Friday evening, not long after the corporate rats had been released from their mazes for the week, Calvin Montgomery left the confines of his shared office space and hastily walked the two blocks to Carmine’s Bar. His heart thumped in his chest, not from the pace of his steps, but from the prospect of the scheduled meeting. He’d been planning the date all week, and he had never been more certain that one night would change his life forever.
He slipped into the smoky room undetected and headed directly for the small table at the back, out of the public eye and close to the restrooms. His black hair and grey eyes glowed in the foggy yellow lamplight as he took his seat. His usual Johnny Walker Black came to him without an order, courtesy of the cute barmaid whose name Calvin could never quite remember despite a few nice evenings with her in the back room. She winked on her approach and he pinched her ass as she walked past. Then he waited, his eyes glued to the front entrance.
A steady stream of white collars poured into the room, all with loosened ties and the bitter gazes of dreams deferred. They all ordered shots of gin or whiskey or big foamy glasses of beer. They all complained to the bartender and each other like a drunken group therapy meeting. Not a single one of them smiled; even when they heard a joke, the grimaces of mortality remained on their writhing lips as they emitted choking, bitter laughter.
Calvin watched them all and rode peacefully on the wave of desperation that knocked them all down. Unlike them, he was doing something about the hopeless collection of work hours and snooze alarm minutes that he fought to call a life.
But, just like the snooze alarm, the feeling didn’t last long.
Each minute that passed, Calvin felt he was slipping with the undertow. After an hour, he laid his head on the table, wracked with the indescribable combination of relief and utter disappointment as he finally accepted that he’d been stood up. He took a deep breath.
“Figures,” he muttered quietly. “The first time I’d actually be happy to see an ex-girlfriend in public and she pulls a no-show.”
The bitter regret in the pit of his stomach reminded him why it never would have worked out even if she had shown up. He was a 29-year-old business man with penchant for loose women and defying authority. He’d been with his company for two years, and in that time had been married and divorced, promoted twice, and hadn’t done much of anything else. He still had ten bosses and he still had to pay $1,500 in alimony every month. He was beginning to fear that he was no longer as in touch with the world as he used to be.
His fate was sealed, he thought, as he finally emptied his glass. He was going to drown in the waters of futility with all the others.
After his second drink, when he’d gotten just buzzed enough to think screwing the barmaid without protection again would be a good idea, the door swung open. The creak was audible even in the din of bad country music and drunken conversation. His eyes flicked towards it just as a tall, slender woman wearing a professional looking suit and holding a briefcase walked in. The rims of her glasses gleamed and her long brown hair was pulled back tight, revealing the worry she was trying so hard to cover with a mask of self-assurance.
The regret that had been rolling in Calvin’s stomach jumped up and knocked his heart into his throat, which he was able to adequately swallow just as she reached him.
“Hello Calvin,” she said, as she took a seat in the chair across from him. Her voice and attitude was sweet and conniving as always. “Let’s talk, shall we?”
“You know, I was starting to think you weren’t going to show,” he said sardonically, effectively hiding the eagerness that was building up in his chest.
“I received word that you are interested in work again, is that correct?” she asked, ignoring his previous comment and pulling a professional file from her briefcase. He nodded. Her eyes ran over a few of the pages in the folder as she said “I heard you got a divorce. Your change in career made you miserable enough to take it all out on the missus?”
“Still trying to invade my personal life, are you Urbana? I thought you were through doing that when I dumped you.”
Urbana lifted her head and smiled at him. “And I thought you were through with this business when you left me for little princess charming. Shows us both how much we know, huh?”
Calvin sighed impatiently. “So, do you have anything for me?”
“I might,” she said, her eyes glittering. “But I’ve been advised by the others to completely dismiss your request.”
“What?” Calvin asked. “I’ve worked with them all; they know how good I am!”
“Calvin, sweetheart, it’s been over two years since we last worked together. Do you even know the street value of a kilo nowadays?”
“What the hell does that matter?” he asked, his disposition turning both impatient and desperate. “I’ve been stuck in this corporate hellhole for two years and there hasn’t been a day that I haven’t thought about getting back into the game!” Calvin leaned in close, his whispers heated and frustrated. “I have a collection of notebooks filled with maps and techniques. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to write down dreams about robbing banks and armored cars. I have more fantasies about stealing than I do about sex!”
