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“Oh, I wouldn’t sleep around this guy.”

“Why not?”

“He’s got desk rage written all over him.”

“I thought you said he was Mr. Bland?”

“He is, but those are the ones you need to watch. They’re always ready to blow. A little too much caffeine and bam!” Molly slapped her hands together. “Mr. Bland goes postal! If I were you, I wouldn’t turn my back on him for a minute.” Molly rose. “Tell your friend I’m looking for him.”

The train raced through the Marylandcountryside. Alvarez stared out the window, listening to his music. Beckett twiddled his thumbs. He was bored and anxious.

“What are you listening to?”

Alvarez pulled the headphones from his ears. “What?”

“You’re listening to ABBA, aren’t you?” Beckett asked accusingly.

“No,” Alvarez responded defensively.

“I know ABBA when I hear it. That’s ABBA.”

“It’s not ABBA.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s not,” Alvarez almost growled, “and you can stop saying that now.”

“Why? Does it bother you?”

“What’s your problem?”

“No problem.” Beckett scratched his chin. “How long have you known Corbin?”

“We’re not supposed to talk about that.”

“I’m just trying to pass the time.”

Alvarez glared at him.

Beckett rose. “I’m going to the can. You stay here and watch the bag and listen to your ABBA.” As Beckett walked away, he began loudly humming “Dancing Queen.”

Alvarez bit his tongue.

Corbin slipped silently into the hearing room. Despite its name, the “hearing room” was nothing more than a large empty room with two dozen chairs and three desks arranged in an “L” shape at the front of the room. Five people sat in the audience. The court reporter gathered their names. Corbin positioned himself at the clerk’s desk. In ten minutes, the hearing would begin and the federal government would provide him with the perfect alibi.

Alvarez watched the clerkreach under the counter for the promised paperwork. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His mouth was dry. The fake glasses made him dizzy. Behind Alvarez, a wall of silver mailboxes stretched the length of the store. Another wall of silver mailboxes ran the width.

“I’m a grad student at Penn,” Alvarez offered.

The clerk shuffled some forms, but didn’t look up from behind her counter.

“Our mail keeps getting stolen,” Alvarez added.

“Uh, huh,” the clerk replied indifferently.

“That’s why I want the mailbox.”

The clerk surfaced from behind the counter with two forms. “Fill in your personal information on the top form and sign the rental agreement.” She pulled a pen from a nearby coffee cup.

“I have my own.” Corbin had instructed Alvarez to use his own pen to avoid leaving any physical evidence behind. As Alvarez filled out the forms, he couldn’t stop himself from rambling. “My roommates need to use the box as well.” Alvarez wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand.

“Just put their names on the first form.”

“Their mail gets stolen too.” Alvarez grunted at his failure to stop talking.

“Fine, whatever, just put their names on the first form. I also need $120 for the box.”

Alvarez tossed six twenty dollar bills onto the counter.

“‘You want how much?’ See, and I said it like I thought it was too much,” explained Felix Templeton, the third person to visit the office in the last fifteen minutes. So far, none of them voiced any suspicions regarding Beckett’s absence. “He looked at me and said, ‘I’ll see if I can find a better rate.’ And he did. He gave me a reduced rate! Sometimes you just have to stand firm.”

Corbin faked a smile and tried to look interested in Templeton’s hotel-booking story.

“Of course, I don’t know why we can’t get a federal rate. You’d think that would make sense with the number of federal employees who travel.”

“You would think so,” Corbin agreed.

“I guess I shouldn’t take up any more of your time. I just came by to wish Evan the best, but I guess he’s busy out processing.”

“He is in high demand.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No sir, just ‘out processing.’ He showed up, started something, the phone rang and he left. That was about ten minutes ago.”

“Ok. Tell him I stopped by.”

“I will.”

The old man left and closed the door behind him.

Corbin typed out a quick e-mail from Beckett’s computer before re-opening the door. “Open door means nothing to hide,” he told himself.

Alvarez emerged from the mailbox store and crossed the street to where Beckett waited. Beckett looked out of place standing around holding the duffel bag, but not enough to draw attention.

“How did it go?” Beckett asked.

“Fine.”

“Did they give you any trouble?”

“No, the clerk didn’t really care.”

“What did they say about the ID?”

“She never asked for it. I could have written Mickey Mouse on the form for all she cared. Just like Corbin said.”

“Corbin’s a good criminal, you’ve got to give him that.” Beckett took the wallet and the paperwork from Alvarez and placed them in their rightful place in the duffel bag. “Still, don’t get cocky. This one may have been easy, but don’t expect the banks to be easy. That’s where the real danger lies.”

Alvarez shot Beckett a dirty look. “Do you mind!”

“I’m just saying. Don’t get complacent.”

“I won’t. But listen, you can’t just stand there like you’re waiting for me. The clerk could see you out the window.”

“I thought you said she didn’t care?”

“She didn’t, but I don’t know what the next clerk is gonna think.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Walk out of sight or something. Don’t look like you’re waiting for me.”

“Fine.” Beckett reached into the duffel bag. “Here’s the next packet.”

“What packet?” Corbin asked. Like everyone else in the office, he learned a long time ago never to trust Kak’s secretary Patricia. She did a lot of Kak’s dirty work. Thus, he viewed each of her requests with suspicion.

“His out-processing packet. I need a copy for our files.”

Corbin squinted at her. “Personnel keeps those. They don’t stay in this office.”

“We keep a copy here,” she responded without further explanation.

“Why not ask personnel to send you a copy if you need it?”

“It’s too hard to get these back from personnel once they get their hands on them.” Patricia’s already-unpleasant tone hardened. “I don’t know why I need to explain this to you.”

Corbin half-shrugged his shoulders. “All right, I’ll tell him when I see him.”

“I’d rather you e-mailed me when he returns. Then I’ll come get the file and make the copy myself.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” With that, she bolted from the office, slamming the door on the way out.

“Nasty, nasty, nasty. Hope you don’t mind spending the day just missing Mr. Evan Beckett.”

Alvarez sat at the assistant bank manager’s desk. She was about his age and completely oblivious to anything that didn’t interest her, and Alvarez didn’t interest her. She never once noticed him referring to his drivers license for basic information about himself or looking at his cell phone to figure out his own telephone number. “Maybe Corbin’s right? Maybe this isn’t so unusual,” Alvarez said to himself, as he signed the application form and slid it across the desk. Although he had already committed several criminal acts, to him, this was the moment the crime began. Thus, even though she seemed more focused on her e-mail than him, his hands were clammy and his heart raced.

“I’ll need your drivers license, Mr. Lamont,” she said, after skimming the form.

It took Alvarez a second to realize that he was ‘Mr. Lamont.’ He reached into his wallet and pulled out the fake license. The woman took the license and the social security card and walked off behind the tellers. So far, Corbin’s fake documents were passing the test. If Corbin made a mistake though, Alvarez could find himself in trouble fast. As the seconds passed, Alvarez became increasingly nervous. He began sweating. His heart pounded. He heard Corbin tell him: “Crooks take money out of banks, they don’t put money into banks.” But then, Corbin wasn’t here.