Richard Penny

Palm Beach can be warm in February, but it wasn’t today. Overcast and cold droplets brought a chilly morning South Florida. Low 50’s never looked good on palm trees. Priscilla, my friend, often insisted on brunch at Le Bilboquet, ordering eggs benedict with a side of country ham. The drive from West Palm, to me, never seemed worth the drive. The weather was never nice when I had time for the beach, and I could never afford more than a bagel and OJ anyway. Even after parking, the rain continued following me down Hibiscus Ave to Worth. I decided to travel light that miserable, gloomy morning with only my phone, wallet, and keys stuffed in my old jacket.

Arriving at the restaurant, the rain came to an immediate halt. My phone lit-up in alarm to Priscilla’s messages:

Something came up

Don’t go to Bilboquet today

…

Sorry

Priscilla always insisted on her little games. Surprisingly, the Le Bilboquet was empty today, and my stomach is rumbling. I had looked forward to eating, but not sure how a bagel tastes alone.

The rain had stopped, and the clouds began to part. I realized I hadn’t seen the beach in some time and figured I would watch the waves.

“Ugh, construction on the end of Worth,” I thought, seeing a man place down cones. “I’ll make my way down Hammon Ave.”

I could feel the first warmth all morning through my drenched clothes, peeking just over the pink Colony Hotel. A loud ‘thwap’ from several feet away startled me. I see a little black book from where the sound came. Nearby, a man in a ‘Diamondbacks’ hat was staring at his phone.

“I think you dropped something,” I insisted, but he shook his head and walked away.

I bent down and picked up the wet book. Flipping through pages, I see that it’s merely random sketches and notes.

“An Artist maybe,” I thought to myself.

There was a name on the front:

Richard Penny

I look around again to see who this could’ve belonged to—only seeing a woman enter into the Colony Hotel. Seeing no one else, I ran up to the front door only to find it locked.

“Odd for a hotel to have a locked front door,” I thought, but I knocked. The door cracked open, and an eye glared at me.

Caught off-guard from the gazing eye, I managed to utter, “Um, hello, is a Richard Penny staying here? I believe he dropped this book.”

The door opened completely, and the concierge allowed me in and motioned me to follow him through the foyer of the chicly pink hotel.

“Le Bilboquet isn’t the only place empty today.” I thought.

Before I could emphasize my intent, the concierge opened a guestroom door to where the woman stood next to an empty chair. He motioned me in and closed the door behind me, making me nervous.

She looked at me, lit cigarette in hand, analyzing me up and down.

Confused, I offered the little black book to her, “For Richard Penny?”

The woman took a long drag and shook her head, disgusted at my wet attire. She gestured I take a seat; I was confused but obliged. She handed me a bag. I opened it to find two large bands of cash, each with a note of ten-thousand dollars.

My heart raced. I opened my mouth to resist, to question, to ease my confusion, but the woman insisted I followed her as she walked out of the door.

“I don’t know what game this is, but I just…” I began to say.

I didn’t know if I was moving slow or if she was walking fast, but I could not focus. I immediately stood and chased her down the hall and into another room.

As I entered the room, the woman pressed me against a wall, took several steps back next to a short bald man with a large camera in his hands, and took another drag of her cigarette. I merely asked, “Richard Penny?”

The man held up the camera replied, “Yes. Hello Richard. Smile.”

I grimaced, a flash, and a moment later, I had my face on an ID with the name ‘Richard Penny.’

“NO. I am not Richard Penny.”

The door to the room creaked open.

“Richard Penny?” a designer asked, wheeling in a cart filled with clothes.

I raised my hand in surprise to myself, then awkwardly put it back down as the designers pushed the cart to me.

“I’m looking for Richard Penny,” I said as they bent down and measured my chest, waist, hip, and inseam and helped me remove my jacket.

Handing me a pair of white wool pants, I was instructed to change.

“Take off my clothes now?” I was met with only a silent nod as the search for a shirt continued. I abandoned my stance, and in my perplexed state changed my clothes.

Dry and comfortable in my new outfit, the short bald man opened the door and motioned to follow, “Richard Penny?”

I stood and anxiously followed him and the woman back to the foyer and out to a driver with a long black car. Opening the door for us, I smiled back as the driver remarked, “Richard Penny.”

In the car, again, I was asked by the woman and the bald man. “Richard Penny?”

“Yes?” I responded. Knowing that wasn’t my name.

They handed me a plane ticket.

Destination: Los Mochis, Mexico.

“Wonder if that’s near Cancún?” I wondered.

The bald man handed me a luxury watch and designer wallet in a nice jacket. I placed the wallet in my bag next to the cash and book, putting on the jacket and watch.

My phone started buzzing, a text from Priscilla:

Please call me

Something weird is happening

I was shown a new phone by the woman, which only a Richard Penny could have. As I took the new phone, the woman kept her hand out, reaching for my old. The woman smiled as I gave it to her in disgust. Priscilla would need to wait.

I hardly had time to realize that car stopped, and I stepped out, still admiring my new phone. I had expected the bald man and woman to step out with me, but the car hurried off. I checked the gate number and made my way through, looking for the terminal. I could see the jet as it docked.

“Name, please,” The agent asked.

“Richard Penny,” I responded. After showing my ID, they let me through.

As I boarded the jet, I mused, “Again, empty. Only myself and the pilots on this trip.”

After several minutes of waiting and no one else boarding, I stood up to see what may be wrong. Several agents entered the cabin with ‘FBI’ on the jackets.

“Richard Penny?” They asked with a stern, commanding tone.

“No, no, I…” I trailed, thinking of my ID. I checked my phone to realize I was in the background; the phone’s pictures were of me.

“Richard Penny?” They approached further still, hands-on their holsters.

I thought back to the small black book, frantic I removed it from my bag and ruffled through its pages; lists and words of places I had been, people I had seen, drawings of the hotel, and Le Bilboquet.

“Richard Penny?! Hands in the air!” The agents shouted, now with weapons drawn. Breathing heavy, I screamed inside in a panic and confusion, dropping the little black book to the floor.

“Richard Penny?!” They said.

“Richard Penny?” They said.

“Richard Penny.”