Fake I.D.

girls out of the bar in a hurry—they were probably going to one of the bars down the block that stayed open later— and most of the guys soon followed.

Finally, about ten minutes later, the last guy left the bar and I locked the door. The music was still playing— Hootie & The Blowfish—but I was alone in the room. I went right behind the bar to the safe and got down on my knees. I missed a digit in the combination and whispered “Fuck,” biting down so hard on my bottom lip I tasted blood. My hands were shaking. Finally, the safe door opened and the money was still there, looking exactly like it did yesterday. Moving fast, like a bank robber, I put the bills in the Hefty bag. It took about thirty seconds, then I stood up, holding the bag of money. Nobody was there and Hootie was still singing. I was about to just leave, get the hell out of there, when I realized I didn’t have my coat. Fuck. Taking the Hefty bag with me, I went down the corridor to where my black leather coat was hanging in a closet near the bathroom. I put on my coat and walked back toward the front of the bar. When I got to the door, I turned around, sensing someone behind me. Rodrigo was there, scrubbing the bar with a rag. I could’ve just left, but I didn’t think this was a good idea. If I took off in a hurry, without saying anything, it might not look good tomorrow.

Trying to smile, I said, “Don’t you work hard enough in the kitchen?”

Rodrigo looked up like he was seeing me in the room for the first time.

“Frank tells me to clean the bar tonight,” Rodrigo said with his Mexican accent.

“Yeah, well Frank should pay you double your salary for doing that,” I said. I could tell Rodrigo couldn’t understand what I was saying so I rubbed my fingers together and said, “Mas dinero.”

“Yes, mas dinero,” Rodrigo said smiling.

“Well, I’m gonna drop this garbage out on the street and go home. Take it easy. Adios.”

“Adios,” Rodrigo said.

At home, I dumped the stacks of bills onto the kitchen table and started counting the money. I counted the bills at least three times and got the same total—fourteen thousand dollars even.

Nine

I was too pumped up to fall asleep so I sat on my bed in the dark watching Perry Mason and some old John Wayne movie. Finally, I conked out.

When I woke up, around noon, I went right to the bag of money and counted the bills. I counted them again, then I put the bag away in the closet.

It was another nasty day—a mix of rain, sleet and snow—and I didn’t feel like going anywhere. My muscles were still sore from working out and playing basketball and I figured I’d just hang out at home and watch the football games on TV. I ordered two sausage heros with extra onions from a pizza place on First Avenue, then I called the Korean deli and ordered two six-packs of Sam Adams, two containers of barbecue-flavored Pringles, and three of the little carrot cakes I liked.

There’s nothing better than sitting on your couch on a nasty day, stuffing your face with great food and watching football. During halftime of the twelve-thirty game I got hungry again so I ordered some chicken wings— abusive-style—and a side order of cheese fries.

At five o’clock, I showered, then I got dressed and left for work. The rain and snow had stopped. It was dark, but it wasn’t as cold as it had been the past few nights. I walked down First Avenue with my leather coat wide open. I was thinking about tomorrow morning. I’d call Alan Schwartz at about nine o’clock—set up a time to meet the guys. Or maybe I’d throw Pete a call from the bar tonight, just to make sure everything was still cool.

A block away I spotted two police cars double-parked in front of O’Reilley’s. I wasn’t surprised. I knew that Frank would call the cops as soon as he noticed the money was missing. I just hoped that Rodrigo wouldn’t rat on me. I didn’t see why he would—he was a good guy, an amigo—but I was still worried about it.

Looking in the window, I saw that the bar was crowded—a lot more crowded than it usually was on a Sunday at six o’clock. O’Reilley’s didn’t have big-screen TVs so we usually didn’t get a big football crowd on Sundays like the sports bars did. I took a deep breath and went inside.

I was expecting the cops to come over to talk to me right away, but this didn’t happen. Instead, people hardly noticed me. Frank was in the middle of the crowd and people were shouting at him and the police —two male cops, one female cop, and one older guy in a jacket and tie—were trying to calm everybody down.

Frank saw me behind the crowd and I made a face to him that said, “What the hell’s going on?” Frank pushed his way through the crowd and came up to me.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Somebody robbed the safe.”

“The safe? You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me. How the fuck did—holy shit, you mean the Super Bowl money—?”

“Fourteen grand,” Frank said. “I’m such an idiot for leaving money like that lying around. I was gonna go to the bank on Friday, but I figured it could wait till Monday.”

“Jesus, I can’t fuckin’ believe this,” I said, shaking my head. “When the hell did this happen?”

“We don’t know. Last night...this morning. I just found out an hour ago.”

“So what’d they do, bust the safe open?”

“Nah, they went in and out—used the combination. And I have a good idea who did it.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Gary,” Frank said. “Who else? He’s the only one who knows the combination besides me and he was pretty upset last night when I told him I was gonna let you manage the bar. I wasn’t gonna call the cops on him, but I figured I had to, with all this money gone. The thing is I just can’t believe he’d do something like this—steal from his own father.”

One of the male police officers came over and said something to Frank and then Frank introduced me to the officer. I was trying to look as pissed off as Frank.

The officer said he wanted to have the detective ask me a few questions and I said that was fine with me. While he went to get the detective I was looking over at the female cop. She was about thirty with short blond hair and blue eyes. She was very good looking.

“Tommy Russo.”

Still looking at the blond cop, it took me an extra second or two to realize that the detective was talking to me. He was standing next to me—a guy about my height, but he was built like a rail and he was about fifty years old. He had a shiny bald head.

“Detective Edwards,” he said as we shook hands. “I take it you’re Tommy Russo.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“And you’re the bouncer here, is that correct?”

I nodded.

“Can you tell me what time you left the bar last night?”

“Around three o’clock,” I said. “I know because I was home in bed by three-fifteen.”

“Was Gary O’Reilley still here when you left?”

“Nah, he left about a half hour before me.”

“So was there anybody here when you left the bar last night?”

“Just the guys from the kitchen, I guess,” I said. “I thought I was coming down with something and I wanted to get to bed.”

“Did you lock up the bar?”

“Nah, like I said, there were still guys around in the kitchen. I figured they’d lock up.”

Frank had come over toward me and the detective during my last answer and now he was listening to us.

“When you were leaving,” the detective said to me, “did you see anybody suspicious outside the bar?”

I shook my head. Then, just as the detective was about to ask me another question, I said, “Come to think of it, I did see Gary hanging out near the bar.”

Now Frank and the detective were listening with wide-open eyes.