Criminal logo

Memoirs Of A Paperboy

A little black book changed his life

By Edward AndersonPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
Like
Memoirs Of A Paperboy
Photo by Norbert Kundrak on Unsplash

One second can change your life forever. My one second came when I was just 16 years old. Until now, I have never talked about what happened on the summer day that changed my life. Which set me down the path that brought me to where I am today.

And thank God it did.

You see, my name wasn't always Kyle Chase. From the day I was born until that fateful second in my 16th year. I was known as Charlie Foster. Just a typical teenage boy, delivering newspapers to save enough money to ask the girl of his dreams out for dinner.

Even thinking about her now makes my heart pound a little faster. Tabitha Clarkson was the fantasy of every guy at school. She never accepted any dinner invites, but I just knew that she would say yes to me. One day in gym class, she winked at me.

It was love.

Every week, I kept track of how much money I had saved. And worked hard to get good tips from my customers. It normally worked. The night before everything changed, I had $198 in my 'date envelope.'

Almost enough to make my move on Tabby. Once she said yes, it would only be a matter of time before we had sex after prom and then got married. Same way my parents did.

At dinner, I told my dad that I almost had enough money to ask Tabitha out. He beamed with pride. My mom sulked as she brought our plates to us.

"I wish you would focus on your studies and not be so girl-crazy," she set my plate in front of me and kissed my forehead. "Girls will only get you into trouble."

My dad protested that it was normal for me to want a girlfriend. The truth is, I should have listened to mom.

She was right.

Change Of Day

May 3, 2021. That was the day things changed for me. The sun warmed the day but a chill in the air kept it from being too hot. Since it was nice, I rode my bike to deliver the newspapers. Mental notes were made about those who had yet to pay their bills. It meant I would need to circle back and talk to them.

I flung Ms. King's paper onto her front porch; it landed right by her door. She was a shut-in, so I got off my bike and walked to the curbside mailbox. She left her payment and tip in there. The expected cash envelope was not in there; at the moment, I wished I had brought my notebook with me. It would have been easier to leave her a note while I was there instead of having to come back.

Then I noticed a black notebook in the street by her neighbor's house. It bulged out more than what one would expect. After checking to make sure my bike was safe, I walked over to it.

A leather strap kept the pages from flapping in the wind. I untied it; there was an envelope of cash inside. It was filled with 100 and 50 dollar bills.

On the page under the money was an address. It was only a few blocks from where I was.

I figured that if I took this back to the owner, it was almost inevitable that I would be given some type of reward. And if I got enough of an award from returning the cash, I would let Ms. King off the hook for the paper this week. It was the least I could do.

A black, non-descript car went racing by me. The driver barely hit the brakes in time to stop it from T-boning a truck that had the right of way. A middle finger came out of the window of the truck, along with some expletives.

After watching the drama play out, I climbed back on my bike. I headed towards the same intersection that the accident nearly happened in. Following the same direction as the vehicles, I pedaled as fast as I could.

My mind was on the notebook and the cash. How much was in there? I turned toward an alley that buffered Nick's Pizza and Cole's Liquor Store. After making sure no one was around, I pulled out the envelope and counted the money. There was $20,000. The reward was going to be off the hook.

I was lost in my thoughts as I made my way to the owner's house. With the reward, I would be able to take Tabitha somewhere nice. She was bound to be my girlfriend and eventually my wife.

Until two minutes later.

The same black car was pulled in front of the house that I was heading to. A man stepped outside, nearly naked. His boxer shorts left little to the imagination; his paunchy stomach pushed them down even further.

A gun emerged from the driver's side window. The gunman's finger pulled the trigger three times. As if everything was in slow motion, each bullet hit the man, and he flung his arms all-around before finally slumping to the ground.

Dead.

A scream brought back to the real world. Within seconds, I realized the scream belonged to me. The gunman poked his head out of the window, then pointed the gun at me.

He fired off a shot. Everything went black.

Waking Up Different

"Where am I?" I asked as the bright lights burned into my barely open eyes. "Am I dead?"

"No, baby. No. You're alive," Mom said. Her face was stained with tears. She wiped another one away, "do you remember what happened? Should I get a doctor in here to help you?"

