by R Weir
questions might clear up the mystery.
"We are looking for an Ernie Banks rookie card.” I stated.
"You’re in luck," replied the Manager. "We happened to come in contact with one recently."
I glanced at Dennis and could tell he knew we'd hit pay dirt.
"What condition is it in?"
"Nearly perfect. Stored in a penny sleeve and a top loader to protect it. The previous owner had taken wonderful care of it."
"May we see it?"
He led us to the rear of the store where he removed the card from the display case so we could view it. The sticker with the name and address had been removed from the back, though the tacky residue remained. On the front, a new price tag listing a figure close to the book value. This certainly was the card.
"Can you tell me where you got this?"
"We purchased the card yesterday."
"Can you give us a name?"
"That is privileged information I can't divulge. Why do you ask?"
I pulled out my ID. The picture was driver’s license quality, so it was lousy. So it took him a minute to match the photo to the face.
"So what’s this about?" wondered the Manager.
"Dennis here had his Topps Ernie Banks card stolen yesterday. It appears someone has sold it to you. He had his name and address labeled on the back which has been removed. If you check you can tell it was once there."
The manager took the card in hand and felt the stickiness. He glared at me and Dennis for a moment, seeming to weigh the situation. He placed the card back into the display case and locked it.
"There is nothing I can do," he stated. "I'm sorry Dennis here has lost something of value. You have no proof he is the owner. His insurance will cover the monetary loss."
"We understand and we accept the fact you are not to blame. You made a straight business deal. But you can tell us who sold it to you."
The manager paused to contemplate. "I don't know."
"Please. This means more to me than the money." Dennis sounded very sincere. Please had worked wonders on me earlier. Would it work now?
"I shouldn't do this. I don't know his name. He insisted on being paid in cash. Luckily I had eight hundred dollars in the store. It is dangerous to keep lots of cash on hand these days." He stopped to reflect. "He was a little older than Dennis here, also bigger. He was black and appeared to be an athlete. He had one of those strange haircuts, short on the sides and longer on top, plus a little growth under his chin. What else? Oh that's right. Now I remember. I noticed a scar on his face, along his nose. I asked him about it but he didn’t answer me."
"Terence!" came out of Dennis's mouth a second before mine. The culprit had been found. Terence was the last person I suspected.
"Thank you for the information," I said. "Much appreciated."
"If he confesses to stealing the card," stated the Manager, "I'll sell it back for what I bought it for. But hurry as it may not last long."
"Sounds fair. We’ll contact you."
Dennis and I walked out of the store. Anger seemed to well up inside him. I couldn't blame him. If a close friend had ever done that to me I'd have been furious too. Now the question was what to do.
"We go confront him," stated Dennis without hesitation. "He said he'd be playing basketball at the church.
It's what I'd have done as well. Though how will the lad react? Terence was much larger, and probably stronger. But one did not steal from friends. I would stand in the background and watch, for it was all I cared to do. It was between them to settle their differences.
In silence I drove until we pulled down the alley behind the church. A couple of basketball hoops lined the outer ring of the pavement in the middle of the lot. There shooting in the fading light stood Terence. As I watched, he expertly made every shot from fifteen feet away and at least for today, he was deadly accurate. The young man had skills.
Dennis didn't hesitate for a second. As soon as the car stopped he was out the door and determined to get some answers. Following I stayed well back. I'd only interfere if the confrontation got ugly. The first words spoken were direct and to the point.
"I know you did it. I just can't figure out why." Dennis stated with a touch of spitefulness, his right index finger pointed.
Terence seemed startled. He did not immediately respond.
"I see you've brought your stupid look with you. Little doubt from someone with half a brain lacking smarts. Did you think you'd get away with it?"
Terence took a shot and missed for the first time since we'd arrived. Dennis snatched the rebound and tossed the ball into the grass yard which definitely got his friend's attention.
"Hey bro!! What the hell is up with you?" Terence had a confounded look.
"Don't give me your bull! You know what is up. You stole from me. A brother no less. How could you do that to me?"
