G-Sale

by Randy Nargi

  37. The Find

  Even with the additional lights Vicky’s team brought in, the Fenwick’s garage was dark and gloomy. Not the best environment for presenting merchandise, Ed thought. But that’s better for me.

  When the doors first opened, a bunch of people headed into the garage along with Ed—including the musclebound woman. But most of the shoppers had taken a quick look around and decided that the main house probably had better stuff. Amateurs. Ed walked over to the workbench. Old tools were always in demand. There was a rack of wood files and some other carving tools. He noticed a dusty shaving mirror hanging on a nail over the workbench. Ed reached over to wipe dust from the mirror’s surface and he discovered that if he angled to mirror correctly, he could keep tabs on most of the other shoppers in the garage. There was the musclebound woman, of course—looking at some old skis. There were a pair of twenty-somethings peeking in boxes of vintage Christmas ornaments. There was a heavyset man looking at a tall oak file cabinet. And there was an old guy and the tough-looking guy he had seen last night when he tried to get a sneak peek. The old guy must be one of the owners. They were just hanging back, keeping an eye on things.

  Ed turned his attention back to the workbench. There was a stack of cardboard boxes haphazardly stacked on one end of the long bench. Might as well start here. Exactly four seconds later, Ed’s heart almost stopped.

  There, wedged between a Brain Surgery board game and an Open Sesame board game was Ed’s Holy Grail: a genuine Pot o’ Gold board game from 1968. Trembling, he pulled the Pot o’ Gold game out of the stack and examined the box. It was in excellent condition. No water damage. The cartoon illustration of the leprechaun on the cover was a little faded, but the game was over 40 years old and that was to be expected. This was big. This was very big. I’ve got to get out of here now. He began to sweat a little. Screw the rest of the sale. This game is worth more than everything else in this house combined. He dug in his pocket for a handkerchief to mop his brow.

  On the other side of the garage, BJ paused. She replaced the Billie Jean King Signature Edition Wilson tennis racquet that she had been inspecting and sniffed the air. She smelled fear.

  Clayton had witnessed Ed putting something in his pocket (although he didn’t see that it was Ed’s own handkerchief). “I think that guy is stealing from us,” he whispered to Xavier.

  “You sure, Pops?” Xavier asked.

  Clayton shrugged. “I can’t be certain, but—”

  That was good enough for Xavier. He strode over to Ed, grabbed his shoulder, and spun him around. “No one rips us off!” Xavier intoned.

  “What?”

  Xavier slammed the other man into workbench. “Empty your pockets!”

  “I swear, I didn’t—”

  “Empty them! Now!”

  “Okay, okay…” Shaken, Ed complied. Wallet… keys… coins…

  As Ed fished items out of his pockets, BJ glided from the shadows behind him, smiling in satisfaction. The little prick is going to get his ass kicked.

  “Everything!” Xavier commanded.

  Ed continued to place his possessions on the workbench. Cell phone… handkerchief… inhaler…

  Xavier snatched up the inhaler. “Is this mace? You bringing a weapon into my house?”

  “What? No—”

  But at that moment, Xavier sprayed the asthma medicine into Ed’s eyes—thinking it was indeed mace. Ed screamed and doubled over.

  In a flash, BJ swooped in and snatched the Pot o’ Gold game. She dashed from the garage back into the house, where she handed Helen the game. “Hang on to this. I don’t know if it’s worth anything, but that little weasel wanted it.”

  “Sure,” Helen said. “What’s going on in there?” Crashes and other sounds of commotion sounded from the garage.

  “With any luck, a murder—” BJ grinned. She headed back to the garage to witness Ed getting his ass kicked.

  38. Turnabout

  A few minutes later, in the Fenwick’s dining room, a hand reached for a metal tea canister. At almost the same time another hand reached for it. The hands belonged to Angela and Helen respectively, and for once Angela got to the prize first.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Helen said.

  Angela smiled at her. “You want this?”

  “Well, not for me. But a customer has been looking for the match for a set of these.”

  “Oh?”

  “People go nuts over these things.”

