Doing Laundry

I ran. Fast. The cascading darkness of the city streets blurred past as I set an unnatural pace. Only the shine of a few decrepit streetlamps, flickering intermittently, exposed my surroundings as I dodged turned over garbage cans and boxes of God knows what. I knew these streets well, as I had walked home through them a few hundred times, but this time was different, this time I was running, and this time I was being chased. My lungs worked like a bellows, moving swaths of air in and out, trying to keep up with my legs. The adrenaline coursing through my veins reigned paramount over my body keeping me moving forwards. Logic and will had abandoned me, as fear consumed my mind and the animal instincts of fight or flight ruled. And for a 24-year-old, five foot nothing, female in a, shall we say, substantially seedy part of town picked flight every time. As I approached an alley to my right, I paused a moment, partly to catch my breath, which had long ago escaped me, and partly to check if my pursuers were still hot on my tail. I looked back and saw light bouncing up and down off the walls of the building I had just passed and heard voices and the heavy breath of at least three men. I looked down at what I towed in my left arm, which was burning from the weight of a large cylindrical black duffle bag bulging on all sides from its contents. I took one last lengthy inhale and darted down the alley.

It was not the most direct route home, but I would have to lose my pursuers at some point before I reached the sanctity of my humble abode, unless you know, I wanted them to know where I live, and, you know, kill me, or whatever they wanted. That first alley intersected with two more, I took the second, and made three more turns circling back around a large warehouse next to my apartment. I went to the rear of my building, to a service entrance, which I prayed would be open, as it usually was. I ran up the short ramp and closed my eyes as my free hand clenched around the doorknob. I gave it a gentle pull and… nothing. It was locked. I let out an agitated sound, almost a laugh, before I clamped my free hand over my mouth, realizing that they could probably hear me if they were still close. I paused for a moment, knowing that I would have to go back on the main street to enter the building from the front door and winced at the risk it presented. The adrenaline waning throughout me left me exhausted, and I mustered my remaining strength and courage and made my way around the building. I peeked my head from the alley on its western end, gazing down each side of Lancaster Street. It was empty. Eerily empty. I crept through the silence, not hearing, or seeing my pursuers any longer, to the front door, entered the code to unlock the door, and quietly opened the iron-gated threshold that led to safety. When inside, I took one more cursory glance out to the street, saw nothing, and let out a massive sigh, almost a groan, and slumped against the inner wall of the lobby.

My name is Amelia Ortega, though most of you reading this probably already know that. You’ve read the papers, seen the headlines, and have already made your conclusions. Though, since you’re giving my story a read, maybe you haven’t completely made up your mind. And I appreciate that, not just going with the flow, accepting any piece of news the media throws at you. That takes integrity, so props to you. But they’re right. I’m guilty. Though, there is a reason I did what I did, and I expect many of you would do the same in my situation. So, allow me to give you all the facts, so you can form your own opinions of me. To do that, we need to go back to the beginning. Where it all started. Where I found the money.

Though I was an educated and certified accountant by training, like many young professionals in our current economy, I was a bartender by trade. I worked nights, late nights, often getting off sometime between two and three in the morning. It was that night, like any other night, that I was walking home after work exhausted, and a little buzzed due to my ritual of a shot and a beer during clean up after closing. I was no fool, I knew it was late, dark, and a dangerous area. I wasn’t listening to music or looking at my phone. I had my taser in hand and was ready to fend off some drunk or bully as was usual every night. Though that night, I didn’t run into any drunks or bullies. I didn’t see anyone during my entire walk. What I did see was a black duffle bag, maybe two feet long by eight inches around. It was stuffed, I mean to the brim, with something. Whoever filled it must have struggled to zip it up after depositing the contents. Being of a curious nature, and not seeing anyone in sight, I unzipped the bag. Nothing wrong with that, just taking a quick peak.

