Identity Theft

Gordon Wright spent his childhood with a single mom who insisted if he worked hard enough, he could be anyone he wanted. Unfortunately for Gordon, identity theft was a crime, and he had the rap sheet to prove it. His mom failed to make her point obvious, but since she passed when Gordon was a teenager, he was unable to seek further clarification.

Finding well-paying work when you’ve got a criminal record was hard. Beyond that, Gord wasn’t cut out for life as a line cook or pre-school teacher. He stood over seven feet tall, 260lbs, and if he stripped down, he could blend in a snowbank. Outdoor work wasn’t ideal because he hadn’t inherited enough melanin to handle it, and he never worked well with others. The copper-coloured hair of his childhood would tell you he had a fiery temper, and the two other men on his heist crew would agree. Gord’s hair may have faded thanks to the overwhelming grey, but his temper had not.

“We’re almost done offloading the electronics, then we’ll have enough petty cash to buy a new van. I’ll go back to Rodney and get one with a stripped VIN.” Nelson Dunne, Gordon’s third crew member, was the fence who sold all of their stolen goods. Gordon paid him well for his trouble, and even though he was irritating when he gave attitude, he was excellent at his job.

“Dunne, make sure you get one with three seats this time. I’m tired of bouncing around in the back.” Earle Cady was a different story. He and Gord had been friends since they were kids and after they got into some trouble a while back that landed Earle with a criminal record longer than Gord’s, work wasn’t easy for him to find either. Not once did he rat on Gord, though, so for that, the big man was grateful. That’s criminal conduct 101. Earle’s loyalty earned him a permanent spot alongside Gord.

“Yeah, yeah. Quit your whining. It’s not easy finding vehicles this behemoth can fit in, so we take what we can get.”

Earle sniggered, looking at his giant friend.

“Ha, ha. More jokes about the big guy.” Gord folded up the newspaper he had been browsing and tossed it into the nearby trash can. Refusing to recycle was just one more act of rebellion on his part. “Do you think—”

“Yeah, all the time.” Earle stared back at him with a stupid grin on his face.

“That’s not what I was asking. Do you think—”

“Yep.” Earle’s face made it obvious he loved the reaction he got from irritating the big man. His temper was unpredictable, but Earle measured more than eighteen inches shorter and although they weighed the same, he was a lot more agile.

“Stop that. I’m trying to ask something.” Gord levelled Earle with a scowl, but it was not as effective as it was on others. He and Earle had been friends for too long. Earle knew every weakness.

“Ask away.”

“Thank you.” Gord sucked in a deep breath to compose himself, but there was practically steam coming from his ears.

“You’re welcome.”

“Do you think… ugh, now I forgot what I was going to ask.” Each year older Gord got, he noticed his memory faltering more and more, but no one could frazzle him as effectively as Earle.

“Do you think?” Earle smirked and raised his eyebrows, waiting for a reaction.

Gord growled, swiping his big arm out to connect with Earle’s chin, but missed. Earle was too quick, and after decades as friends, he knew how to predict Gord’s boiling point.

Earle scampered off, laughing, which only irritated Gord more. If they weren’t so good at what they did as a team, he’d pound that little man into the ground. No one else got away with making a fool of him.

“I remember now,” Gord told Nelson. “Do you think we can get a van with no logos or anything on the side? It’s easy enough to cover the plates, but this one”—he hooked a thumb, gesturing toward the driveway—“has that stupid beaver on the side. If we’re caught on camera in something obvious, that makes it harder to hide in plain sight.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Nelson dutifully replied.

Their business model was simple. Keep ’em guessing. The crew moved from one town to another, working in a new location for a few months before relocating. They never kept a vehicle for more than a month. They wouldn’t hit the same type of mark twice in a row. Their customer base was varied and expendable, so they could move from one place to another without missing anyone. There were always people willing to buy illicit goods, no matter where you went; you just needed to know where to look. Crime was the one industry you could find anywhere in the world.

Their most recent place was, by far, the smallest town they’d ever hit. They found a house to rent in the middle of farm country, which allowed them privacy when they came and went at unusual hours. The property owners only cared if the rent was paid on time, and otherwise didn’t bother them. It was a perfect location to set up their criminal enterprise for a few months. Especially because it was only an hour from the city, and small-town businesses had less security. They were sorely mistaken, thinking they were impervious to criminal activity.

Gord and his crew were planning to dish out some hard lessons.

