The Jobs We Do

Five minutes left.

Heart beating faster. A little too late to rationalize “why?” Too late to take the pill to calm down. Got to keep my head. I have to keep my head.

Four minutes left.

Me or them. Me or them. One bag full. This mask is pressing on. I’ll live with it. That and the regret. Two bags full.

Three minutes left.

Last gun check. Still loaded. Safety off. Hopefully I won't need it. More than likely I will. Three bags full. Look back at the bag guy. He seems loaded down. Tired. Though I can only see his eyes.

They tell me all I need to know. He probably didn’t sleep last night. Too anxious for the job. We all probably were.

Two minutes left.

I look back at the hostages. I could see the fear in their eyes. It’s probably because they can only see the madness in mine. The mask isn’t doing me any favors. They probably don’t see me as human. Then I should act like the monster they expect. Four bags full. One more left. I hope they don’t do anything stupid. The two guns by the door waved their hands to signal.

One minute left.

Blue lights hitting the wall across the street. They are almost here. I can’t be distracted. One hostage missing. Shotgun is already pumped. Last bag full. Knife still in pocket. I signal to the bag guy that one is missing. I don’t think he saw. Or if he did, he didn’t let on.

Zero minutes left.

Gunshots.

Everyone scrambled. All hostages scattered. There is no plan now. I grabbed a bag. One guy at the door is lying bleeding on the floor. No names. That would make me stop. I would hesitate. I can’t look at them as anything more than furniture. I shake the bag guy. He isn’t doing his job. “Grab the bags.” I can’t tell if I yelled it or if the mask did.

The threat of jail. The threat of my life. This is what keeps me going. Keeps my heart beating; my feet running. The bag guy is right behind me. I round the corner. The car is sitting there. Driver is playing his music a little loud. But the point was to blend in.

The driller wasn’t long behind. His mask was off. The bag guy throws the bags he has in the trunk. I throw mine in after him.

The Bag Guy, ”get in the car.” He opens the door for me. He puts his hand out to stop the driller. They seem to be talking something over. The second the driller looked over his shoulder the bag guy shot him in the head. No names. That would make me stop. I would hesitate. The Bag Guy gets in the car next to me. “The cameras saw his face,” he said in a monotone voice. In my head I knew that was a lie. He had done this before. We can’t be linked. We can’t hesitate.

We drive off with the dead behind us. If I knew them then they’d haunt me. No names. That’s the rule. We get to our drop spot. The Bag Guy pops the trunk. I can see no weight of regret on his shoulders. Throws the bags in the middle of us. “Five bags and three people?” He asked out loud. Probably doing the math in his head to see if it was worth killing another.

“I just need the one I was promised for the job,” I stated in a deeper and more serious tone than usual. The more mystery the better. I don’t want to be picked out in the real world. I pulled my bag over my shoulder. The weight nagged at me. My adrenaline is wearing off. I turned my back. I don’t want to see him shoot another person. I walked my three blocks. Didn’t look over my shoulder. But I swear I heard a gunshot. The timing was too convenient to be a car backfiring. But I can’t go back to find out.

The hardest part about running a con is lying. Lying to the ones you love. To the ones around you. Even lying to yourself. You have to lie so much that everything out of your mouth seems like the truth.

Everyone seems to buy it without question, including yourself. Your world is covered in lies. Getting home is the hardest lie I have ever told myself. You can never feel at home when you have everything packed to leave just in case something goes wrong. Anything can go wrong at any moment. And always being on edge makes now feel like a stepping stone and home even farther away than when you started. I wish I could go to a place called home.

The cacophony of the subway woke me from my trance. I was headed to see my daughter, Emma, before the disease took her away from me. But with enough money, I can hopefully keep her here. With enough money, I can keep the hope alive. I would give my entire life up just to save hers. To let her grow up and find someone to love. Someone like I once had in my life. To give her a better life. One she deserves.

Every mistake I’ve made was for her. All my life I was meant to become her parent. I became the father for her that I always needed. Or at least I tried. But now I am the parent most wouldn’t dare to be. There is always another way. There is always a safer way. Everyone tells me of all these loans and programs and therapies you can join. Nobody tells me of anything that actually helps.

Sometimes you have to find the thing that works all by yourself. And for me that is making sure I could use my skills to set my daughter up for life without parents. A life without me. I had a hard enough time being present for Emma when she was young.

Almost there. Room 316.

As my breaths grow shorter, I imagine her heart beating beside mine, though weaker from fighting more battles than I have. Every day is a struggle for her. Her pain torments me endlessly. I will never know if it’s what she feels or what I feel for her, but everyday is defined by pain.

Almost there. Room 320.

The lever to the door in my hand turns roughly, exposing the cheapness of the hospital despite its cleanliness. If anything, it was reassuring to note the diligence of most of the staff.

It started out as a very good hospital. There were newer more state-of-the-art hospitals in the city now, but this is the one that my finances could afford. One that I could pass off without suspicion. Because of the one I love most in this world, I couldn’t risk getting caught. I knew nothing about cooking books. Nobody can match the calmness I have with a gun, but numbers lie in ways I cannot fix.

Sitting down in the chair, holding Emma’s hand, I felt her weak grip in return. To feel her fatigue brought a renewed wave of fear. Her skin was warm and almost burning to the touch. A tear rolled down my face like a brisk trip down a ski slope. This is why I do what I do. I glance over and see a small smile take over her face. This is why I do what I do.

