That was the best thing that happened to him, coming to Charleston. Until this. Yes, siree, he thought. Luck can sure turn rotten without even a sliver of a warn’n. All that money gone, even if they did let me out today, they’ve certainly searched my room. Sure was stupid telling them where I lived. Just a few more hours and I’d been outa town. Yes, siree, head’n south. Yes, siree. Hope the food is good. Wish I’d get some breakfast. Wish I had a smoke.
The door opened and the big horse cop came in with donuts and coffee. Roark’s stomach made a noise and, not realizing it, he began salivating. “How are you doing, Sidney? I’m officer James Lamric. You can call me James if you wish.” He slipped a napkin under a donut and set it down in front of Roark. “Figure you’re probably hungry. Lord knows I am. Sorry we only have these donuts here. Someone is supposed to be digging up some grub so maybe this will hold you off. Coffee is black, but then I figured you as the strong, black coffee type, like myself.”
Roark nodded his head and nearly inhaled half the donut. He pulled the coffee over close and only sipped the hot liquid.
“How is your face where you ran into Roger?”
“Mu fa k,” Roark said around the dry donut.
“Pardon me, Sidney.”
Roark swallowed part of the donut, chewed some more and then swallowed the remainder. “My face is okay. The back of my head hurts from when I hit the ground.”
“Maybe we’ll get you run over to Roper and have it looked at after we’re through here. Right now Sidney, I need to...”
“Roark.”
“Roark?”
“I’m called Roark. Not Sidney. Comes from my last name. Searoark.”
“I can see that Roark is a stronger name than Sidney. I think I’d have done the same thing. So, Roark, I’m going to ask you some questions. We may have to make it quick, before my partner comes in. He can get a little heavy handed at times, if you know what I mean, and to be truthful with you, I don’t think someone like yourself who is down on his luck really needs that. We went by your place this morning and I can tell you’re struggling along. I’d be willing to bet it eats you up inside to have to take money and valuables from people just to survive.”
Roark stopped with the second half of the donut halfway to his mouth. He nodded then took a normal size bite.
“We have some idea who the owners of some of the jewelry and wallets are, but not all, and I’ll bet it would make you feel much better if these things were returned to their rightful owners.”
“Yeah, it would,” Roark said. He didn’t understand why this cop was so nice, but he had a sense he should agree. He took another bite of the donut and sipped on the coffee. He hadn’t tasted anything this good in a long time. “I don’t know about the wallets. Just people on the street you know. Maybe something in them tells who’s they are.”
“We’re looking into that Roark. But you must have entered some homes when folks weren’t at home. That really is nice of you to make sure that no one was home; to think of people that way because you are sensitive enough to understand how it would frighten someone to all of a sudden find themselves in a confrontation with a burglar. They would have no idea that it’s only someone on the down and out.”
“Yeah! I sure won’t want to scare nobody.” The coffee had cooled enough that he could take more than a sip. It felt warm going down and it felt good talking with this cop. He really understood him. The first person since... since... ever who understood how hard it was. “I’ve been in the down and out for some time, ever since New York. A good job is hard to find. Working my way down to Florida where it’s warmer and I hear there’s jobs picking oranges or something.”
“Sounds like a good thing to do, and if we work together, maybe we can get you out of here and on your way.”
Roark’s mouth dropped open. “You might let me go?”
“Everything you took from Gee Gee’s was returned, however, there’s the issue of broken bottles and glasses. The owner will need compensation. We’ll have to talk about that. The other issue is, of course, the other things. That’s why I’ve come in to talk to you. I’d like to ensure the jewelry and money get returned to their rightful owners. We’re fairly sure one is a widow lady as we recognized some of the jewelry.”
“Widow lady?” Roark stopped in the middle of taking a bite from his second donut.
“Widow Cooper-Smith. A big house on Tradd Street?”
Roark nodded his head up and down. “The chandelier lady. Real nice house.”
“Her husband just recently died. He had a good job with a good income and now she has nothing. The stress of being robbed has really upset her. She lost most of her cash savings.”
“$423.00,” Roark said.
Officer Lamric gave him a surprised look.
“I can’t read, don’t know letters and words very good, not good at all, but I know numbers real well. Only thing I’m good at. And I remember good too. $423.00 is how much money I found in the chandelier lady’s house. I didn’t know the name of the street but I knew it started with a T R A.
“How do you know this is the house I’m talking about, Roark, if you didn’t know the name of the street when I said it?”
“It sounded right. Besides, I only hit two houses and they were both on the same street. One was an old lady. I call her the chandelier lady cause there was a big chandelier I could see from the street. I knew she was rich.” His voice dropped. “I didn’t know she was a new widow.”
“Two houses, Roark? What was the other?”
“A doctor. Doctors are rich too. I watched him a long time. Made sure he lived alone. I should have left town right after that. Yes, siree, he shore was rich. But I hung around a few more days cause I liked the bar. You called it Gee Gee’s. Other than a few wallets, that was all, Mister Lamric. I never hurt nobody. Never want to hurt nobody.”
