Serendipity

Azam Ali’s melodic Persian voice stirred Hakeem back to life. He eyes remained closed as he silenced the alarm and let life flood back to his body. Thrusting himself out of bed, he was determined not to be beaten by quarantine. Staring out of the window as he brushed his teeth, the audaciously green palm trees called to him. A perfect morning. He could get used to winter in California. He stopped at his regular coffee haunt on Burbank before proceeding to the park. At 7am, it was sparse. Still, he ventured further in. Taking a solitary bench, he sipped his coffee, closing his eyes to savor the serenity of the chocolate notes.

“All is as it should—” A barking dog cut his thought short.

“NO MURPHY!” a lady yelped. Too late. Murphy was licking Hakeem’s face with gusto, knocking his coffee to the ground. Hakim stood up, startled, and scooted Murphy off his lap.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” professed the owner. She was an older lady, mid-late 60’s. Murphy was clearly the spritelier of the pair.

“That’s a first,” Hakeem admitted. He bent down to pick up the hyper dog, cradling him in his arms. “Hello, Murphy,” he greeted. “A Pomeranian?” he asked the owner.

“Yep,” she replied. “Full bred, slightly bigger than most.”

“Never been much of an animal person,” Hakeem admitted.

“Let me get you another cup,” she implored, reaching into her pocket for money.

“It’s no problem, really.”

“I insist,” she said, firmly pressing a $5 bill in his hand. “I don’t know what got into him.” Hakeem handed Murphy back to his owner. “You two enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You do the same,” she replied. “Apologies again!” Hakeem waved goodbye and turned to retrieve the fallen cup. Reaching for the lid, he spied a small black book covered by a few leaves. Curious, he grabbed it and sat down for inspection. The spine was broken revealing a yellowed binding. It was worn, but still hanging on. He opened it up, flipping through the pages. Notes, recipes, lists. He sifted through, looking for some identification. The words TREASURE MAP caught his attention at the top of a back page. Underneath the title it read:

Follow these clues to $20,000. No joke.

“Good prank!” he thought. “The old lady must be the secret host.”

“Ok, ya got me!” he exclaimed. “And I gotta admit, the dog was a nice touch.” He looked around. No one. Cover to cover he looked, but could find no ID. He turned back to the treasure map and continued reading.

First of 10 clues. Go to Kang Dong Baekjeong Korean BBQ Restaurant. Ask for Ha Woo Ji. He knows what to do. After 9, big surprise $$$

Hakeem laughed. “Somebody’s reading too much Agatha Christie.” Tucking the book under arm, he tossed the coffee cup in the trash and headed back home.

Hakeem stirred to the sound of breaking glass and movement in the kitchen.

“What in the—?!” he shot up, a jolt of adrenaline rushing through his body. Grabbing the emergency baseball bat by the nightstand, he slowly tiptoed to the kitchen. A flurry of long blonde hair flashed across the doorway towards the back door. He caught the back of the perpetrator as they ran out, wearing a black leather jacket with Hell’s Angels emblazoned on the back in silver writing. The door slammed, shattering the remaining glass. Hakeem followed in hot pursuit.

“Hey!” he shouted, chasing them into the alley. A Honda CRL 300 screeched passed, almost knocking him over. He jumped out of the way. The speeding motorist halted, turned around, and savagely gave him the finger. He couldn’t make out a face, just blonde hair beneath the jet-black helmet.

“Well, I’ll be damn,” he muttered. He skulked back to his apartment and surveyed the damage. Suddenly he remembered.

“The book!” He raced to the dining table where he carelessly tossed it earlier that day. Gone. He called to report the break in. LAPD nonchalantly said fill out the report on line. Hearing the commotion, Mr. Haney, a neighbor and handyman, helped to reinforce the door.

Remembering the first clue, Hakeem arrived at Kang Ho Baekjeong BBQ just as they opened. Maybe there was something to that treasure thing after all.

“Ha Woo Ji,” he recalled. “Ha Woo Ji.”

There were a few people already seated on the sidewalk patio. His eyes caught a black Hell’s Angels jacket hanging on the back of a chair. A big head of blonde hair was seated in it.

Hakeem gasped.

“Now I gotcha.” He quickly stepped inside so as not to be seen. Peering through the side window to the parking lot, he spotted the same cherry red Honda CRL 300 as the night before. He peaked out of the front door to the seating area. The perp’s table was set with only a glass of lemonade. He stepped back inside and quickly placed an order with the host.

“For here or to go?” she asked, eyes smiling behind her mask.

“Here please,” he said before ordering the beef combo.

“Ok 15 minutes.” He took his complimentary lemonade and headed outside. He slid on a pair of shades and sat down next to the perp, trapping her between him and the restaurant wall.

“Is this seat taken?” he joked. Piercing green eyes reflected back onto his mirrored glasses. Before she could speak, Hakeem whispered sternly, “I know it was you who broke in my apartment. She stared at him, unflinching. Hakeem tapped the black book partially hidden beneath a Vanity Fair magazine. Her mouth fell open. He grinned.

“My friends call me ‘Hakeem the Dream.’ And you are?” He hung his fist out for a bump. She raised her small fist, sheepishly pressing her knuckles against his.

“I’m Ra'hel,'' she responded. “But everybody calls me Rachel.

“Well Rachel, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Hakeem quipped.

