AHMM, May 2012

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Ed picking it up, bringing it back to the chair.

  It's his bag all right. There's the ID tag right there in plain sight, obvious to anyone who'd bother to look.

  Jerry Dunning hadn't bothered.

  Ed goes back to the closet and retrieves the bag he'd brought in with him last night—Jerry Dunning's bag—brings it out, sets it by the other.

  Like two peas in a pod.

  Ed sighing, is about to open his bag, see if everything's still there, when the door opens abruptly and in walks a guy who looks like this is his office, heading over to the closet, hanging up an overcoat, not even noticing Ed in the big leather chair until he closes the closet door and turns around.

  Startled by this unexpected encounter.

  * * * *

  A big guy, sitting right there in the chair facing his desk, nice suit . . . a little rumpled.

  “What— Who are you?” Jerry sputters. “And what are you doing here?”

  Ed looks at his watch.

  “I'm your ten thirty appointment,” the big guy says, not a bad looking man, but there's a menace in his eyes that reminds Jerry of someone who might be with the World Wrestling Federation.

  “I don't have a ten thirty appointment,” Jerry says.

  “How can you say that?” says the big guy. “You see me sitting here at your desk. The wall clock behind you says ten thirty. What else could it be?”

  It sounds so logical that Jerry almost nods, but he's getting his composure back now. He was thrown off by the unexpected visitor, but Jerry's a man who handles things as they come up. He's working at getting his swagger back.

  “Who might you be?” he asks.

  “I might be anyone . . . the Pope . . . the President . . . the Good Humor Man . . . but who I really am is the guy who's name is on this bag.”

  The big guy points to the bag on his lap. Jerry can make out the word “Ed” on the ID tag.

  “I've got one just like it,” Jerry says.

  “So I've noticed,” the big guy says. “In fact—” And here he points to the other bag on the floor beside the chair. “—there it is.”

  This sequence of events is not making sense to Jerry, he's puzzling it, still wondering who this Ed is.

  “Let me rephrase my question,” Jerry says. “What are you doing here in my office?”

  “I've come to get my bag.”

  “Your bag.”

  “Right.”

  Jerry's still not getting it.

  “And why would you come here . . . to my office . . . someone you've never met before . . . to get your bag?”

  “Do I look stupid?” Ed asks. There's a challenge in his tone. “I'm here—” Ed pauses, hoping the reason might still occur to Jerry without further prompting. “—because you—” And here the volume of his voice rises noticeably. “—picked up my bag last night at the airport!”

  Jerry looks at the two bags, now sitting side by side on the floor.

  Two peas in a pod.

  “You mean . . . ?”

  "Yes!" Ed says. “You took my bag off the carousel at O'Hare.”

  Jerry thinking fast, “Well, I guess you picked up my bag too.”

  Ed nods in acknowledgement.

  “So maybe,” Jerry says, “it was you who picked up my bag.”

  Ed's eyes narrow and Jerry realizes his humor isn't being appreciated.

  “I was the last guy at American's baggage claim area last night. Nobody else was in the whole damn baggage claim area. You picked up the wrong bag. I did the only thing I could.”

  Jerry's picturing it . . . this big guy at O'Hare . . . the revolving carousel . . . one bag on it.

  “I picked up your bag. Read your ID tag.” Ed spreads his hands, another big smile. “And here I am.”

  Jerry's moving around the desk now, taking a seat, easing the middle drawer open on the right side.

  There's a .38 he keeps there in case of emergency.

  He's never had one occur in the office before, but this little scenario has all the earmarks.

  Jerry thinking through what Ed is saying . . . processing it.

  “But how would you get here? The address on my baggage ID is my home address.”

  “Well,” Ed says, “I stopped there first, found out where you worked. Not too complicated.”

  “How could you find out where I worked by stopping at my condo? I live alone.”

  “Well . . . you have some records.”

  “You went inside?” Jerry's voice rising.

  “How else would I know how to find you?”

  “You broke into my house to find out where I worked?”

  “No . . . no . . . I broke into your house to wait for you. It was only after I realized you weren't coming home that I looked around. Found your old pay stubs from Brackman & Sons.”

  “You looked at my pay stubs?”

  Jerry not certain why this bothered him so much.

  “Just to find out where you worked,” Ed explains, but not really sounding apologetic. “Of course, at the same time, I couldn't help but notice what they pay you. Not too bad,” Ed says. He gestures about him. “Nice office too.”

  Jerry's perturbed that Ed is so casual, sitting in his office without an appointment, knowing how much money Jerry makes.

  “Well,” Jerry says, anxious to send him on his way, “let's just each guy take his own bag and let it go at that.”

  “I'll have to look through mine first,” says Ed.

  “What? You think I looked in your bag?”

  “That's not such a strange concern,” Ed says. “You find out you got a bag that isn't yours, you automatically open it up, see what's in it.”

  “Is that what you did?” Jerry says.

  “Sure.”

  “You looked in my bag?”

  “Of course. You looked in mine, didn't you?”

  “I didn't know it was your bag. I thought it was mine. Why would I open my own bag to look through it?”