  “Go ahead then. I just liked the color.” She gave Helen the canister, at the same time spotting the Pot o’ Gold game under Helen’s arm. “Pot o’ Gold! I had that when I was a little girl! Oh my god! Where did you find it?”

  “Oh, I think BJ found it in the garage.”

  “Wow. Could I buy it from you? I was so obsessed with that TV show. Remember Uncle Angus?”

  “Uncle Angus?”

  “He was the leprechaun. Remember? He was a leprechaun who could take human form. So when people came over he was just their Uncle Angus. Begorrah!”

  “Begorrah?” Helen looked like she was trying to understand a foreign language.

  “That was his catchphrase.” Angela explained.

  “Oh, I don’t remember it as well as you do.”

  “Are you kidding? That show was my life when I was little.”

  Helen hesitated for a moment, then handed the game to Angela. “Well in that case, you take it.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Sure.”

  Angela was floored. “Thank you so much! You are so nice! Can I pay you for it?”

  “Don’t be silly. I didn’t even buy it yet.”

  “I don’t know what to say. This is so sweet!” She hugged Helen.

  Helen gave Angela a come-hither look. “Maybe we could play it some time…”

  39. An Unexpected Encounter

  Out on the Fenwick’s front walk where Vicky Bell had set up a cashier table, Angela watched as a tough-looking man dragged a nerdy-looking man out of the garage and shoved him down the driveway.

  “Sorry about that,” Vicky said, then she began to ring up Angela’s purchases. Her eyes lit up when she saw the Pot o’ Gold game. “I remember that show. How fun!”

  “It was my favorite,” Angela said, as she paid and gathered her items.

  “Well, enjoy! Thanks for shopping with us.”

  Angela walked down the driveway just as Dick Nickerson was jogging up toward the sale, with his knapsack and lamp. Angela was distracted—looking down at her new prize—so she nearly ran smack into Dick. Then she did a double-take. It couldn't be! Uncle Angus? She studied Dick’s face. Compared it to the Uncle Angus face on the game. “Oh my god! You look just like—”

  “My game!” Dick exclaimed. While Angela was looking at him, he was looking at the board game in her hands.

  “You look just like Uncle Angus.”

  “That’s because I am Uncle Angus, my dear…”

  “Uncle Angus?! But what are you doing in Bogwood?”

  “I live here. Well, not exactly here, but—”

  “Uncle Angus!” Angela could not believe her eyes.

  “Yes. And it appears that you’ve found my game. I’ve been looking for a copy of that game for years.” Dick reached for the game. “May I just… touch it…?”

  Angela hugged the game close. “Your game?”

  “Fiddle-faddle! If I were only ten minutes earlier. Yes, you see that game is very important to me. For sentimental reasons.”

  “It is you! That voice. I’m talking to Uncle Angus.” Angela beamed at him.

  “Young lady, you don't know how long I’ve searched for that game… I shall pay you twenty dollars for it, and of course be forever in your debt.” He pulled out his wallet. “Let’s make it thirty…”

  “This is amazing. Say it. Would you, please…?”

  “What?”

  “You know. Say it. Your trademark—”

  “Oh…” Dick cleared his throat, and
then spoke in an exaggerated Irish brogue. “Begorrah! We're in a pickle now, me wee lassie. Old Uncle Angus lost his game and now he needs to get it back. Will ye help?” He threw in another “Begorrah!” for good measure.

  Angela giggled like a seven-year-old. Dick joined her. As they laughed together, he gently tried to take the game from her. “Would you like an autograph? I can send you a signed picture or—”

  Angela resisted and tugged the game away from Dick. She stopped laughing and looked at him with sad eyes. Disappointed.

  That look melted his heart. He was being a jackass. A royal jackass. “I'm sorry.” He bowed toward Angela. “I’m very sorry. There’s no excuse for my behavior.” He bowed again and began to walk away back toward his car.

  After a moment, Angela called after him. “Wait!”

  Dick stopped, turned. Angela looked into his eyes. “Take it.” She held out the game.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Sure. I want you to have it. You’re Uncle Angus, after all.”

  “Holy moley!” Dick did a little jig.

