The Little Black Book

In the grand scheme of things, there were much worse ways to spend the day than picking up a notebook from routine repairs. It helped that the local bookbinder ran his shop just down the street from my apartment building. I would pop in, drop off my notebook, and in a few weeks I'd get a call to come pick it up. I got such a call this morning, and I had enough free time to stop by the following afternoon.

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside. The familiar smells of leather, paper, and glue hung in the air, and as I approached the worn wooden counter, the old man behind it gave me a wave.

"Your book's as good as new," he said simply.

"Thanks, Mr. Barker." I returned his smile. There the book was on the countertop between us, its smooth black cover free of any previous rips and tears. Having paid when I dropped the book off, there was nothing left to do but take the book back and make my way home.

If only either of us had checked that the book was actually mine.

---

A phone call woke me up later that night. I opened my eyes with a tired groan. The light from my phone cut through the darkness of my bedroom, 'Unknown Caller' on the screen in blocky white letters.

Late night phone calls never signal good news, especially if you don't know who's calling you. Rolling onto my side, I snatched my phone off its side table in spite of that. I tapped on the shaking green call icon. Raising the thankfully quieted thing to my ear, I hazarded a small, "Hello?"

"Hello, Jeremy," said the voice on the other end. Deep and smooth, this was the sound of a fundamentally unhurried man. And a night owl, apparently. Glancing at the clock, I noted it was just past 3am.

"Hello." I stifled a cough. "Who am I speaking to? How do you know my name?"

The man laughed softly. "Two very good questions that I'm not going to answer. I want you to listen to me carefully, Jeremy. There are two men outside the door to your unit. Good men. Friends of mine. They're going to come in and pick up something that you took from me. I don't want you to raise any fuss. I don't want you to call the police. In fact, if you do anything at all, they'll have to break your bones."

My throat went dry. I coughed again. In a helpless squeak I hated to hear, I heard myself ask, "Is this a joke?"

"No," said the man, with a seriousness that I felt compelled to believe.

Two loud, sharp knocks outside my room made me jump, confirming this wasn't, in fact, some prank. In my hurry to get out of bed, the blanket tangled around my legs and nearly brought me face-first to the floor.

"Easy there," the man said, affable as ever. "Go on and open the door."

I hurried out of my room, turned on the lights, and scrambled over to the front door. Sure enough, the moment I opened it, two heavyset men in dark suits sauntered in.

"Excuse me," I said to no one in particular. The phone was still pressed to my ear.

"You're excused," the man said. There was a smile in his voice. "Now point my men in the direction of a little black book."

My notebook? It's just stories and drawings... not very good ones, either... What could they possibly want from it?

My mind raced, but I was terrified of keeping them waiting. Both of the men turned to me, their eyes obscured by matching sunglasses.

"It's in my room," I said to them, cheeks burning. "Beside the bed."

The men gave no indication that they'd heard me, but the taller of the two turned and headed for my bedroom. The shorter of the two stayed in the living room with me. I could feel his eyes on my face.

"Good boy," said the man on the phone. "You were at Barker's Bookbinding today, weren't you? Just running some errands... I can relate. But a funny thing happened... that silly old man gave you my book, and my men yours." The warmth drained from his voice, replaced by frigid steel. "You didn't open that book... or read any of it... did you?"

My heart skipped a beat. "No, no. Not at all. I didn't even realize the book wasn't mine," I whispered.

"Good," the man said.

The taller of the two men strode back out into the living room and nodded silently at his partner. The book looked tiny in his meaty grip.

"If you're telling the truth, then today's your lucky day."

The shorter man stepped towards me. I shrank back against the wall, nostrils flaring in alarm.

He pulled two bundles of something from his pocket. With a grunt, he tossed them at my feet.

It was--

"C-C-Cash?" I stuttered. I couldn't help myself.

"Absolutely," the man on the phone purred. "Stay as pleasant as you've been tonight, and you can do whatever you want with it."

I still didn't touch it, not even with my foot. "I don't understand."

"It's $20,000 in cash, Jeremy. What's hard to understand about that?" The coldness returned to his voice, so suddenly it made me shiver. "But if you say a word about what happened tonight, or about the contents of that little black book... I assure you, Jeremy, my men will be back."