“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 yourfriend 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, tomahto.”
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.”