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7

The phone woke him the next morning. Groggy, his neck stiff, he realized that he had slept the night on the recliner. He heard Susie answer the phone and then yell out to him.

He pushed himself out of the recliner, his back stiffer than his neck. Hobbling like an old man, he found Susie in the kitchen.

“It’s for you,” Susie said, handing him the handset, her eyes rolled slightly upward to make sure he knew how trying it was having to answer the phone for him.

Joel was on the line. “You took your sweet time,” he complained.

“You woke me up.”

“Woke you up? It’s nine thirty, pal. Look, I’m in Nashua right now. Meet me at ten in the north end of the mall parking lot.”

“Nashua’s a half hour away. I need to take a shower, brush my teeth—”

“I’m at a payphone, I don’t have time for your nonsense. Your breath don’t smell fresh enough for me, guess what, I don’t care. You meet me at the mall parking lot at ten, understand?”

Joel hung up, not bothering to wait for an answer.

Dan placed the handset back on its base. He checked to make sure he had his car keys and wallet on him, and left the house.

Dan spotted Joel leaning against his red Ford Escort. He pulled up and Joel got into the passenger seat.

“First of all, you’re full of shit,” Joel said.

“Nice to see you too.”

“I mean it. If you wanted a software job bad enough then you would’ve found one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, there are people our age still working in the field,” Joel argued, his mouth compressing into a tight oval.

“Not as many as there used to be. And that’s only because they’re already in their positions. Let’s see them get through today’s interview screening.”

“You’re still full of shit.”

Dan laughed sourly. “You’re sounding a lot like my wife.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a smart girl. Even if she married a schmuck like you.”

“Then why aren’t I working?”

“Because you’re burnt out.” Joel’s eyes narrowed to thin slits as he appraised his friend. “And more than that, you’re pissed off. After everything you’ve done in the industry you’re now at the mercy of these condescending smug little pricks interviewing you. But if you really wanted a job you could retrain yourself and get one.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re lying to me again.”

A numbness had set into Dan’s forehead, almost as if ice had been pushed into his skull. “Why’d you waste my time having me drive here?” he asked, his words sounding hollow in his head. “Why didn’t you just tell me over the phone that you don’t want to do this?”

“Who said anything like that?” Joel hesitated as he pulled at his bottom lip, pinching it with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m just being honest with myself, that’s all. Something you should try. I don’t look at this as my only way out. But I got to tell you, I’m sick of writing software. And there are certain things about your plan that appeal to me.”

“So you’re telling me you’re in?”

“Maybe. I got conditions. Number one, my buddy Eric Hoffer be included.”

“Eric Hoffer?”

“You met him at my second wedding.”

Dan had a vague recollection of a mostly bald stocky man with small pig-like eyes. “That’s your friend who got arrested,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s right. He got screwed in a setup. Did four months for a bullshit charge.”

“Something about attempted rape?”

“No, nothing like that.” Joel showed a thin smile as he shook his head. “Lewd and lascivious behavior. The idiot had a hooker in his car. He had already unzipped when the hooker spots a police cruiser pulling up alongside them and tries to save her own butt by yelling rape. That little incident cost Eric his wife, family and job, not to mention his time in county lockup. He’s been out three years since then and still hasn’t bounced back. He needs this.”

“Sorry, Joel, but we don’t need five people for this robbery.”

“Says who?”

“I already worked out the details—”

“Yeah, you’re an expert all of a sudden in robbing banks? You’ve got Gordon and your Indian buddy along, huh? Fuck that. If I’m doing this, I’m doing this with someone I can trust. Someone I know who’ll back me up.”

“Your friend, Eric, he’s been arrested. They’ve got his fingerprints on record.”

“So? We’ll be wearing gloves, won’t we? And your plan has us in disguise, right?”

Dan started massaging his forehead, trying to rub the numbness out. “I don’t like this,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, guess what, I don’t like having that loon Gordon involved, but I’m willing to trust you that you can control him for ten minutes. Besides, my guns can be traced, Eric’s can’t. We need him. This is non-negotiable. So what’s it going to be? Are we doing this or are we calling it quits right now?”

Dan found himself asking why having untraceable guns mattered, even though it was obvious to him. In case a gun was left at the robbery, which could happen if one of them were shot. Or other ways too. Joel just stared at him as if he were an idiot.

“Why do you think?” Joel finally said.

Dan nodded. He didn’t bother asking why they couldn’t just file the serial numbers off the guns, since that answer was obvious also. In case Joel ever had to account for the guns that he had registered. “All right, fine,” he said. “Your friend Eric is in. Have you talked to him yet?”

“Not yet, but he’ll want to do this.”

“Hold off until I talk to Gordon.”

“When’s that going to be?”

“This afternoon.”

“Okay, but don’t call me at home. And don’t call my cell phone. I’ll call you later from a payphone. Any communication – you, me, anyone else involved in this – will be through anonymous email accounts. I don’t want there being any phone records over the next week connecting us.”

“Going a little overboard, aren’t we?”

“No. Fuck no. This is a deal breaker too.”

Dan shrugged. “Fine. Anyway, it makes sense. No reason not to be as careful as we can. I’ll set up an account later today. Try calling me tonight from a payphone and I’ll have an email address ready for you.”

“What do you know?” Joel smiled and punched Dan in the shoulder. “We’re going to do this, huh?”

“We’ll see what Gordon says.”

Joel made a face. “I still don’t like you dragging that clown into this. Working with him for eleven years at Vixox was more than enough for me.” Joel took a deep breath, shrugging. “But I have to admit, you did put together a brilliant fucking plan. I spent all night last night trying to poke a hole in it, and couldn’t.”

