There was a knock on the door. Malcolm’s shot open. Sitting up in bed, he stretched the stiffness out of his skinny body. Another knock. Shuffling across the cramped studio apartment, he stepped over takeout containers and piles of laundry. Looking through the peep-hole, Malcolm opened the door.
“‘Bout time,” said the muscular visitor, “You just wake up?”
Malcolm scratched his stubble and shrugged, “I guess. Come in.” The two walked over to a card table in the middle of the apartment. Sinking into a chair, Malcolm brushed the matted blonde hair off his forehead, picked up a cigarette butt with a little yet more to offer and re-lit it. “You want something to drink?” he mumbled.
The visitor looks around the apartment, surveying the mess. “Jesus, are you taking care of yourself?”
Malcolm snapped his fingers, “Brad,” the visitor turned back to him, “anything to drink?”
Shaking his head, Brad sat down across from him and pulled a manila folder from under his arm onto the table. “Here’s what you’ll need for tonight. It took forever to get that.” Sliding a piece of paper from the folder, he pushed it over to Malcolm. Uragiri2! “There should be one or two security officers,” continued Brad. “Let me in at midnight, when your mop-jockey shift ends, I’ll make sure they don’t bother you.”
Malcolm blew smoke absently at Brad, who waited for a reaction, some kind of sign that the lights were on and someone was indeed home. “Mal, you got this? Transferring cash out of accounts?”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Smoke expelled from Malcolm’s nose with a sigh. He ground out the butt directly on the table. “It’s the kinda shit I went to school for,” he said, his eyes still lifelessly looking at the wall behind Brad.
Nodding, Brad pulled a post-it pad and pen from his pockets. Scrawling an address, he dropped the note on the table. “We’ll meet at this location after. I’ve got a friend there that can load the money onto disposable VISA gift cards. After that we’ll go our separate ways. You’ll finally have the cash to live somewhere nice. How’s that sound?”
Grinning, Malcolm’s eyes locked on Brad’s. “So good.”
####
Hunched over in the dark, windowless office, Malcolm worked. The only sound in the room was the clacking of keystrokes. A little more time and everything would be according to plan. The door behind him opened abruptly, “You almost done?” said Brad.
“Almost.”
“The guards are out cold but…”
“But what?” asked Malcolm, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“I think someone passing by saw me choking one of them out,” said Brad. “They might call the police.”
“Well, that was stupid of you,” said Malcolm, without missing a beat. With a loud clack, he rose from the chair. “We’re done here.”
“Just one more step,” said Brad with a smile, “Then it’s payday for both of us!”
“Then we go our separate ways,” said Malcolm.
“See you at the place,” Brad hurried out of the room.
Wiping the keyboard and monitor down, Malcolm pulled the post-it note with the safe house’s address. “Choking out guards,” he muttered. Once the money’s loaded on the cards, it’s physical. Brad was an imposing man, someone who could choke others out.
As long as the money remained digital, Malcolm had control of it. Crumpling up the yellow post-it, Malcolm dropped it next to the computer chair. “It might be best that we part ways sooner rather than later.” He smiled, “Maybe a trip’s just what I need…”