CON TEST: Double Life (19 page)

“
Really. Why are you taking it there? That means no sequel.”

“
Nope. And I have to. What about torture?”

“
So much has been done.”

“
True, but they say you can kill in a million ways.”

“
You could bury someone in a coffin alive.”

“
That’s old school. And that is a movie, “Buried Alive”. It had a sequel, too.”

“
But wait! In a clear coffin. Imagine the mental torture, pain and agony of being handcuffed and gagged as you’re lowered into the ground and then faded to black as dirt is poured over you.”

“
You’re sick,” he said laughing, and jumped away from her.

“
It’s creative. Wickedly creative. Don’t trip, though. I don’t have the balls to do that.”

“
I hope that you don’t have balls at all,” he said and laughed some more. He had to stay lighthearted.

“
I don’t. I was thinking, what if you were lowered and you were forced to watch your family being told about your untimely death on a portable TV?”

“
You’re the devil.”

“
I know, so don’t fuck with me!”

THIRTY-TWO

M
orning could not have been more chipper for William Fortune. Greek philosopher Heraclitus could not have been more right: In the world that we inhabit, no two days are alike. A simple change in temperature could change a mood. An extremely hot day was sure to bring an irritable cloud over everyone. But a cool day like that day meant that people would be just that: Cool. Which was what William was at the moment, he made a crucial decision.

No need to wonder why he decided to enjoy a day at Santa Monica Beach to continue his manuscript. It was nice to get out of the office. He had the life. How many professionals could work from the beach?

He packed a picnic basket with club sandwiches, palatable pastries and a variety of drinks. He loaded the basket, his brief case and himself into his BMW and set out for the beach.

William sped to the beach amazingly calm. That was a relief. He had seen and done a lot alone, but he needed to write around people for some strange reason. He could not fight the feelings that he felt. He battled fear, mostly. Fear that the media would bash him relentlessly. Each time that he neared the end of a story, he felt the same fear.

He loathed murdering his novel antagonist. He loathed arresting them, as well. Strangely, he treated them as real people, so in considering that he wouldn’t kill in real life, he disliked doing it via fiction. Right at that moment, he did not have feeling. He was glad that the end of the manuscript had arrived. He was anxious to kill that time. He parked his luxury vehicle and composed himself. His greed for murder needed to be dumped to the back of his mind.

He walked from the parking space and carried his materials out into the sand. He set up the small folding table and pushed an equally small folding chair under it. He placed a cushion on the chair, picnic basket next to the table, laptop on top, and then William had a seat. He opened his lap top, but before he could work, he took a look around him.

Good thing that he was in a public place or his monogamous deficiency would have come to life. He could not stomach being in the custody of so much eye candy. He developed stomach throe. The beach had women in two-piece bikinis roller blading, women in two-piece bikinis bicycling, and women in two-piece bikinis playing volleyball in the sand.
This is perfect
, he thought.

He stopped his procrastination and began to type:

The waiting area seemed a hundred degrees and rising in temperature by the nanosecond. There was no fresh air circulating through Amir’s nostrils as if the bank ventilation system was turned off. Sweat pumped out of his glands heavily from the heat and the anxiousness of him successfully pulling off that stunt.

He gained control of himself. He had to be very aware of his surroundings. He strained his ears to hear everything said by the bank employees. He commanded his nerves to calm down and pay attention, but the idea of having so much money at once scared him.

What was the hold up? Two customer service representatives held a conversation, and were not working, as if he was not waiting to be seen. They seemed so engulfed by the words that they exchanged, an explosion outside would have gone unnoticed.

Amir searched his surroundings quickly. He then refocused his attention on the two idiots conversing. One of whom finally strolled in his direction.

“
May I help you?” the woman asked.

It took you long the fuck enough. Couldn’t you see how I was waiting and sweating over here
, he thought. “Sure madam, you may,” he replied politely.

She turned and Amir followed behind her. She began to talk to him over her shoulder as she walked. She said, “Sorry for making you wait. We discussed a security matter.”

Amir wanted in on her secret. “Must’ve been important, he said.

“
It was,” she said, and sat at her desk. “There was a man in here yesterday that had opened an account over the phone,” she began saying, and looked directly into Amir’s eyes. “He subsequently went to another branch today and cleaned out his account. The branch called me to verify what the man looked like, thinking that it was an identity thief.”

“
So?” Amir asked, and masked his astonishment. Was it Alimu-Shine or Justice? He could not figure which one of them it was, but he definitely could not make a false move. “Was it your guy?”

“
Yes,” she said. “He had eyes that were a color that I could not describe, but he had a Polish last name, although he was Black. How could I forget? Enough about that drama, how may I help you?”

“
I am taking a vacation to Jamaica and would like to withdraw money from my account and convert the cash into traveler’s checks,” he said. There was no way that he would withdraw straight cash and raise the woman’s suspicion for a second time that morning.

“
Sure, no problem. Let me get your account number and ID.”

He jotted his checking account number down on a piece of scratch of paper and handed it to her along with his ID. She assaulted the keys on her keyboard and brought up his account. She saw that he had 11K available. He wanted $3,000 in traveler’s checks, and $5,000 in cash. She completed the transactions at her desk and then switched to the teller’s area to get his cash and checks. She returned and handed him everything. He stuffed the contents into his attaché case and thanked her before leaving.

# # #

Alimu-Shine sucked in air as soon as he walked out the bank. He stared disbelievingly at two NYPD police cruisers that were parked outside the bank. He felt dizzy. Light-headedness had swept over him. The sunshine shimmered as he moved along the pavement being dragged by the hellish New York crowd. The roaring screams of celebration wanted to bellow out of his mouth for the whole world to hear.

