Previously: Joey and Garrett, TNCB’s real audit managers catch wind that someone, Ryan Clements, has been conducting audits and stealing from rural branches.
Zack mopped up some gravy with his fries and glanced around the crowded Smitty’s restaurant in southeast Winnipeg. Zack had ordered a poutine and Sydney had a side of fries, the cheapest stuff on the menu. They couldn’t exactly spend the hundreds of thousands in foreign currency that sat in the car. Their Canadian money was dwindling, too.
They had been seated in a bland booth in the corner, where Zack could see the Corolla parked just outside. Tables were filled with the elderly getting their Monday coffee and a whole lot of other people that Zack thought should have been working.
Zack pointed at Sydney’s fries. “You gonna eat those?”
Sydney shook her head and pushed the plate over to him. “I’m not too hungry.”
Zack munched for a while and watched the Blue Jays play the Pirates on the big screen TV that was mounted on the wall across the crowded lounge. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it, bunched up, onto his plate. “So. Kenora.”
Sydney sighed and poked at a scratch in the tabletop with her nail. “Yeah. About that. What’s our plan, Zack? You know. When it’s all over.”
Zack leaned back and laced his fingers together behind his head. He watched the pitcher, Yesavage, strikeout the batter. All of the players jogged back to the dugout. “You know, there are still a butt-ton of small bank branches all across the maritimes. I’m sure Ryan Clements’ persona is still good in Ontario and beyond, so we could just keep on auditing.”
Sydney took in a deep breath and bit her lip. “I meant our exit plan, dumb ass. What, are we going to just keep on hitting banks, auditing our way to St. John’s? Hop on some fishing boat and make our way across the Atlantic with hundreds of thousands in foreign currency? You know how many duffel bags we’d need?”
Zack’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “Not a bad plan, actually.”
Sydney threw a fry at him. “Are you completely braindead? Stop fucking with me and come up with something realistic.”
“Me? I am the one putting my neck on the line, every time I walk into one of those branches. It’s my face on those cameras, in case you forgot. I thought you were the one planning our way out of the country. It’s the least you could do to help out. Bonnie and Clyde were a team, remember?”
Sydney stared at him, mouth agape. “Are you fucking serious? All that you do is walk in, give them your con-man grin and take the money. It’s the easiest part of the entire operation. I have to do so much work, overriding firewalls, hiding the fake audit info in the TNCB servers, and covering your sorry ass so it is as easy as trick-or-treating.”
Zack sniffed and sat, considering a plan. A Blue Jay player hit a line drive, which the Pirate shortstop picked up and threw him out on first. What was he supposed to do? He poked holes in policies and found ways to cheat. That was what he was actually good at. He wasn’t an expert on smuggling a carload of foreign money out of Canada. Every time he crossed the border into the states with his family, the American border guards were intense and hardcore. They had their entire car searched more than once.
There were a few weird towns along the border that Zack had heard about, where one street straddled the U.S. and Canada. He even remembered Cory talking about some golf course he wanted to play somewhere in the prairies that had a hole or two in the U.S.
What about his buddy, Jared? His family was from Newfoundland—the guy still said cair instead of car. He probably knew someone with some boat who would be interested in sailing them away. Right?
The next batter struck out. Zack tapped a finger on the table. They needed more time to think of a plan that would actually work well.
It was a future Zack concern.
“I say that we go to Kenora, do an audit there, and then go further into Ontario while we, and I mean both of us, come up with a good plan.”
Sydney frowned. “You’re just putting it off.” She got up out of her chair and shoved it out of the way. “Well, let’s go to Kenora, then.”
A few of the elderly people stared as Sydney stormed out of Smitty’s. Zack smiled politely, paid the bill and followed her outside.
They drove through the rest of Manitoba and into Ontario, through heavily forested areas that seemed like nothing was there except for untouched wilderness. They saw a black bear half an hour outside of Kenora, but nothing else was that exciting, except for the lakes. They were everywhere. They passed through a few small towns that boasted some sketchy looking houses and graffitied train cars before crossing a lengthy bridge into Kenora. It was a beautiful little town filled with heritage buildings that was right on the water; old deciduous trees waved in the wind and a runner jogged beside them along the shoreline.
