Twenty Thousand and the Book

“Never for the life of me would I imagine I would make it to be an old man. My life in those younger days, well… let’s just say I wasn’t all the way on the right side of the law. That’s why I’m here.” I said, getting choked up in the process.

“Pardon me.” I croaked, “The throat’s dry I can barely talk.” The lighting low, and my eyesight not so good anymore. I almost didn’t see the young man across the table hand me a glass of water.

“Take your time, Mr. Wallace.” He said, not blinking an eye as I took a sip.

“I had my reasons, or that’s what I told myself.” I continued, pausing to cough a little bit more. “All these years I lived; a shadow followed. I didn’t care then or didn’t notice. Now it's time to make things right. It’s not like I robbed a bank or stole anything, I just didn’t do what I should have. I’m here to make things right.” I took a good deep breath.

“I was twenty-something, and the world was falling apart or so it seemed. I had just got married and deep in debt. That’s when I met, Harper. He was the definition of a street punk; short stature, blond spikey hair, baggy clothes that barely touched his butt. Reckless is the best word to describe him. He told me that he grew up on the great streets of Boston, and knew people that could...well, let's say help out with my monetary problems.

We met through my new wife’s brother, Roger who also had a debt to pay. Gambling, I suspect. Anyway, Roger, Harper, and I worked odd jobs for the local gangs; freelance work so to speak. Nothing too hard, moving cargo to black-market suppliers, giving the occasional warning to would-be snitches. You know that sort of thing.

Anyway, one day while doing one of our jobs, I’d found this ally cat. She was the most gorgeous thing. I took her home to my wife and gave her some food. Occasionally I would take her to work if I knew we were working that night at the Warehouse. I can’t go into any details of that operation, the only thing I will admit is it had a lot of rats. I hate rats!

“The rodent kind, just to be clear. Let me tell you, that cat was a mouser! I remember this one time when…”

“Mr. Wallace, please.” the other man interrupted, looking at me. “You took the cat to the ‘Warehouse’ you said.”

“Right, young man. I took the cat to the Warehouse and Harper and I was clearing out some old crates to make room for more merchandise. I remember that Roger was unloading the truck. Something happened, we heard a loud crash and Roger screamed. We went to investigate and found Roger pinned down under a broken crate. The cat had chased a rat to one of the upper platforms, on top of the said crate. I guess it gave out and toppled the crate, pinning Roger and injuring the cat.

Harper wanted to finish the job, seeing how you just can’t leave a job unfinished. That’s one of the many drawbacks of being in that kind of business. We couldn’t exactly call for help either, so instead, I took Roger to the ER that night.

The doctors said they were going to run some tests and he would be there the rest of the day. By then it was nearly morning and the cat clinic not far, so I decided to walk there taking the scenic route by the bay.

The cat was meowing in pain, so I didn’t dawdle too long at any one place. In my rush, I didn’t see the storm drain was bent at an odd angle. I tripped, dropping the cat carrier in the process. That’s where I found this.” I said, taking out a small black notebook from my jacket pocket. The leather cover is now worn with age. I placed it on the table in-between us.

“What’s that?” the other man asked. Now I’ve got his attention.

“It’s not what you think,” I told him, amused. “The book doesn’t contain anything dubious. I didn’t have a chance to read it then like I said I was in a hurry. Well, I got the cat to the vet no worse for wear. Promptly, I returned to the Warehouse.

Harper had just finished moving the merchandise, and let me tell you, he wasn’t amused. I told him; I’d make it up to him someday. He left huffing and puffing, but still amenable. After he left, I finished cleaning up the crate mess and went home to the wife.

It was about a week after that when I remembered the book. I wasn’t much of a reader of books back then, but this was the exception. I read it one evening while things were slow and we didn’t have much to do.

It is a journal written by a man who made a living adventuring on the sea and fell in love with a young lady.” I paused, ready for another couching bout.

“When they say, you should never smoke. They mean it.” I said in a barely audible rasp then I reached for the glass of water. I took another sip, feeling the cool liquid soothe my throat. This has been a long day. “Let’s see, it was about a week later when…”

“You said, it’s about two lovers’.” the other man said, impatiently.

