Chapter 6

In which Zack digs the hole deeper.

Previously: Things began to spiral as Zack crashes his car and walks home to learn that his rent is going up.

Zack’s leg bounced as he waited for the debit machine, the way his uncle Al’s used to when he was jonesing for a cigarette. The small screen just featured the spinning wheel of death and the word ‘Processing.’

The barista filled up Zack’s paper cup of coffee. She slowly made her way back to the counter.

“Everything good?”

Transaction denied. Insufficient funds. Zack had already tried another card. He let out a breath that he hadn’t realized that he held.

“Uh. Let’s see if I have a couple bucks,” Zack responded, digging in his pockets. He could feel his face begin to flush.

A smartly dressed thin man stepped out of the line. He pushed up circular glasses. “What’s the hold up?”

Zack sighed, finding nothing but lint in his pockets. “Sorry, I guess I’ll have to cancel my order.”

Circular glasses smiled. “Just put it on my bill. It’s like two bucks.”

Zack stared at the floor and took his coffee. “Thanks,” he murmured.

The man clapped him on the back. “Of course!”

As he turned back to the barista to spout off his extra hot, no whip, non-dairy order, Zack took his black coffee and slunk out of the Starbucks.

Zack squinted as he crossed the parking lot to the True North Canadian branch, as the early morning sun shone directly into his eyes. He slurped at the coffee, grateful to the man who’d paid for it and glad to have something warm in his hands after a chilly walk.

His feet were already tired and he still had another eight hours of standing. It wasn’t a long walk to the branch, but after his car had met its untimely end, Zack had to make some sacrifices. There were four more days until payday, and as long as nothing else happened, Zack should be able to make it.

He stepped up to the back door of the branch, and blew into his hand before trying the handle. He got inside and took off his backpack and jacket and hung it up outside of the small break room. His phone buzzed, and he checked it - an email notification that Drake was playing at the Saddledome in Calgary, the closest city to Zack’s mountain town. Zack sighed. It would be a while until he could afford to see another concert.

The beige door to the rare foreign currency room stared at him, enticing him like a siren’s song. Since things had become more financially challenging for Zack, he had passed by the rare foreign currency room like a recovering gambling addict strolling through the tables at the local casino, or an alcoholic wandering the aisles of liquor store, looking longingly at the bottles stacked on the shelves.

Zack pinned his name tag on and walked down the hall and set up at his station. The thousands of foreign cash that he knew were stored in the SecurBag inside of the rare foreign currency room tumbled through Zack’s mind as he finished his coffee. There had to be close to eight thousand in there. Nobody had been back into the room since Shawna had come for that Surinamese money - Zack had checked one slow afternoon.

And there were almost eleven hundred branches across Canada. If each branch had around that same amount, there would be about eight million. It wasn’t an outlandish estimate.

One problem that Zack had yet to consider would be how to exchange that money into local currency. Maybe the airport would be a feasible option. Or crossing the border, or—

“Zack?”

Zack jolted out of his daydream, like a kid caught sleeping in class. “Yeah?”

Jamie obnoxiously chewed a wad of gum. “There’s a customer asking about Romanian money. Lei or something?”

Zack’s knee smacked into one of the many drawers located below his station, he jerked so fast. “Yeah! I can take a look. Who is the client?”

Jamie chewed her cud and looked back at her computer. “Mr. Schikursky? I don’t know how to pronounce it.”

Zack rubbed at his knee. “For sure. Hey, would you mind spitting out your gum, please? I know you enjoy it, but it’s a bank policy. I’ll talk to Mr. Schikursky.”

Jamie shrugged and spat her gum into the trash bin. Zack bounded over to her station, his supervisor override keycard already prepared.

“Mr. Schikurksy, you are looking for Romanian currency?”

The man, sporting a comically large moustache, only nodded. Zack didn’t need any further prodding. He grinned at the man. “Not a problem. I’ll take a look and see if we have any. Hold tight.”

In a flash, Zack was inside the rare foreign currency room. Maybe if he worked quickly he could take a photo of the ledger to get a better idea of how much they had. Or, he could take a photo of the SecurBag.

Zack quickly pulled the SecurBag out from the locker and opened it. The clear bags of bundled cash tumbled out onto the counter, like an abundant harvest from the horn of plenty.

Zack felt a chill ripple up his spine. He scanned the ledger for anything about Romanian Lei, but there wasn’t any record. Rather than open each bag, he pushed the bundled currency to the front of the clear bag so he could read it. Nigerian Naira, Polish Zloty, Bolivian Bolivianos, Hong Kong Dollars, but no Romanian Lei.

Zack pulled out his phone and opened the camera app. He hesitated for a minute, his hand trembling as his phone focused on the bag.

It wasn’t against the law to have a photo, right? He wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was harmless.

Right?

Zack had vowed to himself that he had learned his lesson from College. He lowered the phone.

Then he thought about the rent increase, the car repair, and the fact that he couldn’t even afford his own coffee. Cheeks flushing red, he pulled the phone back up and snapped a photo.

Zack reached over and touched the strap of the bag. It was fraying in one spot and would soon fail. He was just grabbing a photo so that he could order the same bag later. He was actually just doing his job, and a fine one at that. Cory would thank him and this whole probation would be over.

He was just jamming his phone back into his pocket when the fluorescent light from the hallway spilled into the room. He mustn’t have closed the door.

“What’re you doing?”

Zack spun, a dieter caught with a midnight fork in the leftover cake. “Hey! Sydney. Mr. Schikursky was looking for some—”

“Were you just taking a photo?”

Zack suddenly felt physically ill, like he had swallowed a frog that was made out of antifreeze. His mouth felt dry and his ears felt hot. “Uhhhh.”

He shouldn’t have hesitated.

“What the hell, Zack? What are you doing? You know we aren’t supposed to have our devices on us while we are on the clock.”

Sheepishly, Zack tugged the phone out of his pocket. “I… I…”

Sydney held out her hand. “Do you need to turn it in? At least show me what you’re up to.”

Zack unlocked his phone and quickly deleted the photo. Maybe Sydney wouldn’t check the archived photos spot. Zack knew that he could recover the photo later, when he was alone. The email notification for Drake’s concert was still up and blared back at him. A rush of relief like cold water on a burn thundered through his body.

He held out the phone for Sydney to see. “I just got this notification - Drake is going to be playing at the Saddledome in a couple weeks.”

Sydney’s hands went to her cheeks, “Holy crap, Zack! I love Drake!” She took the phone to look closer at the email. “Wait…are you asking me to go?”