Rachel rolled her eyes, mildly amused.

“What’s your opinion on Bernie Sanders becoming the first Jewish president?” he continued. A confused look came across Rachel’s face. She opened her mouth to speak but Hakeem cut her off.

“What I really want to know is, why the break in? WHY steal this book?!?” He slapped his hand on the table in frustration.

Rachel blurted, “I dropped it jogging in the park. I had just found it myself! I came back for it, and saw you pick it up. I followed you at a distance, but before I could catch up, you were at your apartment and inside. I would’ve knocked but I didn’t wanna be a ‘Karen,’” she confessed.

“No viral social media fame for me,” Hakeem joked. “But you gave me the finger?”

Rachel shrugged. “Oh that? Too much television.” Hakeem removed his shades, unimpressed.

“Ok, I needed to get that money!” she blurted. “After being laid off during this COVID thing, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“Are you telling me the $20,000 grand is real?” he challenged.

“Only one way to find out. That’s why we’re here ain’t it?” she shot back.

“Then let’s talk to Ha woo Ji,” he said standing up. “Oh, and by the way, you’re paying for that door.”

A loud crash from inside broke their tense stare down. They both raced to the door. A fat Buddha-like man tumbled through the swinging kitchen doors, a huge gash in his forehead. With a loud thud, he fell to the ground. The host screamed.

“Ha Woo Ji! Ha Woo Ji!”

Hakeem and Rachel, both of the same mind, bolted back outside. Hakeem reached the table first and snatched the black book. He ran back in, leaned over the fat man and shook the book in his face dramatically.

“What can you tell me about this book?” he demanded. Ha Woo Ji gave a look of recognition.

“Griffith Observatory,” he gasped before his eyes rolled to the back of his head. People were now huddled around the scene. Hakeem stood back.

“I’m outta here,” he said and proceeded for the door. Rachel abruptly followed. The wails of the cashier and faint sirens reverberated in their ears.

“Meet me at my apartment,” Hakeem ordered.

“It's quicker to ride,” she said, visibly shaken. “Get on.” She tossed him a spare helmet. Hakeem climbed on the back of the bike and held Rachel tighter than the skin on a hotdog.

The black book sat on the yellow tiled dining table between them.

“Griffith Observatory?” Hakeem spat out. “ What the hell?”

“Maybe its code for something? A symbol? All I know is, it’s one step closer to 20k,” Rachel retorted.

“What if we end up like Ha Woo Ji?” Hakeem questioned, suddenly very unnerved.

“For twenty stacks? Some things are worth it.” Hakeem gave her a look.

“We’re on to something. We can’t stop now. Whatdya say, partner?” She pleaded, initiating another fist bump. Hakeem hesitated, then slowly held his fist in the air. Their eyes searched for agreement.

At the observatory they pondered. What was the clue? Was it the Greek key pattern lining the architecture? They stood on the balcony overlooking the arena. Suddenly three leather jacketed men surrounded them, guns drawn.

“The book. NOW!” commanded the obvious captain of the group. His stiletto mustache stood out, prominent, against his thin Doberman-looking face, his eyes a cold compassionless blue. His two goons stood silently in support. Hakeem spoke first.

“What about the money?”

“But of course,” replied the man in halting English. “Your Cash App account please.” his mocking was obvious. “Now, the book. And I’ll let you and your little girlfriend leave in good health.”

“He’s not my boy—” Rachel was slapped to the ground by one of the goons, unable to finish her remark. Book in hand, Hakeem walked slowly towards the ringleader. A dozen men dropped from the rafters. Others swarmed in; laser pointers focused on all three.

“Nurev Korsakoff!” a voice boomed. “It’s over!” POLICE was written in bold letters across his vest. “This is Special Agent Darrow of the FBI. Drop your guns and place your hands above your head!” The men complied.

“Nice and slow.” Agents slapped cuffs around the trio and led them away.

“Holy shit! What just happened?!” Hakeem exclaimed. Agent Mark Darrow stepped forward.

“That book has coded bank account information worth billions to the international syndicate run by that man, Nurev Korsakoff, our very own modern-day Moriarty. He’s bad news.” He continued.

“One of his lieutenants turned on him, hid the information in that book and gave it to his accomplice, Ha Woo Ji, for safe keeping. But Ji lost it. Korsakoff and his men were 'interrogating’ him at his restaurant when you two showed up. Had you been caught with Ji when they arrived, you would’ve been smoked bbq.” He laughed at his joke. “Now tell me, how did the book come into your possession?”

“I found it at the park” answered Hakeem.

“How did it end up there?” Darrow challenged back.

“Probably where he lost it,” replied Hakeem honestly.

“I see,” Darrow responded, obviously not the riveting answer he hoped for. “We’ve been looking for Korsakoff for 3 years. This book caused him to resurface. We got him this time.” Darrow beamed.

“Korsakoff’s lieutenant gave us the slip in Korea Town yesterday,” he said, walking away. “Oh, and by the way,” he turned to face them once again. “There’s a $200,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and capture of Korsakoff.” Hakeem and Rachel look at each other and then back at the agent. He continued.

“So, which one of you actually had the black book?” Hakeem looked Darrow square in his eyes before responding.

“My Dad used to say, ‘One must always have a written partnership agreement.’” He turned to Rachel. “What type of partner are you?” Rachel shot back.

“What type of partner would you like me to be?"