Promises Kept

Joe manically fans through the pages of the small black notebook, moving so quickly that the air stirs around him. Steadying his shaking hands, he flips to the first page and blinks twice, hoping that clearing his eyes will somehow change the writing on the page.

But no, it’s all there. Every one of his financial misdeeds from the last five years at Madison and Hayes stares back at him from the creamy white pages. Someone (who?) has turned this little black notebook into a ledger of sorts, but instead of just containing dollar amounts and dates, it includes other details, like what he was wearing during each transaction and how he funneled the money from the corporate account into his own. It’s all right there, in black ink as dark and accusatory as the cover of the notebook itself. A personal journal would not be as intimate or damning as those numbers and details, screaming, “I know what you did!”

Joe absently wipes a crumb from the smooth wooden dining room table with his left hand, not paying attention as it floats to the floor. Even on his best day, that detail would be lost on him, but today, no one would blame him for being so inconsiderate. His life is going to pieces, so forgive him if he isn’t concerned about his wife having to sweep and mop when she comes home.

A pragmatist in so many ways – minus the part where he stole approximately $20,000 from work – his brain spins, attempting to find a solution to what appears to be unsolvable.

Okay, he thinks, drumming his long fingers on the table. It has to be someone from work, but who?

Joe glances at his iPhone next to the small black notebook. He was talking on that very phone when he found the package at the door. Thinking little of it, he brought it inside the house and placed it on the dining room table, waiting to finish his call before opening it. He’d put his phone on the table, and there it remains, possibly containing the clue he needs to solve this mess.

Grabbing the phone, he quickly scrolls through it, looking at all the names on his contact list, eliminating suspects one by one.

Dan is too oblivious, Joe decides, Bill is too nice. He’d never do this to me. And Jim? If he knew, he would have turned me in as soon as he found out. He’s been wanting my job.

With each elimination, the acidic feeling in his stomach grows, gnawing at his insides. Sighing, he loosens his tie but doesn’t take it off, too defeated to expend the energy on something so mundane.

Ring!

“Shit” Joe jumps up and falls back, his long legs tangled in the chair. “Damnit!” he yells, clearly shaken. Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, he looks down at the number, only to see “Restricted” on the screen.

That one word tells Joe everything he needs to know. The person who left the notebook on his front porch hours earlier is calling him now.

Joe glances at the clock, knowing his wife will be home any minute. Wendy can’t find out about this. The very thought brings that acidic feeling back to his stomach, stronger this time and paired with an aluminum taste in his mouth.

He has to fix this before she finds out. Losing her is not an option.

Grabbing his keys and walking out the kitchen door to the garage, he swipes up to accept the call, but his phone doesn’t register the gesture from his sweaty and shaky hands. By the third try, he finally manages to accept the call and croak out a “Hello” that sounds high-pitched and childlike, conveying his fear.

“I take it you received my little package,” the voice on the other end says. After the first two words, Joe gives up trying to figure out who it is. The caller is obviously using an application to distort his voice, so he doesn’t even know if he is talking to a man or a woman.

With a wince, Joe gets into his SUV and closes the door before speaking. Once he’s tucked in and hidden away behind tinted windows, he finally responds. “I-I did,” Joe answers, silently berating himself for showing his fear.

“You’ve been a very busy man, Joe,” the voice says. “What have you done with all that money?”

Joe closes his eyes and leans his head on the headrest. He isn’t sure how honest to be here. Should he tell the entire truth and put himself at the mercy of the person on the other line, or try to keep the lie going as long as he can?

“Joe, I’m waiting,” the voice interrupts his thoughts. Even with the distortion application, Joe can practically detect a sing-song voice.

“I made a huge mistake,” Joe confesses, realizing that the only way out of this is through it. This person already knows intimate details about his life. He probably already knows the answer to the question, and lying might make the situation worse.

Joe rubs his fingers on the gear stick, finding the cool metal soothing. “I had an affair,” he almost whispers. “She threatened me, said if I don’t send her $4,000 a month, she’ll tell my wife. I don’t have that kind of money, so I had to take it from work.”

A weight slides off his shoulders and down his body, and he feels a strange sense of relief. This must be what Catholics feel like after confession.

A loud rasping sound brings him back to the present. He jerks back to attention, suddenly remembering that this isn’t about unburdening himself. It is about keeping the secret about the money. He was just exchanging one secret for another.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do for you, Joe,” the voice says. “I’m going to give you $20,000 to pay back the debt. And then you’re going to do something for me, understood?”

Joe crinkles his brow, not wholly believing it. “You’re just going to give me the money, like that? What do I have to do?”

“Joe,” the voice booms into his ear, “Considering your predicament, I’d say thank you and ask how to get the money.”

His gut, the same one that felt like it was being dissolved in acid only minutes before, is now telling him something isn’t right. No one would just offer him money like that. But desperation is a funny thing, and it is urging him to take the money now and ask questions later.

“Okay, how do I get the money?” He asks, his confidence already increasing. He is going to get out of this after all.

Before he even has time to exhale, the line goes dead, and his blood runs cold.

The unfairness of it all overcomes him. He was so close to getting out of this, only to be jerked around by some guy who is too scared to even use his real voice.

Angry enough to scream, Joe slams both hands down on the steering wheel as hard as he can, the sound of the impact echoing throughout the spacious SUV. It feels so good that he does it again and again and doesn’t stop until he hears the groaning sound of the garage door opening.

Oh, no! Wendy!

Taking a deep breath and affixing a smile to his face, Joe opens the SUV’s door and eases himself out just as Wendy pulls up next to him. She flashes a smile of her own and silently waves with her free hand before opening her car door and getting out. Noticing she’s on her phone, Joe waves and turns around to walk back inside the house.

“You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging without the money, did you?” That same distorted voice from the phone call erupts behind him. His entire body tenses up, figuring it out before his brain has time to catch up.

Spinning around, he faces Wendy, expecting to see her crying or in a rage. But no, she’s just standing there calmly, cell phone in one hand and a large duffel back in the other. She’s not angry, but he can’t quite place her expression. Vindication, maybe, like someone who managed to figure out a mystery that no one else could solve.

“Here,” she says into the phone, still using the distortion app. “I think you’ve been waiting for this.” She casually tosses the duffle bag, and it lands right at his feet with a thud.

As much as he hates himself for it, he picks it up and looks inside. Bundles of bills fill the bag, more money than Joe had ever seen at once.

“Wendy,” Joe starts.

“No,” she responds, holding up a hand before he can explain the stealing, the affair, all of it. “Now it’s my turn,” she says, her voice an octave lower than normal and powerful enough to suck the air out of the confined space. “I said I’d give you the money, but you had to do something for me.”

And that’s when he sees the black metal under the bills—a handle, and then a trigger.

“You have your $20,000. Now I want that girlfriend of yours dead by the end of the night.”

And with that, Wendy spins on her heels and walks out of the garage, and he spins on his and gets back inside the SUV. A promise is a promise, after all.