Hollow Man by Mark Pryor

“burner.” Gus didn't answer when I called, perhaps he didn't recognize the number, so I left a message for him. Deciding which number to leave gave me pause, because my regular cell phone was issued by the county. We were allowed to make personal calls—they didn't expect us to lug two phones everywhere—but using them to foment criminal conspiracies would no doubt be frowned upon.
    He called my burner two hours later. “Get a new phone?”
    â€œBorrowed one. You have plans tonight?”
    â€œI'm guessing I do now.”

    I looked at him over my grapefruit and tonic. We'd not talked about the van in the field, other than that night when we'd watched our co-conspirators drive away. Gus had said, “What the fuck are we doing?”
    I'd just patted him on the back, and said, “Nothing. Yet.”
    I took a sip and asked him the same question, kind of. “Why did you go out there that night?”
    He shrugged. “I don't know. It seems so stupid now.”
    â€œDaylight can do that,” I said. “I'm wondering if you really think stealing your client's car is a good idea.”
    â€œThis might surprise you, Dom, but I do. I mean, look how easy it was, a frigging twelve-year-old managed it.”
    â€œA twelve-year-old with plenty of practice.”
    â€œThat's what the Internet is for,” he said. “You can figure out anything nowadays.”
    â€œTrue. You need the money that badly?”
    â€œThings aren't good. Seems like every kid out of law school is jumping on the immigration bandwagon, and they're using daddy's start-up money to undercut my prices. In business, or even criminal law, clients care if you're experienced, if you're actually good. In my line of work, not so much. The clients are all poor as hell, and frankly I don't do much more than fill out the paperwork for them. If they can get some recent grad to do that for half the price, why wouldn't they?”
    â€œAnd if you get caught?”
    â€œI've thought about that, yeah. But like you've said a million times, idiots get away with crime every day. We're not idiots, so…” He drank some of his beer. “Plus, he's my client. I could say I was outthere looking for him. I'll have some paperwork in the car for him, something like that.”
    â€œSneaky.”
    â€œAnd you also said that no one ever goes to prison for a first-time offense, right?”
    I nodded. “Unless it's murder or something like that, true. If you just steal a car, you'd get probation for that, absolutely. But you'd also lose your law license.”
    Gus waved a dismissive hand. “And not be allowed to fill in forms for the rest of my life? Poor me. Maybe I could play music full-time. How cool would that be? And I'd have a bad-boy reputation, too. That'd help with the crowds. Or just move to Costa Rica and play my guitar on the beach.”
    He was good enough to play full-time, for sure, but we both knew the romance of doing so wasn't the same as the reality, though he seemed to be ignoring that fact. With no job to fall back on, with a wife to support and kids to plan for…
    â€œAnd Michelle, how does she feel about all this felonious activity?”
    â€œYou think I haven't told her?”
    â€œYes, I do.”
    Gus smiled. “I did kind of bring it up last week. No specifics, just how she'd feel about me being a secret master-criminal and showing up with wads of cash.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œMade her horny.”
    Fucking Gus, and his perfect wife.
    â€œOkay, Mr. Master-criminal, how would it work? Seriously, if you think it can be done, tell me the details.”
    Gus chewed his lip for a moment. “We watch him. Follow him on a day he's collecting rent, see how he does it and when he leaves his car.”
    â€œStupid plan,” I said.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œStill speaking hypothetically, of course, there's no point stealing the car before he's collected any