“Thanks.” Dan glanced at his dashboard clock and started feeling antsy. He had two hours before he was supposed to meet with Gordon and he still wanted to stop off at home so he could shower and clean up. “Are we done now?”

“Yeah, for now. Assuming we’re still on, I want all of us to meet at my place tomorrow to go over the details. Plan on noon.”

Dan nodded as the two of them shook hands.

As Joel was getting out of the car, he looked back and showed a reflective smile. “You realize if we go ahead with this, that’s it as far as the two of us are concerned. Afterwards, no more ’gammon, no more meeting for beers. We’ll be dead to one another.”

Dan started laughing. “No problem there, Joel. Whether we rob this bank or not, I don’t plan on seeing much of you in the future anyway.”

Joel froze for a moment. Slowly a sneer twisted his lips. “Same here, pal,” he said.

Detective Alex Resnick took the call that the owner of the Kiev Market had been beat unconscious and the store ransacked. His partner, Walt Maguire, was oblivious, his feet up on his desk as he talked over the phone with his girlfriend. Resnick tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a signal that they had to go. Maguire nodded, made several attempts to end the conversation gracefully, then muttered, “I’ll call you later,” as he hung up the receiver.

“What’s the story?” he asked.

“Owner of that Russian grocery store on State Street got beat up.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Don’t know yet.”

Resnick drove. He was a sixteen-year veteran of the Lynn police force and a detective for seven. His partner, Maguire, was just a kid of twenty-eight and had only made detective a month earlier. As far as Resnick was concerned, Maguire still had baby fat. With the siren on they got to the grocery store in seven minutes. Three police cruisers and an ambulance were already there. About a dozen people crowded the sidewalk trying to get a look inside the store. As Resnick pulled up behind one of the cruisers, he could see the store’s front window had been smashed and a cash register lay among the broken glass on the sidewalk.

Maguire left the car and walked over to the cash register. He put gloves on, let out a few breaths and then lifted the register to his waist before lowering it back to the sidewalk.

“This mother’s heavy,” he told Resnick. “Must be some antique lined with lead or something. Got to be at least eighty pounds.” There were four patrolmen standing outside the store looking bored. Maguire turned to the closest one. “You want to help me bring this back inside?”

The cop made a face. “If I want to go on disability, maybe. Thanks, but I’ll throw my back out moving my own furniture.”

Resnick walked over to the same cop. “What can you tell me?” he asked.

“The owner was knocked unconscious. Paramedics are inside with him now. It looks like he’ll be okay. Whoever did this smashed up the place pretty good.”

“Any witnesses?”

The cop shook his head. “The wife was there. She claims he tripped and hit his head.”

“Okay, stay where you are and keep the public out.” Resnick turned to the other patrolmen. “Why don’t you guys check the crowd, then the stores nearby. See if anyone’s willing to talk to us.”

Resnick sighed. At five foot ten and one hundred and seventy-five pounds, he was three inches shorter and forty pounds lighter than his partner. He hoisted the cash register on to his shoulder and headed towards the entrance.

“What are you doing?” Maguire asked as he rushed to open the door for him. “I would’ve helped. And you’re compromising any possible fingerprints.”

“There weren’t going to be any fingerprints.”

Resnick carried the register to the counter and placed it where a dust outline showed it had originally been. Off to the side an elderly man lay on the floor while two paramedics worked on him. The man’s wife stood nearby crying. Resnick took a quick look around. A freezer in the back had been smashed up, probably with a tire iron. Top shelves were pulled out, bottom ones kicked in. The place was a mess.

Resnick moved closer to the store owner and could see that his forehead was wrapped heavily in gauze and that blood had trickled down from his ear. He asked the paramedics how the man was doing. One of them looked up at him briefly before turning back to the store owner. “Signs are beginning to stabilize,” he said. “He’s pretty much out of it. Took a nasty blow to the head.”

“But he’ll be okay?”

“It looks that way.”

Maguire had pulled the wife aside and was asking her what happened.

“My husband fell down,” she said, still crying.

“You’re saying he hit his head when he fell.”

“Yes. He fell. Over there.” She pointed towards the doorway.

“Then why’s there blood on the edge of the counter?” Resnick moved in front of Maguire, blocking him from the wife. “I am very sorry about this, Mrs. Wiseman,” Resnick said.

Mrs. Wiseman’s eyes were mostly shut as she cried. “Do I know you?” she asked, trying to open her eyes enough to focus on him.

“I shop here sometimes,” Resnick said. “You have very good smoked whitefish.”

Mrs. Wiseman nodded slightly as recognition seeped in. She was a small woman, not much at all to her. “I’ve seen you, yes,” she said. Her head turned to the side as she watched the paramedics lift her husband on to a portable gurney.

“You probably want to go with your husband to the hospital. We can talk with you later.” Resnick handed her a card. “How am I to go with him?” she asked. “How can I leave the store like this?”

“I’ll have the hospital call you then.” Resnick took a heavy breath. “Mrs. Wiseman, this is not Russia. People like Viktor Petrenko are not protected here. If you tell me he did this, I will arrest him, and I promise you he will go to prison.”

Mrs. Wiseman seemed to shrink inwards as she watched the paramedics move her husband out to a waiting ambulance. She pushed her mouth shut, her eyes helplessly looking over the damage that was done. Then she met Resnick’s stare and shook her head. “No,” she said weakly, “my husband fell.”

Resnick nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder before walking over to the counter. He found a yellow pages directory, called a glass repair shop and arranged for them to replace the store front window within the hour. Taking another deep breath, he moved to one of the aisles and started doing what he could with the shelves, then stacked the food back on to them.

“What’s going on?” Maguire asked.