Chapter 32

Arnold stopped his car, confused. He reached into the breast pocket of the polo shirt he was wearing, withdrew the folded note, and read the address again. Then, he picked up his phone from the passenger seat and compared the address on the slip of paper to the one on Google Maps.

Sure enough, they were the same.

He looked around…

He was in an old industrial neighborhood on the eastern outskirts of Chula Vista, in a section populated by numerous decaying factory buildings and warehouses. As valuable as land was in California, Arnold was surprised by how many acres of prime real estate there were with what appeared to be decades-old structures which were obviously no longer being used to produce or store anything. The setting had a distinct post-apocalyptic feel to it, like something out of the old Mad Max movies he enjoyed watching.

Case in point: it was the middle of the day, yet there was no activity at all on this particular street, and all of the buildings and their parking lots were surrounded by chain link fences topped by razor wire.

He licked his lips nervously, wondering what he had gotten himself into. But it would be kind of ridiculous to turn back now. He'd had plenty of opportunity to do so during the drive all the way here from the house he and Reba rented in Point Loma Heights. Now that he had arrived, he might as well see it through, right?

Besides, he needed the money.

He had no idea how whoever had left the first note in his car knew about his debts. Or how close he, Reba, and the kids were close to being evicted from their home because of not having paid rent for three months. Or even how the 2006 Honda Civic he was driving was on its last legs, needing a new carburetor that he couldn't afford.

But whoever had left that first note knew it all. It had been plenty scary. When he had discovered the note in his car after his shift in the mailroom at Kroyn Industries two weeks ago, Arnold had felt as though he was a watched man, and he had been concerned about the safety of his family.

But the note had come with $2000 dollars, and had told him that he would have the opportunity to earn much, much more if he was interested. He had to signify his interest by wearing a green shirt to work the next day, and then be patient and await further instructions.

There was one other thing.

The note had told him not to speak to anyone about this. Not even his wife.

Scary, but…

He was deep in the hole, financially. He was the walking epitome of the old joke about being worth more dead than alive. Even Reba wasn't aware of how bad it had gotten, and so discovering $2000 in cash in his car just like that—out of the blue—had made him believe in miracles again. Additionally, the words much, much more in the note had been…seductive. To him, $2000 was already a fortune. Much, much more almost made him feel drunk when he considered how much that could be.

Certainly, he had known that whatever it was he would be asked to do would be criminal in nature. He just hoped he wouldn't be asked to hurt anyone. He wasn't that type. He'd never been in a fight in his entire life.

He had used part of the $2000 to placate his more-than-understanding landlord, in effect buying more time before she began eviction proceedings. He had then used the rest of the money to buy a secondhand carburetor for his car. This was California…a car was as essential to a working person as oxygen, and he had literally been losing sleep lately wondering what he would do when the Civic inevitably broke down.

The second note appeared a week later. It was even more frightening than the first one because it started off by congratulating him on getting his car fixed. It had also given him this address in Chula Vista, and what time to arrive.

And now here he was. He shut off the engine and got out, feeling very conspicuous because he was the only person around…at least that he could see.

He approached the chain link fence surrounding the address. The gate was secured with a thick chain secured with a heavy-duty padlock. He took another look around—again feeling conspicuous—and unlocked the padlock with the key that had come with the second note. He then opened the gate just enough to squeeze his chubby frame through.

The building beyond the fence had the look of an old factory. Barely visible faded lettering along the top of it spelled out Nereid Iron Works.

Arnold—as instructed in the note—walked around to the left side of the building. His eyes locked onto a particular battered steel door. It was one of several doors on this side of the factory, but this one had a small red X painted on it.

Standing in front of it, he swallowed and blew out a breath, wondering who he was going to find when he opened it. There had to be someone inside waiting for him. The note specifically said that once he arrived, he would be told what the job was. He figured that whoever was waiting for him had hidden their car in one of the other smaller buildings on this parcel of land, that were right next to the factory.

Grasping the handle of the door, he realized that this was his last chance to turn around and forget the whole thing. He thought that whoever had brought him here wouldn't mind him bailing if he didn't see the guy's face and wouldn't be able to describe him to the police.

But, fuck…

He had already spent that $2000, and there was no possible way he could pay it back. Not only that, but…

Well, fuck…he needed the much, much more he had been promised.

He pulled on the handle. The door was unlocked, and he quickly stepped inside.

He found himself in an office-sized room that was lit from the ceiling by a bare bulb. There was a chair and nothing else—except a lot of dust and bits of plaster on the floor from the deteriorating walls.

"Sit down," a woman's voice said, startling him.

A woman?

That was a surprise.

He took a look to his right and saw a speaker attached to a wall. Next to the speaker was a camera. He then sat down as instructed.

"Twenty-thousand dollars," the woman's voice said. "For one night's work."

Jesus Christ! Twenty grand?

Arnold was forty-three-years-old. In his entire life he had never had $20,000 all at once.

He swallowed.

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

"You drive a van," the woman said. "You make several deliveries around downtown San Diego, you leave the van in a garage, and you walk away."

"I…I can do that," he said.

"You don't look in the packages you'll be delivering," the woman went on. "We'll know if you do."

Arnold nodded.

"Yeah, no problem!" he assured her. He figured it had to be drugs. He was uneasy about getting involved with drugs but…

$20,000!

For one night!

It was worth the gamble.

"A disguise will be provided for you," the woman said. "Gloves, hat, sunglasses…even a fake mustache. Use them. Make sure you won't be recognized. You have a family, Arnold. They don't want to see you in jail. If you follow our instructions, you'll walk away from this free and clear."

Arnold nodded again.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do whatever you say," he said.

"Reach under your seat," the woman told him.

Arnold did so. He felt something taped to the underside of the chair. He ripped it away. It was a manila envelope—a generic kind, the kind he saw countless of each day in the mailroom at Kroyn Industries.

"Open it," the woman instructed.

Arnold obeyed. Inside the envelope he found another note with instructions about when and where to find the van. He also found the keys to the vehicle.

And cash. Lots of it.

"Half now, half when you finish your deliveries," the woman said.

Arnold's breath was ragged as he stared at the cash in his hand. It was the solution to all of his problems! This bundle of hundred-dollar bills alone solved his back-rent troubles and would allow him to pay off a bunch of other stuff without Reba ever needing to know how bad it had gotten.

And this was only half!

"You're free to go," the woman told him.

Arnold looked up at the camera, but then quickly averted his eyes from it, feeling afraid that he might somehow offend whoever was at the other end of it.

"Um…yeah!" he stammered, standing up. "Um…thank you!"

And with that he hurried out of the room, worried that the woman might suddenly change her mind.