Without a Hitch (7 page)

Chapter 7

Every criminal
scheme needs a moment where the schemers stop thinking of it as a theory and
start thinking of it as a fact.  If that moment doesn’t come, the scheme never
attains reality, it just slowly fades away into the realm of forgotten dreams. 
But if the moment does come, the plan takes on a life of its own, an
inevitability, and it gains a momentum which pulls the participants relentlessly
toward their fate.  No one could say exactly when Corbin’s plan became a fact,
but by early May it had.

Corbin and
Beckett sat on opposite sides of Corbin’s desk.  The door was closed and one of
the extra chairs was pushed against it to stop anyone from barging in.  Corbin
reached into his leather wallet and pulled out various items.  “Observe: one
social security card, phony; one social security card, real.”  Corbin set the
two cards down side by side.  “One Virginia drivers license, real.  Another
Virginia drivers license, phony.  One Pennsylvania license, phony.  You tell
me, what’s phony, what’s real.”

Beckett picked
up the social security cards.  They were identical except for a nearly
imperceptible coffee stain on one card.  The Virginia drivers licenses also
were identical, except for a frayed edge on one card and the laminate on the
other appearing thinner and cheaper.

“Pretty amazing,
I’ll give you that.”  Beckett rubbed the social security cards with his thumb. 
“They even feel similar.  Still,” Beckett held up the card with the coffee
stain, “you can’t fake a coffee stain.”

“Actually, you
can.  It’s a digital image I added to the card.”

“I’ll be
damned.”

“What about the
licenses?  Which one’s real?”

Beckett examined
both Virginia licenses closely.  “My money’s on the one with the frayed edge
and the professional lamination.”

“Wanna bet lunch
on it?”

“Apparently,
not.”  Beckett returned to the social security cards.  “Where did you find the
paper?”

“Staples.  The
clerk thought I was crazy feeling all of their card stock.”

“These are amazing,
but I’m no expert.  I don’t look at these things for a living.  A banker might
not be fooled.”

“My banker was,”
Corbin said matter-of-factly.

“What?!” Beckett
snapped.

“I switched
banks this weekend, and I used the phony documents to do it.”

“And you lecture
me
about taking risks?!”

“Someone had to
test the documents.  That was always part of the plan.  Since I used my real
numbers, the risk was low if things went wrong.  Even if the cops got involved,
they would assume something went wrong when the DMV issued me the license. 
They’d probably just make me get a new one.”

“So what
happened with the bank?”

“Nothing.  They
didn’t even blink.  I was in and out in five minutes.”

“I take it you
weren’t nervous?”  Corbin’s lack of nervousness had become a point of
frustration for Beckett.

“Not for a
second.”

Beckett smiled
through gritted teeth.  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Corbin
chuckled.  “I’ll take your word for it.  By the way, take another look at the
fake social.  Do you see anything just below the seal?”

Beckett put the
card to his eye.  “There’s some dirt or something, but I can’t make it out.”

Corbin pulled a
magnifying glass from his desk.  “Here, use this.”

“It looks like a
number. . . a credit card number?”

“When I scanned
my social into the computer, I discovered the number from one of my credit
cards imprinted on the social security card itself, probably from being pressed
together in my wallet.  I used the image editor to rearrange the number and
then transfer the new number to the fake social.  Now, if the cops examine the
social, they’ll find a partial credit card number imprint.  No doubt, they’ll
assume the forger got careless.  If this ever goes to trial, they’ll have to
explain that investigation to the jury.  Since none of us owns a card with that
number, it’ll implicate someone other than us.”

“Whose number is
it?”

“Kak’s.”

Beckett choked. 
“Are you crazy!”

“I’m kidding. 
I’m kidding.  Trust me, the thought of pinning this on Kak might be viscerally
satisfying, but it would also be very stupid.”

“Then whose
number is it?”

“I have no
idea.  The first part of the number indicates a New York bank.”

“If you don’t
know who the card belongs to, how do you know you aren’t setting somebody up to
take the fall for us?”

“Listen to
yourself.  Do you understand the level of coincidence that would entail?”

Beckett looked
at Corbin doubtfully.  “You don’t do anything by random chance.  Whose card is
it?”

Corbin shrugged.

Beckett’s jaw
suddenly dropped.  “You’re setting somebody up, aren’t you?!”

