The E bus from the morning east downtown route pulled into the depot. Stanley, the driver, walked the aisle, checking for stragglers, lost umbrellas, forgotten purses and briefcases and suspicious packages, just like he has done after each of his shifts for the past 22 years.
Once he feels the bus is secure, he walks back to the front where the fare box waits to be emptied. Pulling the key from a ring clipped to his belt and hooked to a retractable cord, Stanley opens the box, gathering the bills and coins riders had stuffed inside during the last four hours. Checking the fare counter, Stanley recorded the number of paid riders from the ticker on top of the box. Putting the fare record book in the pouch, along with the money into a zippered pouch, he locked it with a different key from his belt.
Walking into the employees entrance, Stanley handed over his day’s fares to one of the women in the finance department. Using their own keys to open each of the driver pouches, they went through the paper money, smoothing out wrinkles and checking for worn or torn bills. Once sorted, they stack them neatly and feed these stacks into bill counting machine, wrapping bundles of 100 in bank tape, ready for bank deposits.
Karen had worked at the bus depot as a counter for five years. It wasn’t hard work, didn’t require any great skill or training, the hours were good, the pay was decent and the union meant she had secure employment. It was the most boring job she had ever had, but she needed it to pay for private schools for her two boys. She expected great things from them.
She was working her way through the fifteenth bag of cash when she picked up the pouch from Stanley’s bus. Along with three torn bills that would clog the counter, Karen also set aside an old bill, that was otherwise fine, but had red lettering stamped around the edge.
Careful to not get too greedy, Karen never took more than seven dollars out of any one pouch, the maximum allowed shortage without requiring paperwork. She didn’t consider it stealing, more like a gratuity to make up for the monotony. The sticky finger habit was the one thing that brought in an element of excitement to a normally dull job.
The extra cash she used for special things just for her. Every dime of her regular salary went toward expenses for her kids, or for bills. She could afford to treat herself to the occasional manicure, or a nice blouse. If she saved for a few weeks, she could join her friends for a Girls’ Night Out. No one was hurt by her little scam, so she felt no guilt.
On average she counted 20 pouches a day. To avoid review, she would only skim money from five of them, no one got suspicious over $20 a day. She had carefully asked the other counters to find out how short their daily cash calculations were so she could still stay below radar.
Just as Karen was closing out her cash receipts for the day, the security chief entered the room. Walking the aisles, he made his way to her station.
“Ms. Karen Davis? Please come with me. Bring your belongings.”
She picked up her sweater, the pilfered ones folded and tucked in her pocket.
“My purse is in my locker, do I need to get that too?”
“We’ll stop on the way.”
“May I ask what this is about?”
“No, you may not.”
Karen could feel the other counters watching her as the chief escorted her from the room. Near panic, she ran possible excuses through her mind, any explanation that would sound plausible for the missing money.
Following the chief into his office, Karen was offered one of the chairs facing his desk.
It took all her effort to not spew forth a desperate confession, pleading her case, blaming the high cost of education while omitting the cost of the latest Opi nail polish color. Biting her lip to keep from talking, Karen waited for the chief to speak.
“Do you know why I brought you in, Ms. Davis?”
Still afraid to find her voice, Karen simply shook her head.
“There have been some cash shortages in the fare pouches. Are you aware of that?”
“I know that a few pouches a day are normally short. It’s pretty much routine, but I don’t know much more than that.”
“Do you know which buses are short?”
“I check the report ledgers to check the fare amounts to compare against the counting machine figures, but I don’t really remember which pouches are from which buses.”
“Well, Ms. Davis the shortages, on almost a daily basis, are coming from the morning Bus E, east downtown run. Do you know Stanley Rogers?”
“No, not really. I see him when be brings in his cash, but other than that no.”
“So you would be unaware of any changes in Mr. Rogers’ financial situation?”
“That’s right, I have no idea what his personal situation is.”
“Thank you for your time Ms. Davis, I may need to speak with you again later.”
Karen continued to stare at the chief without moving, not fully realizing she had been dismissed.
“Was there anything you remembered, Ms. Davis?”
“Oh no! Am I free to leave then?”
“Yes, and please don’t discuss this with anyone else.”
Over the next several days, Karen watched as each of the counters on her shift were called in to talk with the chief. Fearing the extra scrutiny she made sure to count every pouch in full, cataloging each torn bill for the receipt and actual amounts were consistent.
Friday morning when she arrived for work, the atmosphere was tense. There was no conversations going on, no chatter that normally punctuated the room. Sitting at her station, Karen rolled her chair over to the woman working in the adjacent cubicle.
“Why is it so quiet in here today?”
“You haven’t heard? One of driver’s was arrested this morning.”
A feeling of dread overcame Karen.
“Which one?”
“Stanley Rogers. You remember him. Old guy, has the morning E line downtown.”
“Do you know what he was charged with.”
“Embezzlement. Shame too, he was only about a month from retirement. With as many years that he had in, his pension would have been almost 100 percent. I always thought he was such a good guy. Goes to show you never really know anyone.”
Karen could only nod in agreement, wheeling her chair back to her own station.
What had she done? A simple matter of skimming a few dollars here and there wasn’t supposed to result in anyone losing their job, especially not because he got arrested.
But how could she come forward now? She had to young kids still in school. No family nearby. She couldn’t go to jail. There was no way she could confess. How did taking a dollars here and there amount to embezzlement. That usually meant stealing thousands, if not millions, of dollars.
She was distracted throughout her shift. Scared that she appeared guilty, she tried to get through her count pouches quickly and efficiently, hoping to get done early. Closing out her station, Karen left work and headed towards the church on her way home. Maybe she could get some answers there.
Grabbing her sweater from the front seat, she headed inside. As she entered the narthex, she put her hands in the pockets. There, from earlier in the week was the four dollars she had last culled. Taking them out, unfolding them, she stood in the church foyer simply staring at the money, not knowing what she should do with them now.
Still gripping them tightly in her hand, she entered the sanctuary, taking a seat in a pew close to the altar. She hardly noticed the other petitioners around her, as she knelt to pray.
After what seemed like an eternity, Karen finally stood and left the sanctuary. On her way out, she passed the alms box at the back of the church. The bills, still held in her hand, suddenly seemed to burn her flash. She stuffed each bill into the alms box. A weight lifting as each one slipped through the slot.
This would all just blow over, Stanley would be fine. Any good lawyer would be able to prove he did nothing wrong, and there was no way to trace the stolen money to her. Everything would be okay.
That’s why she was so surprised to see the squad cars when she arrived home.