  Ed is watching Jerry as he explains this, making a judgment on whether he's telling the truth.

  “And by the way,” Jerry says, “I don't appreciate your looking through my bag. The contents of that bag are confidential.”

  “I promise not to tell anyone,” Ed says.

  “Those are legal papers . . . this is a law firm.” Jerry searching for other reasons to protest this audacity.

  “And of course,” Ed reminds him, “none of this would have happened if you hadn't picked up my bag.”

  Damn! He's back to that again.

  “But,” Ed goes on, “why bicker about it? Let's just each take his own bag, look through it, make sure everything's in order, then we shake hands and I'm on my way.”

  There's something there, in Ed's manner that has Jerry wondering. It's not blatant. This big guy is cool. But there's a touch of anxiety there. He's a little nervous about something.

  Jerry's suddenly very interested to know what's in Ed's bag.

  Ed doesn't look like a man who'd go out of his way to track down dirty laundry and shaving gear.

  “I did look in your bag,” Jerry says. “Last night.”

  Fishing.

  Not much expression on Ed's face to indicate how he feels about that.

  “I thought you told me you hadn't opened it.” A little edge in his tone.

  “Well,” Jerry says, lowering his head, “I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it.”

  “And what were you planning on doing with it . . . my bag?”

  “I planned to give you a call this morning. Let you know we'd accidentally taken each other's bags at the airport.”

  “My phone's not on the name tag,” Ed says. “Address either. How did you plan to get in touch?”

  “I thought we could get hold of you by your name.”

  “By my name.”

  “We are a law firm,” Jerry says. “I am a private investigator.

  Ed nods. “So you have some resources.”

  “Sure,” Jerry says.


  They sit for a moment, each unsure of the next step.

  “Or I thought you might contact me," Jerry says.

  “I might contact you.”

  This big guy had an annoying habit of repeating everything Jerry said.

  “Yeah . . . my name and number's on my bag. That's why you're sitting here right now.”

  “So you thought I might show up.”

  Jerry spreads his hands in a gesture that says, and here you are, then pushes it out there a little further. “Considering what was in the bag and how important it might be to you.” He searches Ed's face for a clue.

  “Did you have any idea what you had there when you looked in the bag?”

  “Well, sure,” Jerry says, trying to pick an appropriate reaction, hoping Ed will drop some hint that will help him out.

  “I'm not asking whether you recognized the contents. Anybody who looked in the bag would know there were a substantial amount of bearer bonds inside.”

  Bearer bonds. So Jerry now knows what's in the bag.

  “What I meant, did you have any idea of the value of what was in this bag?” Pointing to it now to be sure Jerry knows he is referring to the bag that he'd mistakenly picked up at the baggage claim at O'Hare.

  “Not exactly,” Jerry says. “I knew it was valuable—obviously—but I couldn't be certain of what the exact amount might be.”

  “Didn't you look through more carefully after you got back here to the office?”

  “You know, it had been such a long day. I had a little run-in with a woman in the Jetway.”

  Ed's nodding, he can relate to that.

  “I was beat. So I left it here . . . planned to look into it this morning.”

  “So you just decided to leave a half mil in bearer bonds here in a suitcase in your office.”

  A half mil! But Jerry manages to keep a stoic expression on his face.

  “It is a secure office.”

  “I got in without too much trouble.”

  He had Jerry there.

  “And of course, I thought about calling the police,” Jerry said.

  Ed's eyes narrowed reflexively. “The police.”

  Jerry nodded. He was getting a reaction now.

  “It's my bag. That matter is not disputable. Why would you consider calling the police?”

  “It's such a large amount,” Jerry said. “I just considered bringing it to the attention of the police . . . such a large sum and all.”

  “Even though the bonds are mine.”

  “Well, of course, if they're yours, the police would confirm that. No problem, right? I'm just trying to be a good citizen, reporting the discovery of an unusually valuable amount of financial papers I found in a suitcase.”

  “Just trying to be a good citizen.”

  Damn. He's doing it again.

  Ed smiling now, snapping his bag closed, moving in the chair, getting ready to leave.

  “I still might decide to do that,” says Jerry. “Call the police.”

  “Not a good idea,” says Ed.

  “Not a good idea?” Jerry repeats. See how he likes it.

  “You have any idea who those bonds belong to?”

  Jerry shrugs. “I thought you said they belonged to you.”

  “In this case,” Ed says, “I'm acting as a courier . . . for an organization I'm affiliated with.”

  “What organization might that be?” asks Jerry.

  “Well . . . it might be a financial institution . . . or a government office . . . or Warren Buffett's company . . . or . . . it could be another prestigious organization, handles a lot of high finance in a great variety of areas. An organization that wouldn't be happy to have the police come in and examine their assets. Are you getting an idea who this organization might be?”

  “I think I have an idea,” says Jerry.

  “Then I'm sure you can understand how upset they might be if you were to call the police.”

  Jerry is thinking the situation over. Ed is getting fidgety, he's going to get up and walk out any minute, no matter how engaging Jerry's repartee.

  “I've got a business proposition to suggest to you,” Jerry says.

