Do Not Go On. Bryan Furuness

It wasn’t even that she called from a gas station in town. (At the farmhouse, all long-distance calls were routed through our switchboard for the same reason witnesses had to change their names: To make sure what was hidden would stay hidden.) In fact, I had prepared for this eventuality by tapping her mother’s phone, too. As I listened to Ana blab to her mother about Ben’s accident and injuries, I congratulated myself for being a step ahead of the game.

      Then she asked her mother for something I did not expect.

      I’ve combed through these banker’s boxes, Madame, searching for the overlooked clue that should have led me to expect her request. What did I miss? What could I have done differently to keep this family on track?

      Even now, with the relative omniscience of hindsight, I don’t know. I had always thought a true surprise was only available to those who weren’t paying attention, but this case proved me wrong, again and again.

      “I want you to reach out to Veedy,” Ana told her mother. “I want you to make a deal to bring us home.”

      Chapter 6

      MARRIAGE

      THIS WAS HOW ROOSTER HELPED BENNIE: by letting go of his other runners and making his nephew pick up the slack. All day long Bennie hustled around the southwest side of Baltimore, picking up bags, dropping off bags, breathing bags, dreaming bags, crapping bags. He thought about buying a car, but that would have eaten up his savings, so he got a ten-speed instead. So what if he felt like an overgrown paperboy? With the bike, he could cover more ground, make more deliveries, and earn more money, rolling into the rising sun to catch the morning shift at the wire rope and rigging factory, whizzing past sunset with a miner’s headlamp and a backpack full of bets.

      If he wasn’t on the bike, he was either wolfing down rice and Manwich, or was passed out in his bed, waking every few hours with leg cramps. He lost some money placing his own bets on the Colts—should have known better—but even so, the accordion case was brimming with cash in a matter of weeks. That wouldn’t be good enough for Kate’s parents, though. More importantly, it wasn’t good enough for Kate. Her parents were right: she deserved better than a delivery boy. But whenever he told Rooster that he was grateful for the Tour de Baltimore and all, but what he really needed was a promotion, his uncle shrugged and said, “You don’t like it, go to Mexico.” But they both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

      Every day, the last run was to pay the boss, Veedy. Between 12:30 and 12:45 at night, Bennie would deliver a scuffed suitcase full of cash to a warehouse. If he missed that window of time, he was not to attempt a late delivery. “Not under any circumstances,” emphasized Rooster, who seemed relieved to hand over this duty. Bennie would just have to bring two suitcases the next night. Plus a thirty percent late fee. Out of his own pocket, of course.

      Night after night Bennie walked into that warehouse on time, placed the suitcase on a lone pallet in the middle of a cavernous room, and then walked out without seeing a soul. But one night, a month before the deadline set by Kate’s parents, he sat down on the pallet and waited.

      As Bennie checked his watch, Rooster’s voice sang in his head. You’ve heard of wrong place, wrong time? If you’re in the warehouse at the wrong time, it becomes the wrong place.

      Rooster. So full of shit. The warehouse was empty. What could happen at 12:46 that would be so terrible?

      Bennie checked his watch again. Sweat prickled his hairline.

      At 12:43, a metal door scraped open somewhere deep in the warehouse. Bennie heard the clack of wooden soles. Out of the shadows came a man. Slim, brown, wearing a houndstooth blazer. He had a slight limp, Bennie noticed. “You can still leave,” the man said softly. “I wish you would.”

      Bennie stood. “I need to talk to Veedy.”

      “He doesn’t need to talk to you.”

      The man’s eyes were heavy with reluctance. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. Everything inside Bennie was pulling him toward the door, but he made himself stand still. “Will you tell Veedy I’d like to ask him a question?”

      The man didn’t answer. He looked at his watch again and said, “Twenty seconds, my friend.”

      Without thinking, Bennie turned and ran out of the warehouse.

      He was sure that nothing good would come of that encounter, but when he showed up with his delivery the next night, the pallet was not empty for once. Suitcases were piled high, spilling over the sides and onto the concrete floor, a mudslide of money.

      Behind him, the sliding door rattled shut. Bennie turned and saw a wide man, shaped like a pair of parentheses. Ropy arms. Long, thin hair that fell to the collar of his camel hair blazer. Veedy.

      “I understand you’re looking for advancement,” said Veedy. “It just so happens that I’m looking for investment opportunities.” He stopped before Bennie, looked him up and down. Bennie felt foolish in his shorts. Worse, the bike chain had left a grease tattoo on his calf, and he could feel the grime of the street all over his face and neck.

      “Make your pitch,” Veedy prompted him.

      Bennie felt wobbly. His pitch?

      Veedy waited a second before curling his lip. And just like that, Bennie knew he had blown his shot. He hadn’t seen it coming and now it was past him and Veedy was turning for the door. And there, in the shadows, was the limping man again.

      “I’m working on something,” called Bennie. “Something big. I just don’t have all the details yet.”

      Veedy stopped walking. He looked at the limping man. “What do you think, Zee?”

      “His numbers always add up. He’s always on time.”

      “He lacks vision,” said Veedy.

      “But not motivation. He’s got a baby on the way.”

      Bennie flinched. How did the man know this?

      Veedy blew a raspberry. “Fine, I’ll give him another shot.” He pointed at Bennie. “Back here in one week. With an actual idea. I’m talking about a serious plan with hard numbers, down to the dollar. I run a tight ship. No room for slop.”

      Bennie nodded as though they had this in common, a shared contempt for slop. Then, as coolly as he was able, he said, “Any other suggestions as I, you know, polish the final details?”

      Veedy’s lip curled again, but this time it was almost a smile, like he recognized the bluff, but appreciated it all the same. Waving at the pile of suitcases, he said, “Make sure it processes a lot of cash.”

      * * *

      “Picture this,” said Bennie. “A restaurant.”

      Rooster tried to exit the ticket booth, but Bennie jammed his foot against the door, so he fell back in his seat with a sigh.

      “But not just any restaurant,” Bennie went on. “Every restaurant, all in one. A different room for each type. A coffee shop. A lounge. A formal dining room. A banquet hall! At any hour, something in the restaurant is busy.”

      Rooster gave his nephew a weary look. “You were supposed to save up for something legit.”

      “This is legit,” protested Bennie. “Semi-legit.”

      “That’s what I told myself when I first went to Veedy. Now I’m beholden to that evil Grimace for life. If I’d just been a little more patient—”

      “Tell my baby to be patient.”