photo to show they have the wrong guy.”
“So, you made fake IDs in a past life?”
“Among other things.” Corbin smiled.
Beckett sighed and nodded his head. He strummed his fingers on his desk. “It’s workable, but let’s talk about this friend of yours. . can we give him a name?”
“What do you suggest?”
“I don’t care. How about ‘Joe Nobody’?”
“Overly dramatic, but fine.”
“Is he any good under pressure?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?” Beckett asked.
“I know.”
“Does he have a criminal record?”
“No record, and he’s never been fingerprinted.”
“So he’s not a lawyer?” Beckett reasoned, knowing that lawyers get fingerprinted as part of their bar applications; Corbin didn’t confirm Beckett’s supposition. “Can he keep his mouth shut?”
“Yes,” Corbin said.
“How do you know?”
“Same reason I know he’s good under pressure.”
“Extreme pressure changes people. Have you seen him under extreme pressure or just normal pressure?”
“I can vouch for him.” It was clear Corbin wouldn’t divulge further details.
Beckett didn’t speak for a several seconds. When he did, his enthusiasm was plain: “I say we pick Philly, it’s closer! That gives us more time to do this and get back. I do think though, we should limit the number of cards we apply for at each mailbox. The last thing we need is some suspicious mail clerk calling the cops.”
“I’m planning three occupants per box, three cards per occupant. Where necessary, Joe Nobody can give the clerk a story about being a college student who was sent by his two roommates to get a mailbox because their mail keeps disappearing.”
“Is he young enough to pass for a student?”
“Grad student.”
Beckett tilted back in his brown leather chair. “One final question.”
“I wondered when you’d ask.” Corbin rose and walked toward his filing cabinet.
“What am I going to ask?” Beckett asked, somewhat taken aback.
Corbin flipped through a folder and pulled out a photocopy of a computer printout. “You were going to ask about this.” He handed Beckett the printout.
Beckett’s jaw dropped. “Where did you get this?” he whispered hoarsely. “Holy crud! They’re all on here!”
“Everyone from the office: all seventy-five senior executive appointees, plus every attorney, every staff member, and everyone in the mailroom. Obviously, we’re only interested in the big earners.”
“Where did you get this?” Beckett repeated, as he scanned the printout, which contained financial information on everyone in the office, from salaries to social security numbers to home addresses and more.
Corbin smiled. “Stuart.”
“Somebody trusted Stuart with this?!”
Corbin laughed. “It’s his job to carry this little gem to the payroll department on M Street once a month.”
“How did
“Do you remember that day you and Theresa were cutting up the newspaper? Do you remember Stuart coming in and dropping off the mail? He was holding this. I followed him down the hallway and liberated it from his mail cart long enough to make copies.”
“Did he see you take it?”
“Doubt it. If he did, he never said anything.”
Beckett looked at the printout again. “Full names, dates of birth, socials, salaries. Incredible! Hey, you make as much as I do! I thought I made more.”
“Life is full of surprises,
“That’s a family name, long story.” Beckett handed the printout back to Corbin. “Do you think these guys have good enough credit for our purposes?”
“Are you kidding? They’re untapped wells of credit. If any of them ever spent a penny, they did it kicking and screaming. Look at Kak, he drives a ’74 Dodge, lives in a run down shack, hasn’t taken a vacation in seven years, buys his suits at Wal-Mart, and hasn’t left a tip in living memory. The rest of them are just as tight, except for maybe Wilson and Nesbit. Nesbit’s got the coke problem, and Wilson’s got an expensive divorce habit. The rest should be fine.”
“I’d still feel better if we surveyed their houses.”
“Not a problem! We have their addresses,” Corbin laughed, holding up the printout.
Corbin sat on his couch in the dark eating cold Chinese food from the container. Through the big glass door leading to his apartment’s balcony, he could see endless lines of headlights inching their way across the bridges from the District. It was raining. His phone rang. He checked the caller ID before answering.
“Hey Vez.” Corbin knew Tobias Alvarez, or “Vez” as Corbin called him, since college.
“Hey Corbin, you had dinner yet?”
Corbin looked at the half-empty food container in his hand. “Sort of. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll join you anyway. I need to talk to you about something.” Corbin heard his doorbell ring. “Hold on a second, somebody’s at my door.” Corbin walked to the front of his one-bedroom apartment, turning the kitchen light on as he passed. Looking through the viewer, he saw his seventy-year-old neighbor’s grey hair. “Hi Mrs. Tuttle, I’ll be with you in a second.” He returned the phone to his ear. “Let me call you back. My neighbor just got back from the store, and I always help her with her groceries.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Actually, hold on. Where are you going for dinner, I’ll meet you there.”
Corbin thanked the blond girl in the skintight blouse and slid into the booth. Alvarez had already ordered. He still wore his work clothes, a pair of khaki pants and a golf shirt with the name of his employer embroidered across the chest pocket. Corbin wore jeans and a blue oxford shirt.
“Can I get you something?” the girl asked.
“Just a Coke please. I’ll look at the menu later,” Corbin responded. The girl smiled and walked away.
“Sorry, I couldn’t wait, I’ve been starving all day.” Alvarez began disassembling his burger. “They always put these things together wrong.”
Corbin looked around to make sure no one could hear them, which wasn’t a problem with the deafening noise from the capacity crowd. “I broached the subject with Beckett today.”
Alvarez raised an eyebrow. “What did he say?”
“He’s on board.”
“Really?” Alvarez pulleda pickle out from under the patty with his fork. “I hate pickles.”
“He’s agreed to manage the duffel bag for you on the first trip.”
“Does he know who I am?”
“No, he only knows you as Joe Nobody.”
“I have to say, this really surprises me. When you said a couple weeks ago you thought he might be willing, all I could think of was how many times you told me he’s got this strict moral code.”
“Desperation can be very liberating. It lets people do extraordinary things, and he’s getting increasingly desperate trying to find a way to support his wife and kids. When he finally got turned down for that promotion. . well, that was too big of an opportunity to pass up.”
The waitress returned with Corbin’s Coke and took his order while Alvarez reassembled his burger. When the waitress left, they returned to their conversation.
“Is he solid?” Alvarez asked.