The entire craft took less than fifteen minutes and he had in excess of 10K in cash. He sat frozen as the teller had made a call to another bank to verify his identity and could not believe that the teller returned and forked over the cash.

Serving God was a priority of Alimu-Shine’s, and he would repent after that sin and any sins forthcoming. Certainly, God understood why he was a criminal. Alimu-Shine had tried relentlessly for months to garner gainful employment, but no one wanted to hire an ex-convict. Especially, not one who could steal their money right before their eyes and they not find out for weeks, maybe months after the stunt was pulled. Employers would rather hire a murderer, rapist, or burglar. At most they’d offer up a roughed up employee or a dead one, but the business would just move on, and replace the dead guy. No need to cry over spilled milk. He had taken care of business and now he would use the money wisely.

He walked to a bank of cabbies and rested his hand on the front passenger window of one. “I need to get to the Marriott in Times Square,” he said before he hopped in and was whisked away.

# # #

Justice Lorenzo stared at the telephone message light that blinked as soon as he stepped into the hotel room. It was very easy for him to check the message, but he ignored it.

He went into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. In theory when a man went on the run, the authorities applied un-relentless pressure on the man’s family. That disturbed his emotions. Certainly, he could not listen to his parents’ emotional pleas for him to turn himself in. When he finally skipped town, he planned to lie to them for their own protection, not his. How could he tell them that he was a fugitive? As a man, he was prepared to fight and possibly die for his freedom and liberty. His movements had to be clandestine and effective to successfully beat the feds. He only had a string of forgeries; therefore, there would not be a thick task force or man hunt searching for him. They would wait for him to slip up. They always did. Then they would sentence him accordingly. Justice had to procure all of the cash that he could without error. There was no room for that. Suddenly, he could hear Amir talking on a cell phone. He walked out the bathroom and startled Amir, who continued his telephone conversation.

Justice tried not to listen to the conversation, but when he heard the words “almost caught” he paid attention. He did not like incidents that involved those two words. Especially, coming from a man so close to him. In a post 9/11 society, New York under-covers were in full swing, just parading around as ordinary citizens. He quickly decided that he needed to get away from his two friends before they cost him his future. Their behavior didn’t respect the seriousness of his situation. Justice had a dire and wrenching terror that he would lose his battle for freedom
. If he lost the battle because of his own ineptitude, he could live with that. But the pain of his arrest at the hands of someone else’s mistake would kill him. A terrible death indeed.

Amir hung up and Justice searched his dictionary to choose the most non-confrontational words to ask about the “almost caught” he heard flow so colorfully out of Amir’s mouth.

“
So, what’s good, Amir?” he asked, normally. It was far from a normal situation, though.

“
Everything is in slow motion, yo,” he replied. “How’d things go?”

“
Chill. No problems to report.”

“
I’m not trying to be a dick head, but I have a lot that I am dealing with, little buddy. You got to excuse me if I seem like I do not feel like being bothered,” he said and cleared up his past actions. “Now who was almost caught?”

“
Huh?”

“
Just asking. I heard you mention that.”

“
Damn, didn’t know that you were down my throat.”

“
We are in the same room, so I did not have to be down your throat. I don’t like ‘almost caught’, you dig?”

“
That was Jalisa.”

“
Amir! I’m not your dad, or your boss. But as your friend, I gotta ask, why the fuck you keep telling her our business?”

“
It’s my business.”

“
Dawg, you’re telling her shit we up here doing. None of this is her fucking business. Have you noticed that I don’t even have my cell phone? I gave it to a bum on Madison Avenue.”

“
Dig this, J. I’mma say this once. I’m not into all these arrogant statements you keep throwing around. You ain’t in charge.”

“
I see you’ve been listening to Alimu-Shine. I’m not a boss. I’m just picky, critical and tidy. I like shit done my way. The right way. Not out of self-centeredness, but because I’ve seen and done it all, and I know my shit. I know what’s best for me. Keep them bitches outta my business!”

“
That ain’t my bitch. It’s my girl.”

“
Man, everybody is ya fucking girl. One week this bitch is pregnant. The, next some other bitch is married and she’s your bitch. The next, some bitch lying saying that you’re her baby dad. Give me a fucking break. You have a girl every month.”

“
Man stop coming at me like a bitch.”

Alimu-Shine walked into the room and dropped onto the bed. Without preamble, he asked Amir to hand him the Saks Fifth Avenue bag that Justice had bought in the room the day before. He went inside the bag and found the receipt. “Watch a master at work gentleman.”

Alimu-Shine dialed the number to the extravagant department store and when the operator answered he jumped into character.

“
Yes, may I have cosmetics, please?”

“
Sure, which one, sir?”

“
Loreal, please. Thank you.” After a few clicks he heard the phone ringing. He cleared his throat as a bubbly voiced female answered the line. He said, “Hi, Beth. This is John D. from men on the sixth floor. My phone is not getting through to instant credit. Could you connect me, please?”

“
Sure, no problem,” she said, and evidenced why he picked the lamebrain cosmetics department.

The phone clicked and was answered without ringing.

“
Customer service,” a solemn female voice answered. “May I help you store number 71?”

“
Yes,” Alimu-Shine said, in a tone that could not have been more salesman like. “I have a gentleman here who’d like to open a Saks account.”

“
Sure, I can help you with that. What is your station number?”