DUKE LEMORE

In such moments pressed in unordinary circumstances I would have to thank my inquisitiveness. I’ve always had a sense of charisma, developing what one would call ‘soft skills’ at a young age and always finding a way out of trouble. Explaining to my oblivious parents that the reason why I kicked the new white fridge was because I felt we didn’t need it; that the older version chilled my ice cream just fine. As a reward for my economic expressions I got a bowl of the cold stuff, and even a few extra scoops. Thirty years later and that’s how I continued to live my life, always aiming to get those few extra scoops.

When people ask what my profession is, I tell them marketing. Why? It’s easy to scramble up an explanation for such a vague job title. Usually they just nod and look away, not curious enough to ask more questions. However, for the sake of this story it is important to acknowledge that I’m a messenger for a family here in NYC. Despite the common misconceptions about mobs, Z. and his family are quite kind to me. There’s a sense of trust and sometimes I’d even help Z. negotiate prices. ‘Deals over feels’ I would tell him, and whatever that meant he sought it as a suggestion to lower his prices in order to help retain customers. I would also explain this to the customer, this ‘deals over feels’ nonsense and explain why my boss had to slightly raise the price. Most of the time they both agreed that in a world of competition, the intangible would always display an edge to the giver, but for me that didn’t matter since all I cared about was my cut.

It was a chilly spring day when I got asked to collect money from P. On my walk downtown to the warehouse I veered off the avenue to look at the cherry blossoms. It was their peak season, which would last only another week or so. Thus, spring has always been my favorite season for dating, for taking women on slow walks around the city, explaining how short the cherry blossom season was and comparing it to life itself with such seriousness that the date would usually end in my bed. And that would be the end of that. So yes, I enjoyed them, the cherry blossoms and today I marveled in their contrast against a moody sky.

Soon enough I was in the Alphabet City warehouse discussing prices with P. The way his bulging short arms crossed his body suggested that maybe I came off too strong in my asking. Sometimes I do overcompensate, nobody’s perfect, and I took a mental note of how to prevent this in the future. Usually P. gave in, but today he seemed itchy. Then I realized it wasn’t my fault and blamed it on the weather. Once I dropped the price, he simultaneously dropped his stubby arms and handed me over the money. So, I would only make a cut of $200 this time. Better than losing my cover. P. asked if I knew my way out and I did. He nodded and as he turned away I noticed a small black notebook fall out of his back pocket. Now, as a curious person I found it my duty to pick it up. P.’s back was towards me but I still waved my arms in the air holding the book. See, I tried to do the right thing. I didn’t want to yell, to bring too much attention to myself. If he didn’t see the wave, if he didn’t succumb to my offerings, well that was his problem.

I didn’t open the black book until I was sitting down at an outdoor café in Thompson Park. It was a fine little book, I was impressed by the tight binding and soft pages. Usually those in the business write in ratty form, incoherent scribbles on loose leaf and such. There was a moment when I took this all in, dazed, lost in a sequence of thoughts. That’s when the man caught me off guard and stepped into my peripheral vision. “Hanami. Only a few more days until we have to wait another year.”

I tilted my head in confusion until it clicked the stranger was talking about the cherry blossom tree in front of us. “Yes, it’s a shame the season doesn’t last longer”, I finally replied. From there the conversation continued until the waitress sat down a steaming cup of earl grey. This too somehow impressed the man and he ordered one himself joining me although he was never welcomed to. I decided to let the serious man with the felt hat sit down across from me as it was seldom to find another man with interests like mine. He told me his name was Duke, that he worked and lived in the financial district and often found himself wandering, on his lunch breaks or to escape his wife. I told him that I didn’t have a wife and we both laughed. This guy was funny and I liked that. I tore a blank sheet out of the notebook, noticing it was a Moleskin, and wrote down my name and number. New York City can become lonely for an indifferent guy like myself and I could always use a friend.

Walking home I thought about the little black book, how I forgot about it once meeting Duke. Finally, once in the warmth of my own home I sat down and looked through the pages. There was nothing of importance until I reached a dog-ear with special instructions of how to reach a suitcase with ‘imperative substances.’ My mind went into a blaze of thoughts and images of what could be in the suitcase. Drugs, guns, or better yet cash. What else could be coined as ‘imperative substances’? I tossed my coat back on and added the only hat I owned to help conceal my identity.