  “I still can't believe that I'm talking to Uncle Angus. Although you look a lot taller than you did on TV…”

  Dick whooped and embraced Angela, then raised the game into the air triumphantly. But there was a stab of pain on his finger where he was holding the box. “Ouch!” He shook his hand out in pain. His finger was bleeding. Damn box gave him a paper cut.

  “C’mon, young lady.” Dick took Angela’s arm. “The least I can do is buy you a pastrami sandwich.”

  “Actually, I could use a drink,” she replied as the two of them departed the sale.

  A few minutes later, back at the cashier table, BJ accosted Vicky, blaming her for the loss of the game. Helen looked on sheepishly as Xavier and Clayton tried to make sense of what just happened.

  “I don’t know what kind of sale you're running here, Bell—” BJ glowered.

  Xavier stepped over toward BJ. “Back off, lady.”

  BJ turned toward Xavier, eyes flashing. “What’s it to you, big boy?” Before he could react, she pushed him forward.

  “Order! We must have order!” Vicky shouted, as BJ and Xavier got into a shoving match. “Ordo ab chao!”

  40. Six Months Later

  On a chilly Saturday morning in November Ed LaSalle worked at the computer in his basement office. He had not so much given up on garage sales as become much too busy to go to them anymore. Two big events had caused this shift in priorities. One was the impending divorce with Katie (which actually bothered him less than he would have guessed); the second was the beta launch of his new game “Caves and Beasts Online”— or “CaB” as it was known to the gaming community. Last May, while he spent ten days in the hospital after the fracas at that garage sale, Ed mentally worked out a whole new kind of 3D gaming algorithm which would allow him to rapidly prototype a new game. When he was released from the hospital, he called his old partner Clive, quit his job (which might have had something to do with Katie wanting the divorce), and immersed himself in game development. The beta had just launched last week and now he and Clive were working around the clock to take care of bugs and refine the game play for a Christmas release of the game.

  Still, Ed kind of missed garage sales. He guessed that he’d probably get back into them once CaB was fully launched and he had a little bit more time. There was some buzz online about troll dolls coming back into style, so it might be good to get in on that.

  Clayton and Doris Fenwick made a little over six thousand dollars from their garage sale. More importantly they got rid of so much junk, they were able to easily fit their remaining possessions into their new modern condo overlooking the Downtown Bogwood Park. They loved their new place—especially the location—which was within strolling distance of the Bogwood Galleria Mall (the world’s largest “floating mall”). That afternoon, they were on their way home from the mall when they bumped into a familiar face: their old neighbor Marie.

  “So how’s the old neighborhood?” Doris asked.

  Marie made a face. “The Gallows lost their house in that big rain storm last month. The whole thing just sunk eight feet into the sphagnum.”

  “That’s too bad,” Clayton said. “I don’t miss our place at all. The condo is so much easier. No water problems. No leaks. I’ve even got my mosses set up on the lanai.”

  “The what?” Marie asked.

  “Lanai,” said Doris. “It means ‘porch’ in Hawaiian, I think.”

  “I feel like we’re living at the Polynesian Plaza or something,” Clayton smiled.

  “Did you make it to Europe like you were planning?”

  “No,” Doris said. “Most of the money we made ended up going to the lawyers for Xavier’s assault charge, but Clayton just got a consulting job with a local paper company and we might be traveling to South America—”

  “South America? Really?”

  “Quibdo. Columbia. Over 350 inches of rain a year. You should see the mosses!” Clayton said.

  Doris pulled her husband closer. “It could be our big adventure. South America. Oooh!”

  “In a few years, all paper will be made from moss. Mark my words, Marie! Moss is the future. Moss is the future!”

  Marie nodded politely. “I’ll have to remember that.” As they were saying their goodbyes, Marie threw her arms around Clayton and give him a long hug. “Don’t be a stranger, Clayton,” she whispered in his ear—at the same time winking at Doris.