“Yes, yes, yes… Two lovers’. The seaman pulled into port late one night; after getting caught in a storm earlier that day. That was how they met. You see, she was walking by the bay, enjoying the moonlight, he saw her from far away. The short story is they fell in love.

The twist was the young lady could only go outside at night. You see, she had a rare disease where the sun’s light would burn her skin almost instantly. That made a romance with a struggling seaman difficult, cause he would often be gone for long periods and she could only leave her house at night.

They made it work, often meeting at night by the bay every chance they could get. Often, he would bring her exotic gifts from his travels and she would give him seashells she had found. This went on for years. Then one day the seaman wanted to settle down with his beautiful bride. Eventually, they got married.

It was on his last trip across the ocean when a storm hit. His ship was severely damaged, so he and the crew found a remote island. Where they all eventually died, except one. The cabin boy somehow managed to escape taking the journal with him. The boy said he promised the man to deliver this to the bride.

Only it was too late, the lady died that same year. The boy didn’t know what to do with it, so he kept it for a time. To this day, I’m not sure how it ended up in a storm drain.

The only thing I know for sure is what happened to me after I had found it. When I first read the story, I enjoyed it like any other, not exactly believing it was real. Unfortunately, Harper had other ideas. I mentioned earlier that I’d owed him. He saw me reading it that night and wanted the book, so I gave it to him. Not thinking much about it after that.

That was the last time I saw Harper for an exceptionally long time. Both he and I went our separate ways. Harper’s ambition always outshone my own, he continued with a life a crime. Eventually becoming the Boss. I, on the other hand, traded in my crowbar and went on to more conventional employment opportunities and eventually growing my family.

With that said, this brings me to the most recent turn of events and why I am here. Like I mentioned before, I’m here to make things right. I’m an old man now, wiser in the ways of the world. I want to correct a mistake I didn’t make. That is, Harper. I know where he is hiding.” I finished. Swiftly, I took out of my jacket pocket a crumpled flyer. I straightened it out for the other man to see. It said, Wanted Kingpin Harper Mathews, and below it a picture of my old friend.

“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Wallace.” The agent said, taking the wanted poster, so he can see it better. “That is a unique story.” He paused like he was thinking about something. “What I don’t get is; How did you end up with the notebook? You said Harper had it.” He said, putting down the poster. Our eyes met; all I could see was skepticism in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I did say that didn’t I?” I said, trying to keep the laughter from my response. I laugh too hard these days; I will have another coughing fit. “Didn’t I also mention I have a brother-in-law that introduced me to Harper in the first place,” I responded, this time taking another sip of water. “He died about a week ago and Harper popped in to give his respects. I was there and saw the old book. I asked him, ‘Is that my old book?’ He said, ‘Yes.’ And he gave it back to me, saying ‘I always meant to return it.’ He left and that was that.”

“How’d you know about the cabin boy?” the agent asked, trying to trip me up.

“It’s in here, the cabin boy added to the last few pages. Including the location of the island, he was marooned on.” I said, turning to the aforementioned page and handing it over to the agent. He took the book and looked at it.

“We’ll see.” He said, getting up from the chair. “I’ll have to vet this. If things pan out, I’ll get back to you in a few weeks.” I stood up, and we shook hands.

∞

Ring! Ring! Ring!

I wobbled, to the door, yelling at it “I’m coming! I’m coming, hold on.” I turned the knob, opening the door. A well-dressed young man stood at my doorstep, he said, “My name is Special Agent Dylan Marrows, we talked a few weeks ago.”

“Yes! Yes! Come in.” I said, leading him to the couch. We sat down.

“I had reviewed all that you gave me.” He said, and then handed me a vanilla envelope. “We searched the island and arrested Harper Mathews. If you look in there, you will find a check for 20,000 dollars, as promised.

I took the liberty of tracking down the great-great-granddaughter of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Davenport, who was the author of the journal you found. You see, Mrs. Davenport died giving birth to a child. Who was later adopted.

Miss. Williams, I believe her name is. She seemed quite amenable to meeting you. If you wish, I can set up a meeting so the two of you can talk.”

“I’ll like that. Maybe, my grandson will escort me. Thank you, Special Agent Mathews.” We both got up and shook hands then he left. I opened the envelope and held the check placing it on the mantle beside a photo of my late wife, a single tear fell down my cheek. “I told you I’d make things right, my love.”