The Stow Away

What good is all the money in the world when you are dead? Micky asked himself as he hid in a dark corner of an abandoned warehouse, behind a strange piece of equipment that seemed too new and shiny for its surroundings. Micky was a bright kid, but he always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He managed to get through high school but never cut it at the community college or working an honest job for that matter. So, he got by on a life of petty crime and running errands for a two-bit gang. When he wasn’t up to something shady or downright illegal, he was dreaming of traveling and writing a book about his journeys. A week earlier Micky had ducked into a little thrift store; not that Micky was particularly thrifty, he was just hiding from the cops and some hoods from the Prosciutto gang. While Micky pretended to browse, he was suddenly drawn to a worn little book. He picked it up and cracked it open; he was fascinated thinking maybe it had names and phone numbers of some real classy ladies. When he opened the book there were no phone numbers, no classy ladies, just strange notes in a language he could not read, and even stranger maps. There were at least a dozen maps he recognized most of the locations and thought it might be cool to check them out. Micky waited until the coast was clear then bought the little black book and disappeared into the night.

The Next day Micky found himself in a dingey alley on the east side of town. The alley had an entrance to a used bookstore, it was the location marked in the first map. Micky walked in and looked around. The place was kind of a dump with books piled everywhere, and a smell dust, decaying paper and stale cigarette smoke. It was the kind of place older ladies traded in read risqué paper back novels for unread risqué paper back novels, the kind with shirtless sailors rescuing maidens in long dresses and fancy hair dos. Up front a shady looking man sat behind a counter; he was reading some large book which he would occasionally suspiciously peer over at Micky. Micky tried to ignore the shadowy glances and concentrate on finding the location of the next marker on the map a specific shelf in the back of the store. Although Micky couldn’t read the words the numbers were good old Arabic, and even Micky was smart enough to figure out the series of numbers was an ISBN. He laughed when he found the book, it was Treasure Island. Micky thumbed through the book and could find nothing remarkable about it, save for a bookmark, an old Australian bank note. Micky thought maybe it was the treasure, so he put the note in his pocket. To avoid arousing too much suspicion Micky bought the book, before he left.

Micky had an acquaintance named Henry, that owned a pawn shop. It was the kind of place that didn’t ask a lot of questions and kept a clients only back stock of things he did not want on the shelves for John Q Law to be seeing. Micky was sure Henry was a self-proclaimed expert on old stamps and money would know what this was and hopefully buy it from him, who knows he thought it might even be worth a couple hundred bucks.

Henry was a tall slender man somewhere between 40 and 90 years old. He had one of those faces that you just couldn’t quite get a fix on; the job was made more difficult in that he wore extremely thick glasses and attempted to cover his head with an absurd comb over where the scant hairs on every part of his head were pulled to the middle like a sad curly q on some ugly infant. Henry eyed the bill through a jeweler’s loop muttering to himself while Micky anxiously looked on.

“Where did you say you got this?” Asked Henry.

“My grandmother left it to me in her will.” Responded Micky, trying not to sound too eager.

Micky knew the game, neither he nor Henry would ply the ruse too hard. The fact was Henry really did not care beyond

“I can give you five thousand for it.” Said Henry, fixing Micky with a blank stare.

Micky knew the look; it was Henry’s poker face. He was using his own trying not to seem surprised at the amount, all the while playing out the scene in his head of wining and dining a model on each arm. The waiter hanging on his every word, calling him sir, groveling for that fat tip. The vision quickly turned to a couple mobsters pulling him out of the place much to the horror of the models crying on as he was dragged away, the look of shock on the waiter’s face kissing that fat tip goodbye. He saw himself taken out back and beaten in an alley. His thoughts turned to making a down payment on what he owes the gang and paying his rent. Besides were two more maps to go.

Crossed town an implausibly large implausibly ugly man was yelling at an unmoved clerk. The man raised his canned ham hand beating the air with his fist. The clerk was a geriatric woman who simply repeated herself again and again in a voice that hade bore years of cheap booze and even cheaper cigarettes.

“Like I said sir I can’t give yous any information about customers it’s against store policy, and probably the law.”

The man stormed out of the thrift store enraged. He took out a cell phone, his implausibly big hand made it look like a child’s toy. He began yelling in a guttural language more grunts than words. The big man took out a Black notebook, a bigger version of the one he was looking for, the one Micky had his nose buried in on the other side of town.

Micky found himself at the doors of a large indoor flea market. He had never been there before but had heard plenty about it; it was a great place to buy a hot car stereo, a counterfeit handbag or just end up at the wrong end of a switchblade knife. The place was loud and dirty but according to the map there was a stall in the back. Next to the picture of the stall was the drawing of a Chinese Good Luck cat bank. When Micky arrived at the stall, he immediately spied a small Chinese styled cat bank. It appeared to be the only Item on the table. The stall and the bank were being watched a short Asian lady in a colorful broadbrimmed hat. She gave Micky a distrusting look.

“Is this all you have for sale?” Micky asked.

“that depends. Are you Mr. Cal? She responded matter-of-factly.

“Um yeah I am Mr. Cal but um just call me Cal.” He responded, trying to sound confident.

A wry smile spread across the woman’s face; she folded her arms.

“Ok, Cal it will be one!” She said through her grin.