“How much?” The officer asked him.
“How much what?”
“How much money did you find at the doctor’s home?”
“Oh! $2,832.00”
James leaned back in his chair, and the door opened. Roark’s face went slack. He looked away from the police officer who poked his head in and gulped some more coffee.
“Can I see you a minute Officer Lamric?”
“Sure.”
The door closed and James stood. “Have another donut. I’ll be right back.”
James opened the door and Roark said, “And the funny money.”
James looked back at him. “Funny money?”
“You bet. Funny money it was. Foreign money. Not American. It was all in a fancy bag along with other stuff which I threw away.”
“Foreign money and other stuff? What kind of other stuff, Roark?”
“A little notebook like thing with writing all in it. Don’t know my letters so no good for me. I throwed it in the trash.”
James recalled a small notebook they recovered. He felt the envelope in his hip pocket with Anne’s name on the outside. “What other stuff?”
“Just an envelope with a letter. Threw it in the trash. Don’t know my letters you know.”
James pulled the envelope from his hip pocket and held it up close to Roark. “This one?”
Roark’s eyes opened wide. “Yeah. That’s the one. Is it important to the Doctor? I’m sure sorry if it was cause I was only on the down and out and needed a little cash. Don’t mean to take anything important.”
James straightened up. “How do you know he was a doctor?”
“I watched him leave his house once. Asked on him at the hospital. Real nice the nurse told me. Everyone loves Doctor Bronson.”
“Bronson?”
“That’s right. Doctor Bronson.”
The door opened again and Eddie said, “James?”
“Have another donut.” James rushed out the door.
“Things are making sense now,” James said following Eddie to the desk where he had the collection from Roark’s room laid out. “The envelope came from
Doctor Bronson’s home. He’s the Doctor who Anne is seeing twice a week. Makes sense that her name would show up there.
“That’s great, James, but...”
“He probably keeps notes on her.”
“I’m sure...”
“There’s no relation between her and Roark.”
“Roark?”
“Sidney Searoark. He calls himself Roark.”
“Oh. There’s no relation. I agree. We have another prob...”
“Anne is not a thief and does not even know a thief.”
Eddie put his hand on James’ shoulder. “James. That’s wonderful. She’s as innocent as her little baby. You deliver that envelope to her. Maybe it’s a bill for the good doctor’s services. Right now we have a whole new situation.”
James looked back at Eddie. “New situation? What are you getting at?”
“Either Sidney, or Roark, is a German spy, or he burglarized one.”
“What?”
Eddie picked up a small notebook from the desk. James recognized it as the one he retrieved from the trash in Roark’s room. With his other hand Eddie picked up a stack of foreign currency.
“Funny money,” James said.
“What?”
“That’s what Roark called it. Funny money.”
“Huh ha. Well, this funny money is German and this notebook, if I remember my German very well, is a codebook. Did he happen to say where he stole it from?”
James nodded his head but didn’t say anything.
“Well? Who was it?”
“Has to be a mistake. He’s as American as you and me.”
“Who? Who are you talking about?”
“Bronson. Doctor Nathaniel Bronson. That’s where Roark got the funny money, nearly three thousand in U.S. dollars and the notebook, or codebook you say. But how can that be?”
“I don’t know, James. But I’m going to find out.” Eddie headed for the room where Sidney Searoark waited. “It’s my turn.”
“Eddie,” James called.
Eddie stopped and turned.
“He’s an open book, cooperative as hell. He’s scared of you. Go easy. Don’t make him clam up.”
Eddie grunted and continued in to talk to Roark. James sat down at the desk and opened the envelope that was still clutched in his hand. He didn’t believe it was his business to open it, but as part of stolen property possibly related to a German spy, it was about to become police business. He pulled back the flap and extracted the contents. A five-dollar bill fell out. He picked it up and began reading the two handwritten pages.
By the time James finished reading it the second time, his hands were shaking so badly, he couldn’t read it a third. He looked at the door behind which Eddie and Roark were sequestered, put the letter back into the envelope and walked out of police headquarters.
Chapter 37
Sunday ~ September 12, 1943
James stood motionless in front of his mother’s home, his home, also Anne’s home. Still clutched in his hand were the answers she has been looking for – unbelievable answers.
“Unbelievable!”
He turned around to see who said that, but he was alone. He realized it was his own voice. “Unbelievable!” He whispered the word this time. It’s just that, he thought. Not believable. It’s a joke, a science fiction story. There’s no way this can be true. And then he looked again at the five-dollar bill and the four-digit number indicating the year it was minted. 1984.
“I think she’s a time traveler, James,” his mother confided to him one day. James remembered laughing at her foolish notion. “Just like in H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine, only for some reason she doesn’t know it.”
