Little Black Book

As he pulled his cruiser over, he thought, “This is gonna be bad.”

He took a deep breath, exhaled, and got out. The front of the car was accordioned against the tree. A head, half crushed, stuck through the windshield. The blood was a slow drip onto the shattered safety glass. No spurting, the man was dead. It seeped through the craquelured shards and glinted ruby in the headlights, strangely beautiful.

“Jesus, who doesn’t wear a seatbelt in 2021?”, he thought. He called for an ambulance then walked around the wreck. The driver’s side door was too crushed, probably have to pull the body out through the windshield. He opened the passenger door, leaned in to look for the registration in the glove compartment, but noticed a faint glow below. There was a small book on the floor. He picked it up.

It was… odd. The cover was black, cool to the touch, like a fine fabric, like silk, but it had a metal feel. There was a band around it. He stood back and held it up to the beam of his headlights. The band was iridescent. He couldn’t tell if it glowed or just reflected the light. He turned around, covered it in his hands and peered between his thumbs. It did seem to glow. Or maybe not. There was no key hole. No latch. No obvious release mechanism to open the book. He pressed his thumbs against the lower edge of the band, but they slipped over it. He’d get back to this later. He put his hand with the book into his pocket. He’d been holding it for several minutes, but it hadn’t warmed, still cold against his palm.

He walked behind the wreck to examine the scene. There were skid marks. The car had been driving fast. He looked across the double line. There was a second set of skid marks. Also going fast. Parallel until just before the car went off the road, then crossed. Did they skid to avoid the crash? Were they passing, maybe sideswiped the guy? “I should look for paint marks”, he thought.

“Excuse me.”

The officer was startled. He turned and saw a man standing next to the wreck, in the headlights, hard to make out.

“This is an accident scene, sir.” He walked towards the man, who took a step back keeping himself between the headlights and the officer.

“Yes. I saw him go off the road. I pulled over to see if I could help. I’m a doctor.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do. Did you see what happened?”

He stepped beside the man and got his first good look. Older, maybe 60. Short beard. White hair. About 6 feet, thin, athletic build. Dark blazer, blue or black, something bulky in the vest pocket. White oxford shirt. Khakis. Like the guys he pulled over every week driving drunk after wine tasting.

“He went off the road. He was swerving – I think he may have been drunk.”

The officer was still edgy from being startled, but something felt off. If the man breaked, skidded, stopped, why wasn’t he here when I came on the scene? Did he leave and then decide to come back? There wasn’t another car on the road when he came on the crash, and it was long, straight stretch.

“Where’s your car, sir?” he asked.

He pulled his hand from his pocket, the book still in his palm. It drew the man’s immediate attention - he visibly stiffened.

“You have the book”, he said.

The officer thought, “There’s something wrong. Something off. Pay attention.”

“You knew the guy?”, he asked. His hand went towards his gun. With the book in his palm he couldn’t have drawn it, but he didn’t want to drop the book.

“That book is mine. It’s my lab notebook. It has confidential research data. This man stole it. I was trying to get it back. If it sits in an evidence locker the next 3 months, it would be a serious set back. I have $20,000. I’ll give it to you if you give me my book.”

The officer felt the adrenaline kick in. Time slowed. His thoughts cascaded.

“He’s lying.”

“It’s too small to be a lab notebook.”

“That’s almost half my salary.”

“I could pay off my student loan. Have a live band at the wedding.”

“He’s trying to bribe me.”

“I’m not that kind of cop.”

“I can’t do this.”

“No one would know.”

“There’s something bigger going on here.”

The sound of a distant ambulance interrupted his thoughts. The man looked anxiously in the direction of the sound. He reached into his jacket pocket. Again the officer’s hand went toward his gun but was blocked by the book.

The man didn’t draw a weapon. He pulled out a large stack of cash. Crisp, new hundreds. Could easily be $20,000.

“That ambulance will be here in two minutes. You have to decide. Take the money. A young man like you could use this. You would be helping me, helping medicine. I can’t explain. Take it.”

He extended his hand with the cash.

“Please.”

The world was this bundle of cash, the sound of the approaching ambulance, and the book, still oddly cool in his palm. He was paralyzed. Caught. And then, he wasn’t.

He reached out his left hand and grasped the money. He slowly, reluctantly, handed the book to the man. A simple exchange. Anything but a simple exchange. He let go of the book.

“Thank you.”

The white and red of the ambulance lights flickered on the trees and he turned towards it. When he turned back, the man was gone. Just gone. He looked around. No car. He had to have left on foot. Was he hiding behind a tree? There was a large fallen oak to the right, was he hiding in the branches? Was he in my car?

The officer walked back to his cruiser, looked through the windows. The car was empty. He got back in, opened the glove compartment, put the money in, closed it, locked it. The ambulance arrived, lights flashing bright, and the siren went silent.

He sat for a moment in his cruiser and thought, “What have I just done?”