The plan, initially, was to do the run. Business as usual. That was my plan, because that’s what I’d always done, and that’s what I’d been told to do. But somewhere along I-70, the plan changed, and that’s what got me in trouble.
I drove west along the interstate and the questions ruminated in my mind. All kinds of questions; long ones, short ones, the ones I’d asked Damon and the ones I’d omitted. I’d made a few thousand dollars cash, and initially the payment dampened the questions. The light of day dampened them. But now, in this car, in the black of night, the questions were forcing themselves out.
24
There was a frontage road to the north of I-70. Connected to this was a county road that split south. This county road traveled for just over two miles, into the woods and up a slight pitch, until a narrow, poorly maintained dirt road connected to it. It was on this dirt road that I finally stopped and put the car in park.
I turned off the engine and the lights. I sat in the driver seat, making sure the coast was clear, and watched two minutes tick by on the dash clock, then quietly opened the car door and stepped out. The outside was silent, except for the faint hum of highway noise. I gently pressed the car door closed and waited another minute. Finally satisfied, I opened the trunk.
The trunk lights flooded out and illuminated the space around it. My eyes adjusted and saw the trunk was mostly empty; clean, tidy, and simple. In the center was a small mound, three feet wide, covered by a blanket.
I paused. This was the cargo? This was what I was being paid to haul? Whatever it was, there wasn’t very much of it. It could’ve fit in a wheelbarrow.
I reached for the blanket slowly, but stopped my hand inches from it. Perhaps it was better, simpler, if I stayed oblivious.
Perhaps there was a consequence to knowing.
I looked around me, through the pine trees, down the bumpy dirt road. I was alone. I was very alone.
I pulled the blanket off.
Underneath, there were computers. Still neatly boxed and sealed in clean white packaging. Apple laptops, a dozen of them, worth well over twenty grand together.
So he’s an electronics dealer?
I reached over and touched one of the boxes. They were stacked on their sides in a wooden crate, all arranged in an orderly fashion. One box had a small defect—the corner was pushed in, as if it had been dropped. Everything else was pristine.
I put the blanket back over the stack of computers and slammed the trunk. Once in the car, I sped down the dirt road and tried to make up for lost time.
25
The run finished as usual, a few minutes later than it should have, but no one seemed to notice. My driver back to my apartment was mute and boring as always. We listened to Fleetwood Mac.
In the morning I received the envelope. In it, as always, was five hundred cash, and also a handwritten note.
See me today. 3:30.
- Vince
Immediately I began sweating. It was in the middle of the woods, and I was confident I hadn’t been followed. I was alone. There was no way for him to know.
More baffling was why it would matter, even if he did know. There were laptop computers in that trunk. Odd cargo to haul in a Chrysler sedan, yes, but not scandalous. Certainly not illegal, or even close. So the questions. Why the secrecy around the cargo? Why the clandestine operation?
Why was I now being summoned by the boss?
I left my place at just after three, my palms already sweaty. I reminded myself I had no reason to worry—I hadn’t done anything wrong—and it did little to comfort me.
I drove my car up the mountain road, winding through the trees and hills until I again reached the driveway of Vince’s chateau. This time, the driveway was empty, and there were no other cars. The sky was overcast and the air was still.
I parked and knocked on the front door. When there was no answer, I knocked again, louder, and waited longer. Still nothing. A third knock and I waited. Nothing. Finally I pushed the front door open.
The house was as I’d remembered it, arranged in the cozy, down-home fashion of that first evening in the mountains. But the lights were off, and even in midday, the living room was dim. Shutters were drawn, windows were closed. There was the distinct smell of someone else’s home. I looked around and saw no one.
“Hello?” I said, startled by how timid my voice sounded.
I tried to sound bolder, louder.
“Hello? Vince?”
I waited and heard silence. Slowly, tentatively, reminding myself again I had no reason to be frightened, I made my way into the house. I checked the kitchen and the rest of the large living room, knowing I’d find nothing. I called his name one more time, then started down the long hallway, where the bedrooms were. The doors were closed, and I passed them one by one until I’d reached the door Suzanne and I slept behind. I walked past it and noticed one last door, the final one on the right, was cracked open.
I pushed it open slowly, and there he sat.
“Julian,” he said through a smile. “Please, come in.”
He sat behind a large, weathered oak desk, across the room from where I stood. It was bigger than I expected, at least twice as big as any of the bedrooms. There were floor lamps and ornate rugs and a small couch and chairs. There was a small dry bar with whiskey and glassware. It was his office.
His voice startled me initially, and I must’ve jumped.
He chuckled. “Did I scare you?”
“No,” I said, lying. I looked at him from across the room, still sitting behind the desk. He welcomed me in, but did not stand. Even from twenty-five feet away, he looked big behind that desk. He was a big man, but there, in that room, alone with him, he seemed enormous.
“Please,” he said, and welcomed me with his hands. He smiled even broader.
I walked toward him in spite of basic human instinct. The shutters were closed in the office, and the room was dim except for the soft glow of a desk lamp.
“Have a seat,” he said, and I sat down in the large plush chair facing his desk. There was a black bear skin pinned to the wall behind him. I tried to slow my breathing. There was something about this man. There was something about this house, about this day, about this meeting. There was something.
“Thanks for coming by,” he said, and leaned back in his chair. He was putting on a guise of effusive happiness; his smile would not go away. It made me uneasy. Since the run, everything had made me uneasy.
“No problem,” I said in a mostly normal voice. “What’s up?”
He paused and raised his eyebrows. “Up?”
“Yeah,” I said. “What’s…up? Why did you invite me here?”
“Oh,” he said, shaking his head, “no reason. I just wanted to check in. See how things are going. You’ve been with us for a few jobs, and you’ve done well. I like to check with the employees every now and then. How’s it going for you?”
He stared and waited for my answer.
I shrugged. “Good. It’s been good.”
“It has.”
“Yes. It has. Thank you again for bringing me on. I appreciate what you’ve done for me.” My pulse slowed, and I was able to get the words out without wavering.
“Of course,” he said, waving a hand. He pushed back his chair and stood up, and walked around the desk. “Do you…have any questions?” he asked, walking past me and stopping beside the small bar.
“Well, no,” I said, now looking at the wall and listening to him pour liquid behind me. “Not really. Everything’s been pretty self-explanatory.”