  In her shop, Helen Ziegler dusted an oxidized, wrought-iron decorative lizard. After she and BJ broke up, Helen made up her mind to chuck the whole retro-modern thing and convert the store back to what she knew best: Mex/Tex. She renamed the store “Prima D’Bogwood” and decided to sell all her existing retro-modern inventory to Heidi. The two women went out for drinks to seal the deal and, truth be told, things got a little out of hand with the Mojito consumption. One thing led to another, and well, now she and Heidi were kind of living together.

  Heidi turned out to be a lot less demanding than BJ. She didn’t try to get Helen to like women’s basketball, or to eat melba toast, or to give foot massages, or whatever. Life was good.

  Helen lifted the little metal lizard and gazed into its eyes. The reptile was considered a harbinger of good fortune in the Mexican culture, and so they forged these metal lizards all over the region. Every house in Mexico had one for good luck. Of course, up here in Bogwood with all the humidity, the metal lizards oxidized very quickly, but if you asked Helen, they were still lucky.

  Across town at the Lockhart Theatre, Dick Nickerson was being interviewed by Jenniphur McNally, Junior Arts and Entertainment Editor for the Bogwood Journal. Jenniphur had recently been promoted out of the Classified Ad department of the paper and was eager to make a name for herself before she had to take maternity leave. She worked extra hard to snag this exclusive interview with Dick after he had purchased and restored the Lockhart, a 1920s-era music hall in downtown Bogwood.

  As they sat in the plush seats facing the grand stage, Dick admitted that it was sheer luck that changed his financial fortunes. “I had the opportunity to place a rare Pot o’ Gold board game to a high-end Japanese auction house and earned myself a pretty penny. But it’s what I did with my proceeds that was really lucky. I ended up putting the money into an Internet start-up called e-Inmates.com and the friggin’ thing took off like a rocket. Who could have predicted that?”

  Dick went on to explain how he spent some of his money on a passion project: restoring the old Lockhart Theatre and putting on the first live show there since 1958. “It gave me the chance to get back to my roots… to my one true love—the dance! I’m putting together a show based on some of the historical events here in Bogwood—especially what they used to call the Bogwood Two- Step.” He picked up his choreographer’s notebook and motioned for Jenniphur to follow him to the stage where twenty dancers were warming up.

  “I’ve combined traditional folk music and step dancing with the histori
cal Bogwood puddle-jumping steps. If you know your history, you know that due to the puddles and sinkholes that were common in downtown Bogwood at the turn of the century, residents would kind of take these little steps…” Dick demonstrated by hopping and jumping across the stage. “You speed it up, add some jogs here, slap, trundle… And you get my new original musical Bogdance!”

  He clapped his hands and motioned for his dancers to begin practice. Music boomed through state-of-the-art surround-sound speakers and the dancers began a complicated series of moves with quick, choppy leg movements that reminded Jenniphur of Irish step-dancing. This was going to be a killer article.

  In a new industrial park on the southern outskirts of Bogwood, workers were installing an illuminated sign on a modern glass and steel office building. The sign read “e-Inmates.com” and it was huge.

  Inside the building, on the top floor, in an opulent meeting room, e-Inmates’ Board of Directors were getting briefed by a polished, dapper looking Xavier.

  “As everyone knows, the IPO was very successful at fueling our growth internationally. We’re in six countries right now—most-recently Columbia—and subscription rates are up 38% over last quarter. We’re projecting year-over-year revenue growth of 211%, with approximately 65% coming from advertising sales, 25% from subscriptions, and 10% from merchandise commissions and other partner revenue.” Xavier looked around the room. The Board was all smiles.

  “Next on the agenda,” he continued. “I’d like to introduce our newest division head and my right-hand man… err, woman. Ms. BJ Harwood.” Xavier nodded to the woman seated next to him. BJ was dressed in a conservative suit. She smiled at Xavier and stood to address the Board.

  “Nice to meet everyone. As Xavier mentioned, I was brought on to launch a new division here at e-Inmates: the women’s prison division, which we see as a huge growth opportunity for the company. We’ve been doing some consumer research and we’re uncovering some great insights about the needs of female inmates as they try to reconnect and re-establish important relationships. We feel we can monetize these needs to the degree that by this time next year, the new division could account for 30% of the company’s revenue. And it’s all incremental revenue.”