I memorized the first set of instructions and hopped uptown to scout out the building mentioned in the book. The code to enter the building was ‘7777’, insulting really of how easy it was, but nevertheless I got in and began walking up a flight of dusty stairs. I couldn’t help but notice the unhealthy pipes, in sets of two, covered in grime that led the way up. When I reached the fourth floor, as stated in the book I then entered the next code which unlocked an empty dark room. The flashlight on my keychain would suffice, and I found it. There it was unarmed, the suitcase with ‘imperative substances’ under a desk. I relocated my handgun, it was in my left pocket, just in case. My shoulders tensed as I grabbed the suitcase, waiting for alarms or a batch of guards to gun me down. But I only heard the whispers of my hard breathing, the beats of my anxiety and slowly I left the room and descended down the sooty steps.

It wasn’t until I was in the safety of my apartment that I thought it could have been something bad, not drugs or guns but a bomb that would go off if mismatched fingerprints were detected. I was alive, but how could I not be paranoid? Before I could open the suitcase the phone rang and it was Duke. I forgot I gave him my number. His wife was being a real pain, which I could emphasize with, and being entangled in his charm I welcomed the notion when he invited himself over. He would bring a rare whisky and after my rollercoaster day I knew I could use a drink. I gave Duke my address and he said he would be over at six and I said ok.

There was one more code in P.’s little black book and that was to open the suitcase. Now, if P. would have just negotiated the price with me, I may have just left the book behind. I would have been too enthralled in my cut that I wouldn’t have cared. Really, it was his fault that the $20,000 inside the suitcase was now mine. I counted the hundreds wrapped in thick rubber bands until I heard a knock on the door. He was thirty minutes early, that bastard, and as I quickly stuffed the cash back into the suitcase, I stumbled upon a name imprinted inside. Duke LeMore. A string of thoughts ran across my mind as the knocking outside my door became more intense. I closed the suitcase up and tossed it under the couch along with the black book.

Perspiration curved my upper lip as I let him inside my apartment. I joked about how small it was and we laughed. I reached for a pair of highball glasses and Duke poured liquor into them. He then began to vent about his evening and I just nodded along, adding a few words here and there of justification. The whisky was smooth. I took another sip. My heart beat began to slow down as we discussed March Madness, and I again remembered why I gave my number to this stranger, so we could become pals. It wasn’t until I showed him the bathroom that Duke stumbled on the handles of the suitcase. “Ah, your suitcase is alligator leather as well, eh?” He then asked if he could see the suitcase, for his appreciation of fine leather goods. I swallowed deep and remembered that I had my handgun in the kitchen cabinet tucked behind a box of cereal. A lousy place to hide a gun and I guess that’s my fault. I asked if he wanted to use the bathroom first but he said no, too committed on seeing the suitcase.

Perhaps I was wearing my emotions on my sleeve as they say, but Duke seemed unbothered, calm in his demeanor and I thought for a second that maybe it was just a coincidence. That all guys named Duke would own pretentious looking suitcases wrapped in alligator leather. Unarmed, I pulled out the suitcase. Duke narrowed his eyes and looked at me in a way that made me feel like a stranger in my own apartment. “Open it”, he demanded. I swallowed and challenged him asking why so if he only cared about the outside of it, to compare leathers.

I did not expect what happened next. He drew out a gun from his left pocket and replied, “Then I’ll open it.” He began shooting at the suitcase, a dozen bullets or so and I held my breath waiting for one of those bullets to shoot into me. The fatal outcome of paper ashes ravished the inside of my apartment. “It was you that had the notebook. You take someone’s notebook and then you take someone’s suitcase. How dare you take things that don’t belong to you!”

Dumbfounded and alive, but still curious enough I asked why he didn’t shoot me instead of his money. Duke LeMore took a few steps back and shook his head. “Think of this like cherry blossom season. Money blooms and then it falls, but it always comes back. Sometimes lessons are worth more than money.” He then tipped his felt hat and left my apartment.

I noticed that Duke left behind his rare whisky, and I would have given it back to him, but he was already on the street. O well. I decided to help myself to another glass and spent the remainder of the night looking deep into the dark ashes of $20,000.