Cafe to Coffer

JJ almost crashed into the glass door as he ran into the store. This was his 3rd day at the café and he was late again – 8:07AM. There was so much rush in the train (where did all the people come from!) that they didn’t let him in, with his bike. He had to wait and let go of three trains, before getting in. And that too, with some curse words from fellow passengers, peeled skin, just above his socks and a scratch on his cheek, where the handlebar nicked him. He hated this daily pain, but he couldn’t afford to move closer to downtown.

“Hi Tim!” he said with a guilty smile at his manager, Tim.

“Heyyyy”, Tim responded with a fake smile and teeth so tight, it would have broken a walnut apart, putting squirrels to shame. Tim was filling in for JJ, until he showed up, as he had done in the last two days as well. Understandably his patience was running thin.

JJ rushed into the “staff room” to change – it was a closet with no room for humans. But the little café in downtown couldn’t afford more space for its employees. He knocked over a box of coffee capsules as he fought to get his sweaty arm out of his t-shirt.

“Fish!” He returned the capsules to where they were and straightened his uniform and got out.

Tim glared at JJ and snapped his fingers, maintaining the ever creepy wide smile, lest the customers find out how unpleasant his real disposition was. JJ took his position at the cash counter and started taking the next order. Large black coffee – he always thought the cup looked like a deep abyss when it just had black coffee. Something felt ominous about the drink and the person who chose to douse it everyday without fail.

JJ was more of a creamer and sugar guy. Especially those sugar cubes. Growing up, he knew someone who had ponies. Holding the sugar cubes and letting the ponies lick them off his palm was his favourite pastime. That was a nice memory.

“HELLO!” Oops, the next customer was at the till and JJ wasn’t paying attention. He looked around and his colleague, Afua, was looking at him with her eyebrows raised, from the cleaning counter. JJ smiled meekly and turned away.

“Sorry, what would you like?”

“Like WTF. I said lemonade, without ice and sugar.”

So, like fingerbowl, thought JJ. Sometimes, dreams felt better. He tried harder to focus on his work. Time flew and it was already 11. The lunchtime rush would start soon. He had heard Roy and Vic start up the kitchens. And he needed a quick break.

“Can I take a..” he started.

“Wipe those 3 tables on the corner and you can!” Afua finished the sentence.

JJ took the wipe and tray to clear the tables. The first table was a breeze, the second, a mess – they had picked the raisins off the raisin bread and streaked it on the table. Sigh!

The last table was the prettiest spot in the café. Right between 11 and 1120, the angle of the sunlight used to hit the glass sculpture outside the window and the light used to get refracted beautifully with the seven colours on the table top. This was the only table that had real flowers, from Tim’s florist girlfriend. JJ had interviewed at this table too a week ago.

Luckily, this was a lighter mess too. JJ wiped down one side and reached out to the other side. He noticed a little black book on the chair. Someone had left it behind. JJ picked it up to drop it off in the lost & found bin, in case someone asked for it. He flipped the pages to see if there was any contact information on it. Nothing! It was a nice book – soft leather and thick pages, must be a good brand. Should he just take it? I mean no one noticed.

Were their cameras? JJ looked around, and then realized, if he wasn’t looking creepy so far, he is probably completing that look now. I can still recover from this, he thought. He finished cleaning and walked back to the counter and dropped the book in the “lost & found” box.

His break was over before he could finish checking his emails. He was waiting for responses for two scholarship applications. He was entering third year of college and needed to make sure he had enough money. He didn’t want his parents to pay for it and he didn’t want to graduate with a big loan. Gosh – what does it feel like in life, not to be counting pennies.

Sasha, the ever-well-dressed lady was always there sharp at 4.27pm. Afua had told him to prep her drink 2-3 minutes in advance, cause when she didn’t wait, she dropped a fiver in the tip jar. And today too, JJ followed the suit and earned the tip. Afua winked and smiled at him.

4.30pm – they started closing. JJ started mopping and Afua started cleaning the tables. Tim will be splitting the tips. JJ wondered how much Tim will subtract for his delay in the morning. Deep in his thoughts about the tips, he tipped the lost & found box and the little black book flew open on the wet floor. JJ winced a little and bent to pick up the book, and to his surprise, sees writing in the book. Just standing there stunned, he furrowed his brows and stared even more intently.

“Unless you are penciling in your appointment to be here at 7.45AM tomorrow, I want you to throw that book away and finish mopping my floors,” yelled a familiar voice.

JJ stuffed the book in his pocket, muttered a sorry and continued mopping. The sound of coins from the tip jar could not distract JJ this time, as he wondered what the deal was, with that book.