Not having anything particular in mind of what I might find, I discovered an inner bag, just a plastic grocery bag. But the thing is, the grocery bag was slightly transparent, and I gasped at what pressed snuggly against the interior. I gasped, squeaked, squealed, whatever. Imagine any sound of exasperation you can think of, I did them all in a span of about 10 seconds with my eyes wide as saucers and my mouth fully extended into an O nearly the size of a hockey puck. Cash, dinero, dough, greenbacks, whatever you want to call it. It was money, and a lot of it. I broke open the grocery bag like a kid on Christmas morning before I even knew what I was doing and started sifting through it. By my quick estimation, and I do pride myself on my mental math abilities, there had to be nearly $20,000 in the duffle bag. More money than I had seen in my entire life, and I’m sure more than many of you have. I noticed during my sifting that there was something else in the bag. The only thing else in the bag. It was a soft black leather notebook that contoured nicely with the weathered roughness of the money. It had a piece of grey duct tape on the cover with one word written in sharpie, Amelia, my name. If my surprise could get any more intense, it did. I must have looked ridiculous, if there had been anybody there to see me. But there wasn’t, not yet. In my surprise, I dropped both the bag and the notebook and just stood there speechless, motionless. After gathering my wits, though only slightly, I picked up the black leather-bound book and opened to the first page. Again, there was only one word written there for me to see. This time it said run! At that moment I heard them. Footsteps approaching from behind. I turned my head only to see three lights approaching. I couldn’t make out the people holding them, but I could see three large silhouettes and hear the sound of three pairs of heavy feet hit the ground in a run towards my location.

One yelled out “stop” and another “put the bag on the ground.” But none of them called out that they were the police or the FBI or any other law enforcement. A red flag. They were close, maybe fifty feet away. My panic subsided suddenly into a brief few moments of mental clarity. I looked down at the bag, and then back up at the approaching figures. Forty feet now. My name was on the notebook, there must be a reason. I need to read further, but no time, not now. Twenty-five feet away. I grabbed the duffle bag, threw the notebook inside, and zipped it up as I followed the instructions given to me by the notebook. I ran.

I unsheathed a cigarette from the pack by the window and lit it, taking a long satisfying drag. As I blew out the smoke, I glanced out of the single pane of glass for my pursuers. Seeing nothing I sighed at length and looked down at the book in my shaking hand which was steadying itself with the intake of nicotine. If I opened the notebook again and read its contents, that would be it. I would be privy to any information the writer gives me, no matter how illegal it is, and therefore culpable. The smart thing to do would be to go to the local precinct tomorrow morning and hand them the money and the notebook, unread, so as not to get into any further trouble. But you know what I did. I said screw it and opened the darned book. I hadn’t run my butt off for more than ten blocks chased by three enormous, presumably armed, men, only to not read the notebook with my name on it, and give it, and the cash, to the lousy cops. I flipped through the notebook quickly seeing pages upon pages of written script. There were lists, explanations, diagrams, and the like outlining what looked to be some type of plan or scheme. Being overwhelmed, I turned back to the front, to the page just following the one that had instructed me to run and read:

Amelia,

If you made it this far into the notebook, I will assume that you followed my previous instructions well and are now in relative safety. Well, don’t get used to it. The next few months will be hard, very hard. I know you have accrued some significant debts from university payments to medical bills and am just the sort of person I am looking for to handle some business for me. You are intelligent, but not just book smart, you are clever, and as we have seen this evening, quick on your feet. You are properly informed on the subject in which I need your assistance, with your finance degrees and certifications. You are clean and unknown within both criminal and law enforcement circles. And finally, you are desperate.

I will be frank with you Amelia; I have come across a substantial amount of money recently under not so legitimate circumstances and need a way to assimilate it into my very legitimate business. That $20,000 you hold in your possession is just the very least of it. I am in need of a launderer. That is where you come in. If you follow the meticulous steps in this book and interject a bit of your own cleverness and luck, you should have no problems laundering the money in the duffle bag. At which point, you can consider it yours, a hiring bonus if you will. If you decide that you would not like to accept my offer, you may return the money you found to the exact spot in which you found it by tomorrow evening by midnight. At which time our business will be concluded, and I wish you luck paying back your significant debts by slinging drinks over at that dive you serve at. If you do accept, and successfully launder your money, I will be in further contact. And please, Amelia, make your decision with haste and commit to which path you wish to entwine yourself in.

Regards,

Alistair

I took a good hard look down at the duffle bag in front of me. A moment passed, then two, then ten, but my mind was already made. I unzipped the bag and started counting my money.