Vindictive #4

11. s

Gaia knocks on my door ten minutes to nine and tells me that Gary wants me in his office in ten. Groaning and burying my head in my pillow, I spend the next two minutes half-asleep and half-ready-to-jump-out-my-bed in case he loses his patience and starts yelling for me. Finally, I muster up the energy to crawl out of my bed and wrap myself up in a fluffy robe. I go to his office and knock gently on the door before waiting for him to signal me in. He does, by bending three fingers in a come hither motion. I slip inside, softly close the door behind me, and sit down on the chair in front of his desk.

There's a cup of coffee sitting a few inches away from his laptop and a cigar between his fingers. Soft jazz plays in the background from that old record player. Hm. It's a good morning for him.

"Good morning," I say politely.

"Buenos días," Gary responds, taking a puff of his cigar. Thick smoke fills the air after he exhales. "I wanted to speak with you about a few things."

I sit up straighter. "Yes?"

"A lot of money will be delivered here tonight in non-sequential bills. I want you to triple check them. Make sure they're all unmarked, make sure all of it is there. When you're finished, you're going to go into the storage shed and get a few suitcases. Three or four. Put half a million in each. Half of that should be counterfeit, which I will provide you with." Gary picks up his coffee mug and takes a sip. "Don't fuck this up, Milan. Your life is very much dependent on how good you are. You understand what this means?"

I nod silently. "Every detail matters."

"Every detail matters." He passes me the cigar. I take it without hesitation and slowly take a puff. The bitter taste is ignorable and I allow the smoke to fill my lungs before exhaling tiredly. "This is a job only for you, Milan. You tell no one."

"Of course." I bring the cigar back up to my lips.

"As for my son..."

I pause.

"Where did you two go last night?" He's not looking at me. His eyes are downcast, focused on a bunch of papers spread out for him.

"Just a club," I say after a minute, my finger twitching in my lap.

"Don't lie to me, Milan." He doesn't look up.

I pause. "A birthday party. For an old friend."

"Was that so hard?"

I don't respond. My eyes shift to the door when I hear it open, and a man I don't recognize comes in. He places a box on Gary's desk. I lean back when he pulls out a knife and watch as he uses it to tear into the flaps of the box. Gary raises a hand, halting the man's movements.

"Déjanos."

The man nods and leaves. Gary gestures to the box.

"Abrelo."

I stand and reach for the flaps. "What's this?"

"The counterfeits."

I peek inside. Sure enough, stacks and stacks of money are packed neatly inside. I pick up one bundle of hundreds and flip through it.

"Who made these?" I question, surprised at how real they looked.

"I wish I knew." Gary stands up and walks around the desk. "Last thing."