Could he have stumbled on Voldemort’s actual diary? OK, that is just plain silly. You are tired, just think calmly. Where had he seen that blue colour before?

Then he remembered… He babysat his nephew two years ago and changed his diapers. The way he knew he had to change was, either really bad smell or the blue streak when he peed. That’s this blue. The floor cleaner had ammonia and human pee had ammonia. Ooh! Dots connected… This is why they should just give him the scholarship instead of making him wait. Sigh!

But why was someone using diaper ink to write in this book. And more importantly, where was he going to get ammonia to read the rest of the book?

He picked up an empty cup and scooped some of the liquid in the cleaning bucket, wrote cleaning liquid on it and set it aside. He just made plans for tonight.

JJ raced out of the café, excited about the book. He made $23 in tips today. Tim didn’t subtract anything for JJ’s morning delay, which was nice of him. Maybe nutcracker did have a softer side to him. But JJ was just thinking about what was in the book. He didn’t want to start checking it out in public, in case the owner was around or someone else noticed something. Maybe it was part of a dark club or voodoo, who knew.

It took him another hour of painful ride home, with the bike. As expected, his roomies were out, which was perfect for what he needed to do. He went straight to his room and locked the door. And began dabbing the cleaning liquid onto the pages starting with the first page.

“I, Cornelius Arthur Henry Stockton, in sound state of mind write these final words and will. As my witness, I have my lawyer and childhood friend, Bethany Joanna Williams, to attest my words.”

JJ had just stumbled onto someone’s will. Wow! He had a doubt that the little black book looked expensive. The pages were so thick. It made sense now – they had to withstand the moisture from this diaper ink thing. Who was this Corny guy?

JJ googled him – turns out he was a descendent of a royal family, originally from Wales. But someone in his family has married against the wishes of their parents, but to maintain decorum, they chose to come over to North America, instead of being ostracized in their homeland. And the lineage continued here. Not to mention, the wealth did too.

As JJ continued to dab more pages, it looked like the listing of an antiques’ garage sale, with even more boring names that these pieces went to. And by the 82nd page, no more words appeared. There were 17 more pages in the book, which was odd. Generally, these expensive books were hand bound and had even pages.

JJ checked the pages closer to the spine, to see if any sheets had been ripped out and true enough, he found it. He also noticed, the page after it had some impressions on it, like pressure had been applied. JJ took a pencil and started colouring in the page. And again, words started to appear.

“Go to the edge of the city, where water meets the shores.

Young and old alike, people throng here in scores.

Is the making of a man, that spoke in extempore.

And it is here that you will find your luck evermore.”

What the…? This person ripped out a poem? Why is it written separately from the previous pages? Why write a will in a pocketbook? Gah! That was two hours of my day.

JJ leaned back and closed his eyes. His shoulders were tight from hunching and he slowly began to relax. Suddenly he sat up, as the words hit him. The poem was indicating the Speaker’s podium at the Waterfront. He ran out of his apartment and started biking. The trains would be full again going into downtown, but this time he would have to go as soon as possible. The person who ripped the page had at least 8 hours advantage.

He managed to get in and was at the Speaker’s podium in 40 minutes. He stood staring at the structure for twenty minutes. Couldn’t figure out where his “luck” was. Then he started reading the inscription that said that the stone was the updated base for many revolutionary speeches and was moved to the current location after land reclamation to extend the city in early 1900s.

JJ cautiously took a few steps back. He realized that maybe Corny had written his will, before the stone was moved, but JJ didn’t want to open the book to check the date. If the other person was here, he was probably still watching. Pretending normalcy, JJ walked and biked away. Based on the inscription, the old spot was about a kilometre away from the shores.

JJ could feel his heart pounding, as he reached the spot. And as he expected, there was the old spot with the older stone base. Carefully looking around, he went to inspect the stone closely. The inscription confirmed that this was the original. The stone looked like it hadn’t been moved for a long time.

Could it be that simple, that you move the stone and “luck” is underneath? Why not, let’s try. JJ tried hard to move the stone. He noticed a branch nearby and pivoted the stone out. And there it was staring at him, a pack in rags. With trembling hands, he pulled it off the base of the stone, rolled the stone back in place and biked away from the spot, as fast as he could. He stopped only when he got into the empty train. He slowly opened the rags – and there it was, gloriously preserved banknotes – fifty one pound notes from Bank of England, printed 1925.

Grandpa’s ancient quarters had sold for $100 each at the auction. This was at least $20,000! Oh. My. God.