“Hey, Dad.” Her meek voice is so tired from fighting. I try to strengthen my grip without hurting her but to let her know that I know her fight is one of the hardest. Even if it tears me up inside. Her pain cuts me deeper than anything anyone has ever tried to hurt me with. But her smiles complete me.

“Em, you don’t need to speak if you’re too tired.” I spoke to her in my most calming voice. It wasn’t for her. The voice was for me to help keep the sadness back while I was in her presence. I knew she had just finished her treatment, but it’s the one time a week that I can take the time to read to her. I can put aside the reality of her mortality temporarily when I can help my little girl get to sleep like I did before she became sick. Like I did before her mom left because she couldn’t handle our daughter’s sickness like I could.

I read aloud from her favorite book; Alice in Wonderland, the one she loved as a kid. I could tell that Emma listened mostly because she knew it helped me cope with what she was going through. But part of me felt like I was keeping her a prisoner in her childhood. I just hoped it helped her as much as it helped me, but I didn’t have the courage to ask. Another smile tells me that she too wants to escape reality. Reality has not been kind to us.

As I finished her favorite story, she gathered enough strength to talk to me. “Dad, I’m too old for that now. I’m not three anymore.” She still had that childish smile on her face. To me, she never seemed to age beyond the day I left for the service. But I would be a fool to not see her for the adult that she has recently become.

“I know, my little ember.” She smiled at one of my little pet names for her as I brushed her cheek with my hand. “Sometimes it's hard for me to tell. I have to go and talk to the doctor now. Hope the story didn’t bore you.”

“It's fine, Dad.” She put on the puppy dog eyes to guilt me into staying longer. It almost always worked on me. Ever since she was a baby, those hazel eyes fascinated me. It made her so special as they appeared to shift in color from a golden brown to a green and back again, seemingly to reflect her changing moods. At that moment, with the light shining on her from the window, I felt that I could spend an eternity looking into her iris, the color of a hazelnut shell near the pupil and dark green on the outer part. It was one of the good things she got from her mom’s side of the family, one of the things I didn’t resent.

But these days are the ones that I come to see the doctor and settle the debt. I gave her a kiss on the forehead and a long hug before I picked up my duffle bag and headed to the door. I turned and blew her a kiss on the way out. She pretended to catch it in her little hand as she settled into her pillows and closed her eyes. As I walked away I could still feel her fevered heat through my shirt.

Shuffling through the halls that were oddly empty for a hospital, I made my way to her personal doctor’s office, an eerie door at the end of the hall. He wasn’t the one that frightened me. Just all the paperwork that I had to fake. All the lies I had to keep straight just for her. Nobody would wish they were in the situation I’m in. But some people are built to make the best of it.

Door handle in hand. Twisting.

Papers stacked all over the floor. Chairs used as tables. A dull glow from two monitors lit the room. The doctor was sitting on what would be the only unoccupied chair. He seemed to not notice me when I opened the door. The light from the hall didn’t fill the room as deeply as I expected.

He looks up from his computer rubbing his neck. His face seems to light up slightly with the dull glow of the monitors. A semblance of a smile cracked its way onto his worn face. “How are you doing?” he started. “All things considered.” His tone and face sombered after his second phrase.

“Making the hard choices.” I put a couple of stacks out of my duffle bag onto his desk.

“You know, the more you pay in cash the less likely insurance will be willing to actually step in and pay for Emma’s treatments.” He didn’t even look at the stacks on the table. He probably just assumed they were set up as the usual price. Or he read the bands and considered it well enough. Banks tend to keep their accounts organized.

“I know, doctor. I just can’t wait for the weeks or months that it would take for them to actually get around to helping anyone, let alone my daughter.” My voice cracking reveals some of my emotions about how the insurance companies treat the people that line their pockets. This is why I chose this doctor. Discreet and can take cash for under the table jobs. Something that I had to use before when I did jobs in the city. “I just feel like I don’t have a choice given the situation.”

The doctor grabbed the money and placed the stacks in a slide drawer in a safe so it can be withdrawn later. He turned and looked me straight in the eye. Something he hasn’t done since we got comfortable with each other.

“You do more for your family than most people. I have no idea how you get the money but I know that vets like you aren’t compensated that well. How do you do it?” You could see the curiosity in his face.

“I don’t want to make you an accomplice.”

“That tells me more than I wanted to know. Look, I feel bad that you have to go through so much. I feel worse about having to take your money, but the board won’t budge. To be honest this hospital has fallen on hard times.” He moved some papers across his desk. “Personally, I’ve been tempted to move to Canada so I wouldn’t have to deal with this, but I joined this profession to help people. People like your daughter.”

“I know I appreciate you doctor. Not everyone would have turned the blind eye that you do.” I started to walk out of the room.

“Before you go… be careful. As you well know, you’re all Emma has. She needs you to keep coming back.” His words left a somber gloom between us. He wasn’t wrong. It was something that I wish I could have had a better plan for.

“Good bye, doctor. This won’t be the last time.” I said reassuringly as I exited and closed the door behind me. I feel like he could smell the paranoia on me. Perhaps that was the paranoia talking.

I had to drop off the rest of the duffle bag of dirty money in my usual storage unit for when my daughter gets better. I always slipped myself a few stacks to survive on and kept another safely in my apartment that I hope she could find just in case something happened to this stash. That way she has something to live on in case something happened to me. I always over planned. It was something I picked up in the service. I lost a lot of men when I didn’t plan enough. And this is how I got out of all the bad places I’ve been put in. That is why I am still here. I prepared for things that nobody would expect to happen.