Dennis now sounded like someone from the street. More so than at any time this day. I wondered what had brought it out. Was it the anger or the feeling of betrayal? You did not betray a friend.
His eyes now averted, Terence realized he was caught. Still he tried to play dumb, though actually I figured him to be rather intelligent.
"The trading card! My Ernie Banks rookie card! You swapped it for money. Sold me out for the long green. Did you need it so bad that you stole from me? Give me a reason or I'll take you down!"
There was no fear in Terence, though confrontation was not on his mind. He tried to turn and walk away but Dennis wouldn't let him. He grabbed him by the arm and rose up on his toes so they stood eyeball to eyeball. Terence attempted to pull away and the scuffle began.
This was less a fight than a wrestling match. Both rolled to the ground struggling to land a punch. Dennis landed a couple to the chest and shoulder, while Terence covered up and tried to push his smaller opponent away. After a couple of minutes I deduced little was being accomplished, so I intervened by grabbing Dennis and pulling him away. He wasn't happy with me, but I figured he'd gotten his best shots in. Sooner or later the larger Terence would put him down.
"Let me go," Dennis yelled. "I want to punch his lights out."
"Cool it!" I said firmly. It was the closest I came to the language of the streets.
"Ok!" Dennis calmed down some. He understood the moment was over. Nothing in the way of violence would happen right now. Still he needed to have an answer.
"Terence I believe your friend here is hurt," I said with my Father Knows Best tone. "He doesn’t understand. All he wants to know is why, and I believe you’re man enough to tell us that much."
Terence brushed off the dirt from his sweats and wiped the perspiration from his face as he got up. It was always hard to admit a failing. Somehow I sensed there was more than just simple greed to this lad's dirty deed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I had no choice. I didn't plan it, but I had to do something."
"Go on," I said while Dennis stood silently.
"I found the card in the play yard over there. It must have fallen out of your pocket sometime while we were horsing around. I picked it up fully expecting to give it back to you. But then I remembered what you said when you showed it to us, how much money it was worth. I needed the greenbacks."
I thought the worst. Drugs, booze, gambling, or a payoff for gang related problems that plague our city. All of those thoughts flooded my mind, and I felt guilty rushing to judgment before hearing the facts.
"Dad has been out of work for some time now. He worked for twelve years with a company that recently went out of business. It came as a complete surprise to him. One day he was working, the next unemployed. He's been searching real hard, but can't seem to come up with anything. I can tell he’s worried."
It was a sign of the times. The economy was weak right now. Bankruptcy and foreclosures were up, welfare and unemployment lines were long. Good honest hard working people were having a rough go of it.
"His unemployment checks aren’t large enough. He could pay the rent, the utilitie
s, the car payment, or buy food. Sometimes he can cover two or three, just not all four. Mom's job helps, but it's not always full-time. They've juggled the money for several months now, even receiving some help from family, but it's caught up with them. The deadline was nearing."
"What are you trying to say?" asked Dennis, his anger subsiding, his face filled with concern.
"We needed fifteen hundred dollars by the end of the month or we'd be evicted. Dad and Mom had scraped a little more than eight hundred dollars, but they realized it wouldn't be enough. They told us their problems, preparing us for the worst. I will live with Mom's parents, while my two sisters go to Dad's brother, Mom and Dad with Grandpa and Grandma Williams. Mom wasn't happy with splitting the family up. It was tearing her up. And Dad, well we knew he was hurting for not being responsible for caring of us. You could tell he wanted to say he was sorry, but he couldn't. That wasn't his style.”
"So you sold the card and gave your parents the money." It was the logical next question for me to ask.
"I agonized over it for a few hours. It's not easy stealing from a friend right in the front yard of God. I had to do something. I felt helpless. Knowing my parents would be suspicious of where the money came from I went to Bill's and got all the cash I could get, sealed it in an envelope and put it under the door with the word gift written on it. That way they'd figure it was an anonymous donor, someone from the neighborhood who'd heard of our troubles, or charity from the church. They had to take it then, and it was enough to get us by, at least for awhile. I