Before I could answer, an officer walked into the room. He surveyed the scene and cleared his through. "If you don't mind, ma'am, we have a few questions to ask the boy."

Mom opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. She kissed my forehead, "I'm going to let dad know you're awake. I'll be right out in the hallway if you need me."

"Am I in trouble?" My throat burned, and the words sounded garbled. I tried to move, but my body was sore.

"No, son, you're not in trouble at all. We just need to ask you a few questions about what you saw, what happened."

As I recounted the situation, the officer took notes. He seemed satisfied and left.

It wasn't until the nurse brought me the chicken soup broth for dinner that I remembered the notebook. The whole reason I went to the house in the first place. "Mom, my bag. Notebook."

"Your bag is right by your bed, honey," She picked it up and showed me. After looking inside, she handed me the journal. "What's in there?"

I undid the strap and was surprised to see the cash envelope still in there. "Where's dad?"

Mom's eyes darted around, "he's at home. Someone shot up the house, and he called the police. We think it's connected to whatever happened to you."

"I forgot to tell the police this when they came to talk to me," after I scooted up the bed, I unspooled the story to her. My mother's eyes bulged when I told her about the $20,000 in the envelope. When I finished, "I'm sorry, Mom. I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You were," she smiled at me. Then she sucked in a deep breath, "I need to go speak to your father. I'll be right down the hall if you need me."

Part of me wanted to kick myself for going over to that house if only I'd minded my own business. Like Dad was always telling me to. Then my house wouldn't have been shot up, and I wouldn't be in the hospital.

Mom walked back into the room, followed by a man in a suit. "Honey, this is Agent Carter. He's going to step outside for a moment, so I can talk to you, but he wants to have a word with you."

Agent Carter scowled at her but walked outside of the room. "Mom, what's going on?"

"The FBI is involved. It appears as though the wife of the man that had been killed hired a hitman from another state. But before you hand the notebook over, give me the envelope of cash. Your father and I decided you should keep it. But it will not be used to take some girl out; you will invest the money."

I handed the money to my mom, and she smiled. Agent Carter held the door open for her and walked in. Once we were alone, he sat down, "I need you to share the story with me one more time, Charlie. And tell me everything you remember."

I did. The look of horror grew on the agent's face as my tale unspooled.

A New Life

Eric Aaron, the man I saw killed, was cheating on his wife with her former best friend. When Lisa Aaron learned of her husband's extracurricular activities, she was furious. She complained to an old love, who asked for $20,000 to take care of the problem. The woman scorned agreed and dropped the money off in a secure location, or so she thought.

The FBI moved us into the Witness Protection Program. Lisa's ex-boyfriend remained at large for a while, threats sent to our old house. One said that if I were to tell the cops what I knew, I would be sliced open like a pig and fed to my parents.

Once we were settled in our new home, my parents made me research companies to invest in. While they had their doubts, they let me make the decision. Two days after I invested, billionaire Warren Buffet sunk a ton of money into the company, and the stock soared. By the time I decided to sell, my investment was worth nearly $200,000.

Over time, I bought and sold a bunch of stocks. Then my dad made me sit down with a financial planner, who taught me to invest in companies that pay dividends.

While in college, I met a girl who stole my heart. Before I proposed, I thought about my long-lost love, Tabitha. After trying a Google and social media search, I decided to head back to my former hometown. It hurt that no one recognized me. Even more so when I found out that the former girl of my dreams was in love with someone else.

Then I learned the newspaper I used to deliver was in trouble, so I bought it. To my surprise, Ms. King was the previous owner, she passed away, and her heirs wanted nothing to do with the paper. They were relieved when I bought it.

Upon returning to college, ready to propose to my girlfriend, I learned she wasn't prepared for a commitment. At least not to me. She cheated on me with her ex-boyfriend and was carrying his baby.

Mom's words came back to me, "Girls will only get you into trouble." From that point on, I took myself out of the dating pool and focused on making money.

My parents are disappointed that they don't have grandchildren yet. Even more so, that I chose to tell this story. They argued it could put all of our lives at risk.

The hitman is dead, though. His daughter, Tabitha, told me.

fiction
Like

About the Creator

Edward Anderson

Edward has written hundreds of acclaimed true crime articles and has won numerous awards for his short stories.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.