The Commute
On
a normal day the commuter train ride from his home to the office seemed to last
forever. His office job was an hour’s ride from his home and was excruciatingly
dull. He always tried reading a book or the newspaper but found it difficult to
keep his mind off the drudgery of the commute. He was a victim of routine. In
the morning his wife would drop him off at the station. With a kiss goodbye and
his lunch in hand he would wait for the train that would take him to his
office.
Day
after day he crunched numbers, entering data that meant nothing to him; just
names and numbers. At the end of the day he would make his way to the station
as always. He always caught the same commuter train at the same time. He saw
the same commuter’s every day. He knew their faces and even smiled at one or
two on occasion but, for the most part, they were strangers. On most days he
would stare out the window at the same old scene rushing by or try to nap to
help relieve the stress of his workday.
But,
on Thursdays everything changed. Thursdays were always different. Thursdays
were the day when he left his regular job early and went to work at the job he
loved most. His skills as a CPA allowed him to do free lance work and make a
lot of money outside of his regular job. The side work wasn’t stable enough to
do it full time and offered none of the benefits that his corporate position
did. He’d arranged to be able to leave his office early on Thursdays a long
time ago. He explained to his employers that he needed the time to be able to pursue
work outside of his office. He was a valuable employee and they quickly agreed.
The
work he did at his office was his vocation; what most people would have considered
his career. However, on Thursdays, he pursued an interest that was his true
avocation.
He
could make as much money in a day as he made in a week at his regular job. He
got paid on Friday’s just like every other employee in his office. That was the
paycheck he brought home to his wife. It paid the bills and allowed for extravagances
like the new pool they put in last summer.
But
the money he made on Thursdays. That was his money. Money he made meeting new
clients for discrete, anonymous business encounters. From his office in the
middle of the city he could travel a hundred miles or more by commuter train
and meet clients close to where they lived.
The
text message he received in response to the ad he posted in the business
services section in the local paper caught his attention. The man that
responded seemed eager to meet and was close. An hour’s ride on the commuter
line north. It was important that he be able to meet, conduct his business and
make it back to his home where his wife would pick him up on time. He was never
late.
As
usual, the client he was to meet was someone who wanted everything about his
services to remain confidential. Hiding assets, dodging taxes, finding
loopholes, using his talents to open offshore bank accounts, these were all the
sort of things he excelled at. Helping to hide his client’s money was one way
he made money for himself; money that was always paid in cash.
His
client was a very wealthy man. He needed to setup some offshore accounts that
couldn’t be traced back to him. Even more important, his wife and family must
never know or be able to track his funds. Discretion was of the utmost
importance. Once he met the client in the restaurant or lounge they would
discuss the work and the details were agreed to. Then they would move to a
local hotel where he could access the internet over their connection
anonymously. The room would already be rented by the client under a false name.
When
they got to the room he would setup his laptop and start the process of moving
the funds to the numbered accounts that his client had secured while the client
relaxed with a few drinks. He was always amazed at how easily the clients
trusted him. He was a stranger but they gave him the sort of information that
they would never share with their wives or children or business partners. They
gave him the keys that allowed him to open doors into their lives that they
ordinarily kept locked.
He
always assured them that once he was done and the security was set they would
be the only one who could access the accounts. The pass code they created would
be the only way anyone could gain entry. Once he was done no one on earth would
be able to find the treasure he had buried.
As
he worked at his computer and his client relaxed thinking about how clever they
were by hiring a practiced and discrete specialist, he would do more than just
move their money, he would take possession under their very noses. But the best
part of his work would come after the business was finished.
Over
all the years of working as an accountant one thing had become crystal clear.
He hated numbers. He hated figures, and totals. If it wasn’t for the money he
would have taken up his Thursday practice full time. Sadly, dealing with all
the illegal circumstances made doing it too often too risky. He loved his wife
and family. So he kept regular job and kept his family happy and removed from
his side job.
On
Thursdays he became the businessman he always wanted to be. He was the boss. He
controlled the hours, the time and place where he would work. He picked his
clients. The very thought of having to deal with the same things he had to deal
with in his office when he met his “private” customers enraged him. He hated
the way his clients gloated and looked at their greed as something they were
proud of. They thought they were deceiving the government and the IRS. To him
there was more to it than that. They were robbing their own families and
friends of their share of the inheritance that should be theirs.
They
were stealing from the wives that loved and supported them. They were depriving
the children that depended on them for support and the means to build a future.
Most of his clients were ugly, narcissists, men whose entire lives were built
on lies. His hate for working for them, his hate for numbers, and his disgust
all that was involved became an incalculable total; one that always resulted in
a sum of anger that overtook him and resulted in a rage that possessed him.
Once
his work was done, then the fun would begin. He would have them sit at the
computer to look at the accounts and verify everything was as they wanted. He
would show them where and how to enter their secret code that would transfer
the money. They never knew that when they entered their “secret” pass code all
the money would go to accounts that he controlled. They would never know what
happened. They would never know who stole the money since the fact that they
kept everything anonymous meant he was anonymous as well.
He
would excuse himself and go to the other side of the room to give them the
privacy they both needed. He would open his briefcase and reach for the most
important business tool he carried. Even as his rage came to a boil all he did
was smile as the client finished their part of the job. He was good at
suppressing his anger. His customers never saw him coming.
He
would push the ice pick deep into the back of their neck just at the brain stem.
Usually that was all it took to kill them. If he had the time he enjoyed
dismembering them in the tub as well. If he didn’t have much time he would just
pace the room with a drink in hand randomly stabbing the corpse as creatively
as possible. He always liked to give the police and coroner something to puzzle
over.
Once
the rage subsided it was time for him to relax with a drink as he waited until
it was time to leave and catch the train for the commute back home.
He
didn’t want to be late and keep his wife and kids waiting, Tonight was movie
night.