Episode 9
-What do we do now? Charlie asks as he closes my office door early Monday morning.
"Exactly what we talked about," I say; He took the weekend's work out of his briefcase and dropped it heavily on the desk. I move at my usual frenetic pace, running from desk to filing cabinet and back to desk, but today...
"There's a strange hop in your gait," Charlie says, suddenly excited, "and it's not the hamster-in-a-wheel motion you're used to.
"You don't know what you're talking about.
"Yes, I know. - He watches me carefully; he analyzes every move. Swinging arms...straight shoulders...even under the suit. Yes brother. Let freedom ring.
I find the fax someone sent on Friday night and place it in front of my computer. Today, at noon, abandoned accounts must be sent to the state or returned to their owners. That leaves us three hours to steal three million dollars. Just before I start I crack my knuckles.
"Don't hesitate," Charlie warns me. He is worried about the possibility that he will regret me. I crack my knuckles one last time and start copying Duckworth's fax.
"And now what are we doing?" Charlie asks.
The same thing that our mysterious friend has done, writing a false letter demanding the money; only that this letter deposits the money in an account of ours.
Charlie nods and smiles.
"Did you know that there was a full moon last night?" He says-. I bet that's one of the main reasons they did it.
"Can you please stop being dramatic with me?"
"Don't make fun of the moon," Charlie warns me. You can believe all you want in the logic of your left brain, but when I was working that telemarketing job responding to consumer complaints, on nights when there was a full moon we received 70 percent more calls. It's no joke, that night all the kooks go out dancing. He is silent for a moment, but is unable to keep it that way. Any new ideas regarding who the original thief was?
"Actually, that was going to be my next…" I pick up the phone, read Duckworth's fax number, and start dialing. Before Charlie can even ask the question, I put the phone in hands-free mode so he can hear the conversation.
"Phone information," says a mechanized female voice. What city?
"Manhattan," I say. -What name?
I read the name on the fax.
—Midland National Bank.
The bank where the mysterious thief wanted to transfer the money. -Why...?
"Shhhhh," I say impatiently as I dial the new number.
Charlie shakes his head, obviously amused. He is used to being the little brother.
"Midland National," a female voice answers. What I can help?
"Hello," I say, assuming my customer service voice again. My name is Marty Duckworth and I'm calling to confirm the details of an upcoming wire transfer.
-Ok. What is his account number, sir?
I reread the number from the letter and include Duckworth's Social Security number.
"The name is Martin," I add.
We hear a slight sound as the woman types.
"Very well, how can I help you today, Mr. Duckworth?"
Charlie leans into me.
"Ask her name," he whispers in my ear.
—I'm sorry, how did he tell me his name? I add. It's the same trick Tanner Drew played on me: Ask them his names and they're suddenly responsible.
"Sandy," he answers quickly.
"Okay, Sandy, just wanted to confirm...
"…electronic instructions for an upcoming transfer," he says with perhaps an excess of enthusiasm. I have that information right here, sir. The transfer will be made from Greene & Greene Bank in New York and then when we receive it we have instructions from you to send the money to TPM Limited at Bank of London, account number B2178692792. A much faster writer, Charlie jots down the number quickly. Next to TPM Limited, he takes his pen and writes: fake company. Intelligent.
-Perfect. Thank you, Sandy…' 'Can I help you with anything else, Mr Duckworth?'
I look at Charlie and he walks over to the speaker. Imposing his voice in his best imitation of mine, he adds:
"Actually, yes, now that I'm talking to you... I haven't received my latest account statements, could you check if you have my address correctly noted?"
Wow, this guy is really good.
"I'll check," Sandy says.
When he was nine years old and sick with a forty-degree fever, Charlie made me a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich that he said he would cure me of. He made me throw up all over the house. Today, Charlie's voice is sweeter than ever. He has a smirk on his lips. All these years I thought he was trying to be useful. Now I wonder if he's not just an insensitive guy.
"Okay, I think I know where the problem is now," Sandy interrupts.
What address does he want us to send the information to?
Charlie, puzzled, hesitates for a moment.
"Do you have more than one address?" - I ask.
"Well, there's the New York address: 405...
—...Amsterdam Avenue, apartment 2B —I complete the dilection by reading the one that appears in the letter.
—And then we have another one in Miami...
Charlie hands me a Post-it and I reach for a pen. We'll only get one chance to target it.
"1004 Tenth Street, Miami Beach, Florida 33139," Sandy announces. Instinctively, Charlie jots down the city, state, and ZIP code. I write down the street address. It's the way we used to memorize phone numbers: I'd do the first half and Charlie the rest.
It's the story of my life, he used to say. "If you want, I can change it to the one in New York," Sandy explains.
"No, no, leave it as it is. As long as you know where to look...
Someone knocks on my office door. I turn just in time to see it open.
-Is there someone at home? asks a deep voice.
Charlie takes the letter. I pick up the earpiece and unplug the speaker. "Very well, thanks again for your help.