No way, I told Raymond, and explained why.
Wait, he said. I know someone who could do it for me. A bank teller. He goes to my church.
Sometimes I envied Raymond his faith. How he could read passages from the Bible and believe without question. If you ask me what I believe, I couldn’t tell you. Surviving, I guess. Not giving a shit. I wonder when I first walked around someone passed out on the sidewalk and did not think: I just walked past a body on the sidewalk. When I first got into social services, I used to check to see if they were breathing. A few times, they weren’t. I called 911 and waited around for the police or the ambulance. And whoever showed up first would always ask at some point, Why’d you check to see if they were breathing? As if that was the strangest thing to do. And maybe I finally agreed that it was. I don’t know. I stopped doing it after a while though. I mean, they were dead. It was a little late to see if they were breathing.
After I give Big Pete my change, I keep walking to the admin building, passing the convenience store on the corner of Turk and Leavenworth where guys deal crack and stray dogs nuzzle through trash and get kicked in the ass. I push the buzzer, say who I am, and listen for the door to unlock. I jog up a flight of stairs to McGraw’s office and knock on his door. It swings open and I see him hunched in front of his computer half reading aloud from a budget spreadsheet. He has on a suit and one of those thin leather ties I see billboard models wearing. He’s going bald and shaves his head, and the ceiling light’s reflection shines his scalp. McGraw adjusts his glasses and scrolls down to a column of numbers. Then he swivels around in his chair, careful not to spill files stacked ankle high around his feet, and faces me.
What’s up?
You have a minute? I ask.
Sure, he says. I wanted to talk to you anyway.
There’s a problem with Raymond and a client.
I know. Laird told me about it. That’s why I wanted to speak to you. What’s going on?
Yeah, I saw Laird on the way over.
McGraw looks back at his computer and smiles.
We’re doing really, really well, he says pointing at the spreadsheet. Too well. We’re under budget. We have to start spending more, otherwise the mayor’s office will reduce our city contracts next year.
McGraw stretches his arms and cracks his knuckles. He takes off his glasses and rubs them against his jacket. A few months back, he had me tell the different program directors to reduce spending so we’d make it to the end of the year in the black. I guess everyone cut back too much. Now, we have the reverse problem. Not much of a problem though. I can see McGraw’s already thinking how to spend the extra cash. A new computer maybe? I clear my throat. McGraw glances at me again with this oh-damn-forgot-you-were-here expression.
About Raymond, I say.
Right. Like I said, Laird came by and said Raymond lost someone’s money?
Yeah, Raymond just told me. That’s why I came to see you. It’s serious.
McGraw spins around and faces the computer, begins scrolling columns of numbers. He really doesn’t want to deal with me.
How serious?
Well, I say, Raymond helped this client by getting him on disability. And then he got him a bank account and set him up with a guy to manage his money. And the guy screwed up somehow.
Who’s this guy?
A bank teller. I had told Raymond we can’t handle a client’s money. And I thought that was that. But without telling me, Raymond goes and asks this guy he knew, this bank teller who attends Raymond’s church, to handle the client’s money. To be the cosigner, you know, on the bank account so the client couldn’t take out all his money and blow it without the teller signing off on it.
McGraw sighs and turns back to face me again. All he wants is for me to go away so he can stare at his good numbers. I can hear him mumbling, trying to figure out how he can move money from this line item to that line item. Especially if he can slip more money into admin. Line up some salary bonuses for management maybe. Raymond’s an unwanted interruption.
And then what? McGraw says.
Well, according to Raymond, it was going good for a couple of months. But then the teller got laid off. His last week on the job, the client comes in for some money. He signs the withdrawal slip, the teller fills out the rest like he always had. But this time he put in for all the money and closed the account. He gave the client his little bit of cash and kept the rest. In other words, he basically took all the money and split. Raymond hasn’t seen or heard from him since.
McGraw rests his chin in his hands and sucks in a deep breath.
You’re saying the bank teller stole the client’s money?
Yes, except for the little bit he gave the client. The teller just lost his job. I think he saw this as a chance to have a cash cushion.
When’d you know about this?
Today, I say, looking right at McGraw and willing myself not to blink. Just now.
Laird seemed to think you knew all about it from the start.
I didn’t, I say. You know how Laird is. Always looking for somebody to point the finger at.
McGraw cleans a thumbnail with a pen cap.
Yeah, that’s Laird, he says. If it’s a cloudy day he blames us. OK, what do we do about this?
I know what I have to say but choke on it and cough. I wipe my mouth, try to get rid of the bad taste on my tongue. I can’t even swallow. Just say it, I think. It’s the only way. Sorry, Raymond.
We fire Raymond, I say, speaking a little too fast.
Of course we fire Raymond, McGraw says. But what about the money that’s missing? I don’t like it, but we’re going to have to pay it back. How much we talking about?
I hesitate again. I’m not about to say, You know, McGraw, you’re right. We got to pay Martin back. But all that extra money you think you have? You don’t because we owe Martin twenty-odd grand.
McGraw would have to tell his board of directors. The mayor’s office would demand an investigation. Our city contract renewals would be fucked. I’d be out of a job so fast the door wouldn’t have time to slam my ass on the way out.
I tell McGraw: The client’s owed like five hundred dollars or something, but we don’t pay a thing. Raymond does. We tell him to sign over his last payroll check to the client. It will cover what was lost and then some. Raymond can keep the change. As part of the deal, we’ll call his firing a layoff. Raymond can get unemployment that way. He can use us as a reference. He’ll agree. He won’t have a choice, and we’ll stay out of it.
McGraw nods, picks at his chin. I don’t move. As long as Martin gets a disability check each month, he won’t understand how much is missing.