Anger flashed
across Corbin’s face.  “What?!  Who the fuck do you think I am, Evan?!”

Corbin’s outrage
startled Beckett, and he instantly regretted his words.  “I didn’t mean that! 
That came out wrong.  I just don’t want anybody getting hurt because of this.”

“Neither do I,
Evan,” Corbin spat out.  “But get this straight, if it comes down to someone
else or us, that choice is already made.”

Beckett didn’t
respond.

Corbin rose and
walked toward the door, but stopped before opening it.  “As for framing someone,
I left the last three digits off the card number.  The cops can trace it to the
bank, but that’s as far as they’ll get.”  Corbin walked out.

Corbin sat in
the downstairs coffee shop staring through the plate-glass window into the nearly-empty
mall.  He watched Molly approach.  She had a distinctive, yet graceful walk, but
she certainly took her time.  The warming weather made this more apparent, as
gone were the long coats and pantsuits and other heavy clothes.  Her blouses were
getting tighter, her necklines lower, and her skirts shorter.  She’d already
gone from calf length skirts to just above the knee, and if last summer was any
indication, they would get significantly shorter yet.  Today she wore a short
gray skirt and tight black silk blouse.  She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she
achieved a lot with what she had, and Corbin had to admit she was attractive.

“Your little
plan not going so well?” Molly asked, as she joined Corbin.

Corbin smiled. 
“No, everything’s fine.  We got the uranium last week, and this week we
arranged a discount on a shipment of guns.  I just have to figure out how we’re
going to transport that much melted cheese.”

“You’re a funny
guy.  That’s what I like about you.”

“Be still my
beating heart, was that a compliment?”

Molly visibly
pondered Corbin’s question before responding.  “Sure, why not?”

Corbin laughed. 
“In that event, thank you, and may I say I too enjoy our chats.”

“‘Enjoy’?  Let’s
not get carried away!”  Molly laughed.  “So, it must be frustrating working
with your little friend?”

“Is that a dick
joke?”

Molly choked,
almost spitting coffee onto the table.  “Uh. . . no.”

“Then I’d ask
what you mean, but I suspect you’ll tell me anyways.  Hence, I’ll save my
breath.”

“He’s not the
most reliable fellow, is he?  At least, not for your scheme.”  Molly meant
Beckett, and she said “scheme” like she knew exactly what they had planned.

“Who would you
recommend as a replacement?”

“
If
you’re asking?”

“Oh, I am.”

“I would rule
out T, of course.”  Molly referred to Theresa as “T” ever since she learned it
deeply annoyed Theresa.  “She’s a little too murderous.”  Molly leaned toward
Corbin and whispered, “plus I hear she drinks.”  She resumed in her normal
voice.  “I wouldn’t use Kak either, at least not as your spokesman.  Stuart follows
instructions well.  Of course, he’ll follow
anyone’s
instructions.  That
could become problematic once the cops start barking out commands.  I wouldn’t
use anyone from upstairs, unless you plan to infiltrate an old folks home.”

“What about
you?”

“Me?!  Oh, no,
no, no, my schedule’s booked.  Otherwise, I’d help.  I’m sure you understand?”

“It is the
thought that counts.”

“I like to think
so,” Molly said, smiling broadly.  She sipped her coffee.

“So, what’s your
verdict?”

Molly laughed. 
“Oh, it won’t be
my
verdict you have to worry about.”

“Cute.”

“I sure am,”
Molly replied, causing Corbin to groan.  “How’s your
friend
taking his new-found fame?  I hope I didn’t upset him too much,” Molly asked
disingenuously.

“Nah, what’s a
little
schadenfreude
among friends?”

“I’m glad to
hear it.”

“Did you say ‘glad’
or ‘sad’?”

Molly shrugged
her shoulders.  “Tomato, tom
ah
to.”

Corbin looked at
his watch.  “I should probably get back to the office.  You coming?”

“Sure, I can’t
wait to see what kind of trouble your buddy’s causing now.”