Sydney wound through the quaint downtown and parked the car in a Boston Pizza parking lot. There was an Ontario Court of Justice a few buildings away that Zack noticed. It made him shiver. Zack wrung his hands and blew out a big breath as he touched up his hair in the sunshade mirror. “Wish me luck.”
Sydney was still pissed. “Luck.”
Zack chuckled. “Whatever. See you in a few.”
He got out of the Corolla and crossed the quiet street to the TNCB branch.
The doors slid open and Zack painted on his Ryan Clements smile as he strode up to the counter. “Good afternoon. I’m here for the scheduled foreign currency audit. My name is Ryan Clements. Is your bank manager present?”
The teller gave Zack a look that should have been the hint for him to turn around and walk out. Instead, Zack smiled more broadly. “Are you okay?”
The teller gulped and kept on glancing to his co-worker. “Yes, our manager is here. Breane. One moment!”
Zack waited as the teller hurried off. They really must have been efficient here in Ontario—that teller had almost sprinted away. He nodded to the other teller who was staring at him, and then she must have realized, because she looked away and started typing on her station.
Two burly security guards came out from a hallway that led to the area where mortgage brokers and investment specialists’ offices were usually laid out in branches like this one. Zack felt the electricity zip up his spine. The two men marched towards him.
“Hello,” Zack smiled. “I’m looking for the branch manager.”
One of the security guards, sporting a push broom moustache, glowered at him. “What did you say your name was?”
“Ryan Clements.”
Zack knew that football was a more common sport to play in Ontario, but he didn’t know that he had the ball. The other security guard ducked his head and tackled Zack, crashing awkwardly into the counter. Zack’s head smacked against the ground and he stared up at the fluorescent lights, dazed. His ears rang.
Push broom moustache called over his shoulder. “We’ve got the fraud!”
Fraud.
“Oh, shit,” Zack mumbled. The security guard who tackled him tried to grapple Zack and get his arms in a full-nelson. Zack struggled against him, but he was still reeling from the takedown.
He heard a woman’s high-heeled shoes click and clack louder as she approached. “Great work, Carl! Call the OPP! Call the RCMP! Gretchen, alert the TNCB audit compliance. Joey had messaged us that we might expect a visit from Mr. Clements.”
Zack growled and struggled. He fought his way out of the grasp of the security guard, and the moustached security guard moved in to help subdue Zack.
The doors opened and a customer entered. Zack yelled through the open doors. “Help!”
Would Sydney have heard him? As Zack’s face was getting smushed into the speckled tile floor, he spied the rear end of the Corolla across the street.
The security guards—rent-a-cops, as his friend Alex would have called them—yanked Zack to his feet and shoved him against the wall. His breath whooshed out of his mouth.
Zack felt the man’s grip lessen as he turned. “Eh! Grant! Grab the restrain—”
Zack twisted as violently as he could and he escaped the man’s grip. To the security guard’s credit, he recovered quickly and clocked Zack square in the face with a meaty fist. Zack’s arms pinwheeled and he staggered back. Grant, the moustached security guard, rushed to tackle Zack again, but Zack stepped up and kicked the man in the crotch. He made a sick choking noise and dropped to the ground.
Zack spun and found himself face to face with Carl, who put him in a headlock and fed him a few brutal fistfuls, like a hockey brawler. Zack pulled at his thick arm, trying to get out of the grip.
There was an explosive crash, and Carl’s fist stopped hammering at Zack’s face. Carl grunted and loosed his grip and Zack saw a tennis-ball-sized rock tumble along the ground.
Zack stumbled away from the security guard and looked up to see what the noise that had saved him was. Everyone froze and stared at the newcomer. Zack licked his smashed lips, wiped a bloody nose with his sleeve and blinked out of a blurry eye.
Sydney stood in the foyer of the bank, one of the automatic glass doors behind her smashed. She had wrapped one of Zack’s T-shirts around her face and tied it up into a ninja mask. She hefted another softball-sized rock, feeling its weight.
“We’ll be leaving now. If any of you fuckers want to follow, I’ll have you know that I played rep ball and my accuracy is damned good.”
Zack shuffled towards her, picking up his broken suitcase. The towing handle dangled uselessly, so Zack just broke it off.
Sirens broke the silence as they slowly backed out of the bank. There were multiple vehicles coming, Zack could tell from the different sirens mingling with each other.
“You’re dead meat, I hope you know that,” the bank manager said.