From his spot at the kitchen table, Gord counted their latest bounty from the electronics store robbery, comparing it to the spreadsheet on his laptop. He may be a criminal, but he was an organized one. Keeping a tally of expenses leading up to the job, what was taken, and the profit turned on each item allowed him to tune their enterprise as they went, so they no longer wasted time on jobs that didn’t pay. Wasting time and money was one of Gord’s biggest pet peeves.

If everything went to plan, they’d make enough from their next five jobs to cover all expenses for the duration of their stay in the paltry little farming town and top up their retirement fund with a good chunk of cash.

The plans laid out in front of them detailed the targets they intended to hit between February and June before they’d sail off into the sunset. Literally.

Over the past six years, the three men worked together without being caught—without even the slightest interference. They stored up a decent nest egg of over six million dollars between them, and once they were done with the last of their planned jobs, it would be time to retire. Gord and Earle were both nearing fifty and not as spry as they once were. Nelson was the young cat, only forty-one, but he was more than ready to call it quits and move to a tropical island somewhere.

Everything was going perfectly to plan.

This place was an easy mark. Basic alarm system, security cameras run on Wi-Fi—a rookie mistake as far as legitimate security goes, but a popular option—and plenty of petty cash on hand.

Beyond planning heists, Gord was an expert in cracking safes. He was an apprentice of sorts, working with a gentleman who knew all the old-school methods to get into analog safes with dials or keys, but being a student of criminal life, Gord expanded his skill set significantly, learning to crack digital safes as well. There had never been one that he couldn’t beat—a point of pride for the big man.

Nelson and Earle were raiding the secondary offices of the small-town furniture store, looking for anything of value. They couldn’t exactly haul out dishwashers and microwaves, and black-market profit on those was small-time stuff they were not interested in. The hassle far outweighed the payoff. No, they were there for whatever could fit in their bags that they could make off with in a hurry—cash, electronics, credit card numbers and customer information.

When the safe finally made that sweet, welcome sound, beeping to show it had unlocked, Gord swung open the door, and his jaw dropped, spotting the contents. There, inside, was a lonely envelope of cash. He pulled it open, hoping it was a one-inch stack of hundreds at least, but he was disappointed to discover about $1000 in twenties. His temper flared as fast as his nostrils because that was not what all of their recon had told them to expect. Their weeks of surveillance indicated that the manager only did cash deposits at the bank once weekly. That day was supposed to be Friday. They planned their heist for Thursday for that reason alone. There was no way a furniture store only made $1000 cash in a week. They’d been duped.

Grabbing the door of the safe, Gord yanked on it, throwing it to the ground. He upturned the desk in the office, ransacking every now-sideways drawer. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The whole job had been a massive waste of time, which was unacceptable. They would have turned a better profit by panhandling at the intersection nearest the Chernobyl Nuclear Plant.

“Argh,” Gord screamed from the showroom, where he had moved on to ripping art off the walls and destroying each one by slamming it over his knee. “This was a total”—slam—“waste”—slam—“of time.”

He hooked his massive hands under the side of a cream-coloured leather sofa and upturned that next as his partners watched the show unfold. They were smart enough not to intervene in the man’s rampage. Gord continued destroying lamps, glass tables, vases, and anything else he could get his hands on. He flicked open his pocketknife and got to work on the upholstery of every item in the showroom. His anger knew no bounds, and he was determined to make the business owners suffer for not making his life as a criminal easier. This job had now cost them money, and that was unacceptable.

“Gordon. We gotta go. Someone must have heard something by now.” Earle stood behind an upright refrigerator, using it as a shield. “Let’s cut our losses and get out.”

Gord came stomping across the destroyed showroom in his size fifteen boots. “Cut our losses? Do you know how much we’re in for on this job? The time? The equipment? Thousands, Earle!” A detail Gord is well aware of thanks to his elaborate spreadsheets. “This was supposed to be an easy cash score.”

“I know, but we were wrong. We need to get out of here while we still can.”

The outrage Gord felt didn’t diminish at all, but he listened to his friend, knowing he was right. “Fine. You drive.” He tossed the keys at Nelson and stalked toward the back door.

The ride back to their secluded rental was silent. One measly envelope with some cash that would barely cover their gas and food for the next week had Gord fuming. He couldn’t stop himself from slamming a fist into the dashboard. That only made his hand hurt, which made him angrier.

This town is going to face the full wrath of Gordon Wright.