That night
Corbin sat on his couch practicing his guitar.  An ancient Roman landscape hung
over the couch.  A book shelf spanned the opposite wall, before ending at the
television, which sat diagonally in the corner before the glass door leading to
the balcony.  It was a warm night, so the door to his balcony was open.  He was
practicing a piece he often thought of playing at Blue’s bar, but never had. 
While Blue never told Corbin what he could or couldn’t play, Corbin refrained
from playing music the audience wouldn’t recognize, and no one knew this
piece.  No one, that is, except Corbin and Mrs. Tuttle, who occasionally heard
it through her walls.

The phone rang. 
Corbin knew who it was without looking.  “Vez.  Did you get my message?”

“What is it with
this guy?” Alvarez sounded annoyed.

“He’s stressed
out.”

“He doesn’t hold
the franchise.”

“He’s got a
family, a wife and two kids, so he’s not used to taking risks.  He’s worked
himself up about what’ll happen if he gets caught.  It’s making him manic, lots
of highs and lows.  He just needs to blow off some steam.  He’ll be ok.”

Alvarez remained
unconvinced.  “He’s a loose cannon.  We can’t have that. 
I
won’t have
that.”

“He’ll get over
it,” Corbin stated.

“He better get
over it, and soon.”

“He will.”

“I mean it.  This
guy better be reliable.  I won’t go to jail because he can’t carry his own
weight,” Alvarez growled.

Corbin became
annoyed.  “I’ve said he’s reliable and that’s that.”

“That’s not
that—”

“That is that,
end of discussion,” Corbin said, cutting Alvarez off.

“No!  Not this
time.  He better get his shit together or I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?!”
Corbin demanded.

“If he screws
this up, I swear I’ll kill him.”

“What the hell
is wrong with you two?!”  Corbin’s voice grew deep and menacing.  “I’m sick of
these games!  It’s time to get serious.  I don’t want to hear any more crap
from either of you about setting anyone up or killing anyone.  That’s bullshit,
and it tells me you’re not taking this seriously.”  Corbin paused
before suddenly continuing:  “I don’t know if you’ve
been watching too many movies or playing too many video games, but this isn’t
some fucking B-movie melodrama.  In real life, you don’t solve your problems
with murder.  Death is the fucking end.”

Alvarez started
to speak, but stopped himself.

“Listen man,”
Corbin’s tone became more conciliatory, “when you say you want to kill him,
that tells me you’re not grasping how seriously we need to take this project if
we’re going to pull this off.  If we start playing around, we’re gonna make all
our worst fears come true.  I can guarantee that.  Now, can I trust you?”

An uncomfortable
silence passed before Alvarez replied.  “You can trust me.  I’ll do my job. 
You don’t have to worry about
me
.”

“Cool.  And I’ll
take care of Beckett.  You have my word.”

“Good enough. 
Hey, what do you think about getting the cell phones in D.C. the day before? 
That could save us time and give us a chance to open more bank accounts.”

“I thought about
that, but we need phones with local numbers to match the local addresses.  I’ve
seen phones that let you choose a number, but you have to sign up for those. 
We’re better off picking up anonymous prepaid phones locally.”

“How many do we
need?”

“I figure we can
get away with six total.  I’ve drawn up a color-coded matrix.  When you buy the
phones, mark them with the colored stickers I’ll give you.  Then, when you go
into each bank, use the matrix to decide which phone to take with you.”

“I’m never going
to remember six new numbers,” Alvarez said doubtfully.

“You don’t have
to.  Write the phone number for each phone on the colored sticker.”

“Won’t that look
suspicious if I don’t know my own phone number?”

“You’re new in
town.  That’s why you’re opening the new account.  That’s also why all the
lease agreements and utility bills will be dated from the end of May, same with
the licenses.”

“I’ve got a
question.  What do I do if Beckett comes into the bank while I’m in there?”

“If he does
that, then you have my permission to kill him.  Just make sure it’s a painful
death.”

Alvarez
laughed.  “Seriously, what do I do if he freaks out?”

“If he freaks
out, you’ve got to calm him down.  Make eye contact and hold it.  Speak firmly
and directly with no emotion.  He plays off emotion.  Keep telling him to calm
down.  Don’t threaten him or swear at him.  He reacts poorly to that.”

“Got it.”

“If he walks
into a bank and you haven’t opened the account yet, excuse yourself.  Walk over
and shake his hand like he’s some old friend you haven’t seen in a while.  Then
escort him out.  Do not open the account.  Once he’s on video, that bank
becomes poison to us.”