulled it free, and then picked his way through the yard, dotted with piles of lumber sporting rusty nails that stuck up like rotten but still dangerous teeth, beer cans and broken bottles, to the main building. Several other sheds, the neglected and abused children of the larger structure, sat mournfully nearby.