  No expression from Ed, but he doesn't say anything and Jerry takes this as an indication that he's curious.

  “I'm sure you're well compensated for what you do for the . . . for your employer. You dress well, you're obviously a competent man. You've got a good situation.”

  Ed nods. “They take good care of me.”

  “Got anything put away for a rainy day . . . for retirement?”

  “That's getting a little personal.”

  Jerry holds up a hand. “I don't mean to insult you. I'm just saying, guys like us—middle management so to speak—we have to do more than our share of the work while the muckety-mucks on the top floor take most of the credit, and most of the money.”

  Jerry searching Ed's eyes for any evidence that he may be buying into this.

  Still no reaction, but at least the man is listening.

  “What's your point?” Ed says.

  “Well,” says Jerry, “there's a half mil in that bag. Pointing at it as if Ed may not know which bag he's referring to.

  “And?”

  Jerry decides to cut to the chase. “What if we . . . you and I . . . decided to split it?”

  Ed chuckles at the suggestion. “I thought you understood who this belongs to,” he said, hefting the bag for emphasis. “It's not an organization that would overlook an amount like that gone missing.”

  But Ed's still situated in the leather chair opposite Jerry's desk, looking comfortable, not shocked by Jerry's suggestion, just skeptical.

  “Did you report your bag lost . . . to Lost and Found at the airport?”

  Ed shakes his head. He's not the kind of guy who would bother with something like that.

  “Run out to the airport right now, report your missing bag. It was so late last night when you got in you couldn't find anybody there to report it to.”

  “And I do this, why?”

  “In case your organization checks into it. Like you said, they're not likely to feel warm and fuzzy about this. They'll want to check it out.

  “Would put me in a tough spot,” says Ed.

  “Well, maybe it won't work. Depends how much they trust you. I just thought for a quarter mil . . . “

  “It's a half million.”

  “Well, of course, we'd be splitting it.”

  “Because . . . ?”

  “Because if we didn't, I'd need to make that call to the police . . . right away . . . tell them about this bag I accidentally picked up at the airport.” Jerry makes a gesture with his hand. “You know the rest of the story.”

  This isn't the first time Ed has thought of something like this but it is the first time he's talked with anyone about it. He's always liked Harry, his boss. He knows the feeling is mutual. Ed has handled a lot of tough assignments over the years. Harry's been grateful.

  But a little tight on the remuneration, no denying that.

  Jerry attempting to read Ed's mind, encouraging him. “Put it away in some Caribbean bank . . . or over in Switzerland, if you like Europe. Ever been there?”

  Ed's never been there.

  “You could go there or just about anywhere else with that kind of dough.”

  Jerry doesn't know it, but Ed's decided to do this. There are just two details running through his mind that he needs to sort out.

  First, should he try to go through the charade with Harry? A lot of risk in that option. Harry likes Ed, but he's going to have to explain to his bosses how one of his most trusted associates lost a half-million bucks. There's a good chance Ed wouldn't survive the examination that was sure to take place.

  So . . . just take off. It's a big world. There has to be places where a man can lose himself. Oh, there are risks in this option too. His organization will spare no effort or expense to track him down. But Ed's chances are still probably better with this option.

  Oka
y, that's settled.

  Jerry's in his chair behind his desk, watching Ed ruminate on this, wondering if there's any way he, Jerry, might be able to pull a fast one . . . end up with all the money for himself.

  The other detail Ed's considering (and it's not really a tough decision) is why bother ot share anything with this mope Jerry. Take the whole half mil and be on his way to Timbuktu or someplace like that, Ed not certain whether it would be warm enough to satisfy him in Timbuktu.

  And finally Ed breaks his silence.

  “Well . . . I've decided,” Ed says. “And I want you to know I'm grateful for your suggestion.”

  A big smile on Jerry's face. “So we're going ahead with it?”

  Ed nods. “But not exactly like you imagined it.”

  And he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out the silenced revolver.

  The hopeful look vanishes from Jerry's face.

  It only takes a minute for Ed to stuff Jerry's body under the big desk. It might be tomorrow before anyone finds him.

  Ed, grabbing the bag and walking out the door of Jerry's office, the receptionist giving him a quizzical look.

  “Jerry's ten-thirty appointment,” Ed says. “He asked me to tell you to hold his calls, he'll be indisposed the rest of the day.”

  * * * *

  Ed is sitting at the airport an hour later, a ticket to London, he's decided there may be more options in Europe than the Caribbean, using an assumed name and an extra passport he carries for emergency situations.

  Just sitting there in the waiting area of British Airways. Start in London and play it by ear, maybe Morocco, or whatever the name is of that place where Grace Kelly went.

  Watching people walk by. Others sitting, reading, chatting. Some fine looking women, the kind of women that would be accessible to a man with a half-million dollars.

  The big smile on Ed's face suddenly disappearing as he looks down at the bag . . . really looks at it for the first time since he'd left Jerry's office.

  And sees the name tag.

  Jerry Dunning . . . Crystal Lake.

  Copyright © 2012 Wayne J. Gardiner

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  Department: THE STORY THAT WON