Micky was taken a back, one he thought, one what one hundred dollars, one thousand dollars, quid, rupees, yen, bit coins? He did the only thing he thought logical, opened his mouth as if to answer, then snatched the bank and ran. The stall keep pointed at him and shouted, a few large men wielding machetes and yelling seemed to appear out of nowhere to pursue him. The map in the book was thorough and he knew there was a service entrance in back, so he headed for it.

Micky was used to running, or at least used to being chased. He made it out the back door and into an alley he scaled a fire escape ladder and found himself a place on a roof to hide and watch the puzzled men look around for him. The cat was the kind you find at some Chinese food restaurants it was ceramic and brightly painted. Without hesitation Micky, broke the bank open. He was shocked to find several thousand dollars and a packet of clear stones; Micky was no expert on gems, but he was sure they were diamonds. There was also a credit card with the name Marvin Cal, finally there was a 4-digit number on a piece of scratch paper, that he hoped was a pin number for the card.

A few hours later Micky was eating a steak off a room service cart in the fanciest hotel in town. Forget paying rent he thought, he was moving in here. Tomorrow he would pay a visit to the Prosciutto hang out, pay them off, and then one last score before he skipped town.

On the other side of town henry was looking up at one of the biggest, meanest, ugliest people he had ever seen. The Giant made the little Asian lady with him seem all the smaller.

“I haven’t seen him since he sold me the bank note!” Whimpered Henry, in fear.

“I’m gona give you one last chance to tell me where he is, then its gona turn real ugly!” Replied the big man, as he punched his fist into his huge palm.

Just then the lady got a call. She spoke to the caller and a pleased look came over her face.

“Good news, he used the credit card at an ATM earlier tonight. Right next door to a fancy hotel.” The lady said.

Henry said a prayer of thanks as the giant man and his companion took off in a large sedan. Henry pulled out his phone to call and warn Micky, but his phone went straight to voice mail.

The big man stared down at a hotel staff member as he showed his ID. After an exchange of unpleasantries the hotel clerk provided the not so gentle giant the pass key to the room. He was getting off the escalator when he saw Micky duck into a stairwell. Micky saw him as well and he took off down the stairs. The big man gave chase shouting for Micky to stop if he knew what was good for him. Micky thought to himself, if he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. The big man could not keep up with the wiry Micky. He looked all around him, when he saw the coast was clear he reached into his shirt and pulled a plug, 200 pounds of flesh came off his body releasing a cloud of steam, then it folded itself up into a neat pack. Where the huge thug had stood there was now a seven-foot-tall hairless pale pink creature that shimmered with a slight luminosity. Even though its human features were gone, there was no denying it was quite angry, as it zoomed down the stairwell after its precious notebook and treasures.

Micky could not believe his eyes when he looked back over his shoulders, a tall glowing thing was chasing him. Thankfully, he knew every twist and turn in the city and he ducked into a stairwell leading down into a basement bar. As Micky walked through the dimly lit establishment, he was yelled at by the bar tender to get out or she would call the cops again. He quickly apologized and left out of the other side of the building. Micky knew he should throw the book away get out of town and call it quits. He decided that he was going to go to one last place. It was on the last map in the notebook. He figured each score was bigger than the last so he would clean up on the last treasure and disappear into the sunset. He was fairly sure his passport was still good; he had always wanted to travel and keep a travel log, and he had family in the UK. He made up his mind he was going to stop off and get himself a brand-new notebook, something to write his travel diaries in. He knew he was way too smart for this life of petty larceny. How long he thought, before he wound up in jail, or worse.

The final map led him to a large warehouse on the edge of town. it had been thrown up in haste a few years ago, but Micky never really knew who used it. He was nervous about going and thought about getting someone to go with him, greed got the better of him and he didn’t want to risk some one else butting in on his big score. He followed the hand drawn map this one surrounded by even stranger symbols to the back of the huge building. Micky was surprised to find the door was unlocked he went in armed with only his wits and a decent flashlight. He found himself in a dark hallway and he slowly crept down it. He had assumed the building was abandoned but thought he had heard voices. Micky froze up as he heard heavy footsteps running above him. Micky’s first thought was to run back to the door and take off into the night but suddenly the door flew open! The night that should have filled the doorway was blotted out by a glowing pink form. Micky ran for his life! Hedodged down one hall then another until he found himself in a room full of strange machinery. Micky quickly found something to hide behind. As he crouched down, he turned off his flashlight and tried to quiet his breathing. Micky heard laughter, then the ground began to shake beneath his feet. Oh, great he thought all of this and now an earthquake! Micky had felt earthquakes before, but this felt different. This quake was accompanied by a strange sensation like going up in an elevator. He became aware of a loud whirring noise. Suddenly bright although not unpleasant lights came on and he realized a cage made of odd glass bars surrounded him, and he was going up.

“How long are you in for?” Asked a man with a head that looked like a fox but with bright blue fur.

“Three years.” Replied Micky

Micky was tried by the people of Mondublarm (a small planet of the Alpha Centauri system) and found guilty of theft and obstruction of justice. Normally he would have done his time in one of their secret earth bases but as he accidentally stowed away, he would do a year on the ship another year on Mondublarm and a year going back to earth. Micky was actually pretty excited to be going to another planet, he had been wanting to travel. His cell was a lot nicer than the dump he was living in on earth, and the food was better. Best of all no mobsters or Earth cops could touch him now as Mondublarm has no extradition treaty with Earth. He was told if he behaved himself in a few months he would find himself in a trustee position, getting out of his cell and helping on the ship. For now, he settled for getting to know his new cell mate and writing about his adventures.