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Kathryn had to agree. She checked the room again. The few people who were there weren’t paying any attention. Kathryn pulled an envelope from her back pocket. She always kept a stash of cash in one of the door panels of her rig in case she needed it for an emergency. This qualified as an emergency. She slid the envelope across the table. “Two grand good with you?”
Again, Willie almost choked. That was more than he would make in ten days if he hustled. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Yes . . . yes, ma’am. Happy to oblige.”
Willie finished his breakfast without saying another word. He was still trying to digest the amount of cash in the envelope. Now his stomach held a Three-fer on top of it all. Kathryn signaled for the check. She also left this waitress one hundred dollars. People worked hard and a nice little show of appreciation could make someone’s day.
Willie got behind his rig and disconnected the trailer hitch. Kathryn did the same. They jockeyed their cabs around so they would be in position for the switch. The entire process took less than ten minutes. They were both pros. Willie snapped a photo of the bill of lading for the inferior building materials and sent it to Kathryn’s phone. He would ping her when his load was delivered.
Willie slowly pulled out of the lot and could immediately tell his new load was much more odiferous than the one before. He gave Kathryn a wave and a thumbs-up as he pulled away. Kathryn gave a big sigh of relief. She pinged Charles to let him know the bok choy was on its way with a copy of the BOL. He sent her instructions to stop at the next inspection station and gave her the name of one of the officers there. She wasn’t sure what they would do with her cargo—but the important thing was that it was no longer a threat to elementary schoolkids.
Around seven A.M., Willie pulled into the construction site and parked the trailer as far away as he could from anyone’s nasal passages. By now the smell of the rotting bok choy filled his cab. It might take days for him to get the smell out of his nostrils. He walked over to the foreman and handed him his clipboard and his tablet.
“You can leave the trailer where it is,” the foreman instructed. “We won’t be unloading it until Monday morning.”
Willie suppressed a snort. Two more days in the sun would make for a very rancid stew. The foreman signed off on the documents and Willie hightailed it out of there, laughing all the way. He texted Kathryn:
Signed, Sealed, Delivered.
After Kathryn relayed the good news to Charles, he sent a message to everyone:
Phase One Complete.
Brooklyn
Donald Walsh was finishing his regular breakfast of cereal, orange juice, and instant coffee. He gazed around his small one-bedroom apartment. Sure, it was a step up from the railroad apartment he first lived in when he started at REBAR, but it was still drab and dank. He never spent any money on furnishings, depending on the local Goodwill to provide the basics. For a fifty-five-year-old man, he had very little to show for his life. A few bowling trophies and a stuffed bass he hung on the wall. He’d won it at a fishing tournament. It had been sheer luck. He knew little about fishing, but thought it would be good for him to develop another hobby, one that required fresh air. He kept stashing the extra funds from Fielder in a savings account, promising himself he’d move to a warmer climate and buy a boat. He heard there were some decent places in Alabama where he could live cheaply, something he was well accustomed to.
He cleared the old maple table with the mismatched chairs and placed his dirty dishes in the old enamel sink. Part two of his morning ritual was to buy the newspaper on his way to the subway station. The daily grind was wearing on him. He resented people like Malcolm Fielder, who had everything handed to them. But it was never enough for Malcolm. And now Donald was complicit in Fielder’s scheme. There was something about that Zoe Danfield woman that bugged him. Even though she claimed she was satisfied with his answers, his gut was telling him something different. She had been too nice to him lately. Walsh knew if anything went sideways, he would be the one to take the fall. Fielder had more money for better lawyers. He decided to start checking out retirement communities and get a head start before anything hit the fan.
The creaking, noisy subway train rocked back and forth, jostling everyone from side to side. The straphangers continued to check their phones with one hand and steady themselves with the other. Some life, Donald thought to himself as the other passengers seemed to remain oblivious to the crush, smell, and noise.
For several months Donald had enjoyed periodic trips to the Dominican Republic, but Fielder had put a stop to it. Malcolm had said, “We don’t want anyone recognizing your face.”
“Then how will I be able to carry out your plans? The people and factories of Santo Domingo are not as hooked up with technology as we are,” Donald whined, his resentment growing.
“I have every faith you’ll figure it out,” Malcolm had said dismissively.
Yes, it was time for a change. When Donald arrived at his office he searched the internet for “active retirement communities.” Several popped up and he sent email queries using his personal email account. He knew Fielder had people in the I.T. department that could trace almost every search from the company’s system. He gave himself a short window. His exit strategy would start over the weekend, and he would go to the bank first thing Monday morning and withdraw his funds. He’d give his landlord thirty days’ notice, but planned to be out as soon as he could, even if it meant heading south with no forwarding address. Which wasn’t really a bad idea.
Santo Domingo
The sun had been up for over an hour. Alexis, Maggie, and Eileen had taken turns catching a few z’s in the truck parked outside the port entry. Now Maggie began to squirm. “I have to pee.”
Alexis and Eileen groaned in unison. They looked around for vegetation, but there were only a few straggly trees along the side of the road. Maggie remembered spotting a gas station about a quarter mile down the road. They decided Maggie and Alexis would dash over while Eileen kept vigil. Once they returned, Eileen would take her turn. She was much better at holding her bladder from all her time doing surveillance, but she still hoped they would hurry. As the two women rounded the bend, Eileen received a group message from Charles:
Trailer confiscated. Well done. Phase Two complete.
Eileen sent back a “woo-hoo” emoji and started the truck. The girls would be happy they didn’t have to walk back, and Eileen was elated she wouldn’t have to wait much longer to use the restroom. She caught up with the women as they were walking out of the dismal restroom. Maggie and Alexis ran up to the truck, where they did a couple of high-fives and fist bumps for good measure as Eileen bolted past them into the dingy bathroom.
All three of them felt a sense of relief—in more ways than one. A feeling of jubilation filled the pickup on the ride back. “I’m going to miss this thing,” Maggie said as they were pulling up to the Monaco Residences.
“Yeah, I was growing rather fond of it myself.” Eileen laughed and elbowed Maggie.
The three dispersed to their apartments and took long, well deserved hot showers. Maggie ordered a breakfast tray of muffins and scones and Alexis ordered massages for all of them. Eileen made a dinner reservation at Nacan, a beautifully restored former bank turned restaurant. The three would spend the remainder of the day recouping from their midnight-to-dawn adventure.
Grand Cayman
Annie and Myra were once again up with the birds. It didn’t matter how many missions they had been on—they were always giddy when things were coming to a head. They had their coffee on the terrace and took a walk on the beach. Mac had promised a Continental breakfast for them when they arrived at the bank.
When they got back to their suite a list of twenty deserving schools was waiting for them from Charles. They changed into more appropriate outfits, gathered their things, and proceeded to the bank.
