15.
The depot cribbed a fleet of six armored vans. A terminal floor fanned white shells with red and charcoal pinstripes. A gold phoenix with black trim splashed the rear panels of each van. The logo looked like the original Firebird emblem Pontiac used in the late 60's. The crates were souped up Ford Econolines. Bullet-proof windshields, steel slabs for side doors. The rear windows patched over with metal plates.
The Phoenix Armored Car Company was a no-frills operation.
B and C accounts. The run-off cash and carries the big boys like Brinks wouldn't touch. It was still cash, good business, with plenty of accounts.
A mechanic fiddled with an engine. Off to the side, a worker power washed another van. The depot doors opened. An armored van zoomed into roost. A pair of guards unloaded the bags, wheeling them off.
Whitey Russo ran the counting room. A desk topped with electronic gizmos. Whitey shuffled, calculated, and recorded. The guards arrived with the fresh catch.
"We got one more for you Whitey," said one of the guards.
"Keep ’em comin’. I could use the overtime." Whitey wrapped it up, and slinked his way to punch out. Jacobs, the depot manager, snagged Whitey. Jacobs invited Whitey into an office. Diploma, citations, and family photos framed the paneled walls.
"We obtained a new account. This client is big. It's a chain, with a number of locations in the area. We could double our business."
"What do you need me to do? I could work more hours.
That's not a problem--I could use the extra money."
"We have a situation. I had to submit a list of all our employees. Names, records, socials, etcetera. This new client requested an extensive background check on all of our employees.
We can't start doing business until I submit the report to their staff. I found out about your past--you did time in a federal prison," Jacobs said.
"That was a long time ago. I haven't been arrested since,"
Whitey said. Jacobs eyed Whitey. Jacobs also found out about Whitey fudging his background from the get go. The old Spic 'n Span job. New social, drivers license, and virtual identity. Jacobs liked Whitey enough, but resented the fact somebody so shady could slam dunk an educated man.
"If I submit these findings--it'll turn out to be very embarrassing--for all of us. We'll lose the account."
"You have to understand Mister Jacobs--I need this job. I'm too old to start over."
"In the past, I could let these people walk. Times are different now. It's too big of an account Whitey. If we lose this client--we, the company, all of us, go under. I can't let that happen."
"Isn't there something we could work out? I could take my vacation, sick days, disappear for a while?" Whitey said. The plea failed. Jacobs bagged Whitey. The phantom board pocketed his pension. Sure, he protested, but who could he run to? The staff lawyer punched back with identity fraud. Whitey walked away.