James walked up the sidewalk between the rows of azalea bushes, climbed the four steps onto the porch, and then sat in one of the old rockers. Dad’s rocker. A lot of problems were thought over from these rockers. Many were solved. They’d sit out here well into the dark listening to the crickets and slapping at the noseeums, going in only to make sure the boys were settled and asleep. Sometimes James would sneak downstairs for a drink of water and find himself standing at the screen door, listening to their words. It wasn’t the words themselves he wanted to hear. It was the feeling of the gentle rise and fall of their voices as they discussed whatever it was adults discussed; it was also the warmth of their presence and the security that they would always be there.
And then one day they weren’t. Dad’s heart quit and Mom moved to the rocker that sat next to her bedroom window. Life changed. The porch rockers stood empty. Then one night, near midnight, James came by with Roger to find his mother and Anne sitting in them, rocking and talking. From then on, unless the weather was foul, that’s where James would find them if he had chance to go by. He often thought of coming in from the back, going into the house and then standing at the screen door to listen to their voices. Not the words – just the rhythms; sounds of the comfort of knowing they were there. He never did.
James looked at the envelope in his hand, folded and crushed. He flattened it, brushing it smooth with his hands. He looked at the name penned on the front then went into the house.
“James!” His mother said when he stepped into the kitchen. “You’re late. Busy night?”
“Caught a burglar early this morning – paper work.”
“Ah.”
James watched her for a moment spreading dough on the floured table. “Where’s Anne?”
“She went for a walk. Said she was going to go by Doctor Bronson’s to find out why he didn’t show on Friday. Do you want some eggs, Ja...?”
James was out the door before he heard the word, “Eggs,” running down the street, his nightstick and weapon bouncing against his leg. His hat started to come off, and he grabbed and carried it. Like two batons, they were – the hat in one hand, the envelope in the other. He flashed by people, church people in their best clothes heading for home from Sunday services, stopping and standing, and watching a police officer in full uniform sprint by. A car stopped for him when he turned onto Tradd Street and then didn’t move. The driver waited and watched.
A block to go. His legs and lungs were burning. He pushed the envelope into his pocket and extracted the bouncing nightstick. He pumped hard the last four houses, the nightstick cutting the air ahead of him. He raced up the sidewalk and five steps, not stopping until the nightstick struck the door.
“Anne!” he yelled. He had to put his hat back on to try the doorknob.
Locked!
“Doctor Bronson!”
Bam! Bam! Bam! with the stick.
“Anne!”
He dashed back and forth between windows to try and see in, but saw nothing but furniture standing empty.
Bam! Bam! Bam! “Anne!”
He felt the door, judging its strength, and determined he could take it down and backed up to the edge of the porch.
“James!”
He could hear her. He felt something like a burst of power inside his chest and forgot the burning pain.
“James!”
He rushed forward, hit the door, staggered back a couple steps, heard Anne’s voice again and then hit the door once more. Although the second was only a fraction of the force of the first, he heard something crack; from the sudden pain he wasn’t sure if it was the door or his shoulder. He heard her voice once more. His head was swimming and his lungs were gasping for air. He staggered back, dropped to one knee and then felt hands on him. He looked up into her face.
“James! What are you doing?”
He blinked at her and looked at the door. “What? You’re not inside?”
“No. He wasn’t home. What are you doing trying to break down his door?”
“I thought...” He forced himself to a standing position while she helped pull him up.
“You thought what?” James walked down a couple steps and sat down. Anne sat as well and turned toward him, ignoring the people who were watching from the street. “You thought what?” She insisted. “Did you belie
ve I was in Doctor Bronson’s house and you needed to break down the door to save me?”
James nodded his head.
“Why? What the hell is going on?”
He took a deep breath and rotated his shoulder, becoming confident that it was the door that cracked. “I apprehended a thief last night.”
“Okay,” Anne said slowly.
“We went to where he lives, found German money and a code-book which the thief claims he took from Bronson’s house.”
“And this means what? On the word of a thief, you think Doctor Bronson is a spy?”
He nodded his head.
“Okay. Assuming this guy is telling the truth, and I have my doubts, I’ll agree this is not a good thing, but, I’ve been seeing him as a doctor for nearly two months now and he hasn’t once done me any harm. Why do you suddenly think you have to kill yourself to protect me?”
James opened his mouth to tell her the reason and then closed it.
“What?”
One reason was in his pocket, but that wasn’t the main reason. He could say his duty to protect her was self-appointed but it wasn’t, or yes it was, but it wasn’t something he had control over. It was what kept him from falling asleep, woke him early, and flooded his dreams. The number one reason was in his heart, and he couldn’t tell her that.
He opened his mouth, but said nothing.
“I’m waiting.”
He stood. “Let’s walk down to the lake.”
She followed to the street. “Are you going to tell me there?”
“Yes.”
For the next ten minutes nothing was said. They walked side by side when they could, single file when they couldn’t, Anne leading. They brushed hands and arms several times; each was like a jolt of electricity. He pointed to an empty bench near a group of ducks grooming themselves along the bank. Thirty yards away, a family of four was laying out a picnic.
Anne stopped at the bench and turned around. “So, now you tell me.”
Time-Travel Duo Page 30