Urbana laughed briefly and Calvin eyed her cautiously. Her laughter could’ve meant anything at that moment.
“It seems you can take the man out of the crime, but you can’t take the crime out of the man,” she said. “If only you’d admitted this before you dumped me, things might have been different.”
He shrugged. “I was in denial. I realize now that I’m an addict and I need my fix.”
“You always know the right thing to say to a girl,” she said, slight laughter still slipping through her words. “Here,” she said, handing him the folder. Calvin opened it and flipped through it briefly while Urbana explained the situation.
“A few of the floor workers at the Bubble Pop factory have been using the weekly shipments of sugar from Colombia to import some slightly more valuable powder,” Urbana said casually, and waved to the barmaid. When she approached, Urbana ordered a dry martini and then continued. “They’re going to be selling it to the local suppliers Sunday morning in the rear parking lot of the factory. It’s very small time, maybe a kilo at most, but we have a few associates who will pay big to make sure the stuff gets to them and not the locals. We need to interrupt this little deal and make off with the stuff and the money.”
She didn’t continue and Calvin’s eyes flicked to hers with worry.
“So where do I come in?” he asked.
Urbana’s eyes glittered in the low lamp light. She opened her mouth to explain, but before she could speak, the barmaid returned with the drink and eyed the couple jealously for a moment. Calvin’s gaze apologized to her, but she snubbed it and turned swiftly back to the bar. Urbana looked after her.
“A friend of yours?” she asked, smirking.
“I told you to stay out of my personal life,” he replied coldly. “Tell me why you need me.”
“Well, you see, we’re short a man,” she began, watching him cautiously for a response. Calvin felt the rising unease of a plan that was going to give him the shaft. “We have a good technique but we need someone to, let’s say, distract them while the rest of us are setting up.”
Fuck, he thought. “You want me to be the bait?”
“I think that my offering you this job in the first place is more than generous,” she said defensively. “If you don’t want it, tell me now and I’ll find someone by the end of the night. He won’t be as good as you are, but he’ll be better prepared.”
Calvin looked at her for a moment, and for the first time in all the years he’d worked with her, he saw her usual condescension replaced with sincerity. He had the nagging suspicion that she actually wanted to work with him again. But the feeling melted quickly as she rose from her seat.
“Wait,” he said, and reached out to grab her wrist. “Where are we meeting?”
“You remember the usual place? Tomorrow, 3 a.m. We have a lot of preparing to do. And bring those notebooks of yours.”
She pulled her hand free and left the bar. Calvin watched her as she left, and felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. He felt like he was coasting, and his wave carried him up over the table and out of the bar.
At 8 a.m. on Monday morning, Calvin entered the lobby of his office building. Sunlight filtered in through the Venetian blinds and shined brilliantly against his immaculately slicked back hair. His eyes were wide and bright, and he strode through the main floor like a god among men. Except for the slight cut just above his jaw (which could always be blamed on a shaving accident), anyone could have sworn he was the perfect business man.
“Morning, sunshine,” Calvin said cheerfully to Tina, the secretary behind the main desk. She recognized him as the sleazy guy from marketing, but she noticed that there was something different about him. He grinned at her and winked, and she couldn’t help but smile back.
“How are you doing today?” he asked, resting his elbow on her desk.
“Fine, and you?” she asked, half amused and half interested.
“I’m absolutely wonderful. I made $4,000 this weekend. You want to come over and enjoy it with me?” he asked casually. Tina stared at him to see if he was joking but after a moment of his completely sober stare, she realized he wasn’t.
“I’ll have to ask my husband,” she said slyly.
“Please do!” he replied. “And let me know what he says, sweet cheeks.”
He left with her staring after him in awe. She’d never seen a man with that much confidence in her whole life.
As Calvin walked to his desk, he felt as if he wasn’t even touching the ground. His computer and his desk and all the papers seemed very far away. He truly wasn’t made for this world, but he’d live through it until he finally gained the recognition that a god deserved.
