by R Weir
"Well, like you said the card isn’t here. Do you know where the kids you played with live?"
"Yes. Three of them are close by."
"Okay, let’s go talk with them and see if they can tell us something."
The first home sat across the street from the Harvard Recreation Center. Alonzo lived in a simple one story tan brick structure, with layered white wood siding around the middle of the frame badly in need of repainting. The roof was v-shaped, with steep slopes down both sides. A couple of leafless bushes and one tall evergreen graced the poorly kept front yard in need of seeding or sod. Parked in the driveway was an aqua mid-nineties Chevy pickup which appeared to be in good shape except for the bed, rusting through in spots. Reaching the steps I tried to ring the doorbell only to have Dennis inform me it didn't work. A vigorous knocking on the storm door got a response.
"Hay Dennis how you doing?" stated Alonzo with a smile.
"Not too bad. Can you come out for a minute, we need to talk."
"Sure."
Hollering to someone inside, he stepped outside, closing the door rather clumsily. He appeared to be of Spanish heritage, with very rich black curly hair and brown skin tone. His blue jeans were faded; his dull white jersey had dark lettering on the front spelling out 'Lincoln' which I cleverly deduced to be his high school. His canvas Nike sneakers were worn and in need of replacing. His simple dark windbreaker finished up his fashionable ensemble. He acted leery of me, never once glancing my way until introduced. With a polite handshake and short eye contact he turned back to his friend.
"What's up?" He had his hands in his jacket pocket for it was cooling off quickly.
"You remember yesterday at church I showed you the Ernie Banks card?"
"Sure. What about it?"
"When I got home it was missing. I was wondering if you might have seen it."
Alonzo turned and stared off into the distance. "What's this guy got to do with it? Is he a cop or something?"
Apparently C-O-P was traced all over my face. That strong authority figure in me always shined through.
"Sort of," said Dennis.
"Your friend here hired me to help him find his card. I'm a Private Detective." I pulled out my wallet and showed him the license which did little to impress.
Alonzo didn't know what to do as those two words made him nervous.
"Are you saying I took the card?" Anger began to show on his face.
"No man I'm not. I'm wondering if you might have seen or heard something about it. I just want the card back."
"Do you know how much the card is worth?" I stated adding my two cents; the question got his ire up even more.
"What are you implying?" His voice seemed to hang on the last word.
"It’s valuable to your friend here. And money sometimes clouds a person’s judgment."
"So I took it, is that what you’re saying?"
"No. But I haven't heard you say you didn't."
"Well I didn't. Ok. I don't steal from friends. At least those I thought to be my friend." Alonzo turned away again, his feelings hurt.
"Good enough," I said while turning and heading towards my car.
As I got there I saw the two of them talking. The anger had receded and they shook hands with a series of grips too complicated to explain. Even with months of practice I doubted I could duplicate it. The two separated, looking satisfied with the end result.
Now with both of us back in the car I wondered where to next.
"Why did you come down on him?" asked Dennis.
"Well sometimes you confront someone bluntly to get an honest answer. When you work in the world I do, it's easy for people to lie. Most everyone I come in contact with have an adversity to the truth. They live lies, so it's second nature for them. The direct approach sometimes is the best one. I came out and said what had to be said, pushing your friend to give me an answer.”
"So you believed him?"
"Yea, pretty much. I couldn't tell if he was avoiding me because of shyness, he hated authority figures, or I'm white."
"Maybe a little of all three. He's had problems with cops, his parents, and even some white kids at school who are racist. So his first response is to be cautious since you represent what he sees as the establishment."
"Good analogy. How old are you?"
"I'll be sixteen in a month."
"You act older than your age. Tell me something, did you believe him?"
"Yea I did. He was being straight with me."
"Where to next?"
The next stop we came up empty. The mother of his friend told us he went with his father to see a Denver Nuggets game and wouldn't be back until fairly late. Strike two.
With only one swing left we headed east. On Vassar Street we stopped in front of a two story blood-red brick home. The whole neighborhood was made of brick, the building material of choice in those days. In the yard stood Terence with basketball in hand, his frame several inches taller than Dennis, and heavier. He wore newer looking Reebok high-tops, black sweats, and a Colorado Rockies baseball cap. The young African-American appeared to be in excellent shape, and extremely athletic. Dennis explained to me he was a two sport athlete, football and basketball, the main focuses of his life. He dreamed of being an outside linebacker or power forward.
We left the car and Dennis greeted Terence happily. The two appeared to be close friends. I figured I wouldn’t be so pushy this time. The lad was built to blind side me pretty easily. It had been some time since I'd woke up without any recollection of my name, and getting my ass kicked by a teenager might damage my tough guy image.
"This is Jarvis Mann," introduced Dennis.
"Good to meet you sir."
I shook the hand and found it strong and firm, the voice deeply baritone. He was damn close to my size but thicker and likely stronger, yet only a year or so older than Dennis. He had big wide brown eyes, some short growth under his chin, and a noticeable scar running along the right side of his nose.
"Gonna shoot some hoops?" asked Dennis of his friend.
"Thinking about it. Got an hour or so of sun left. Care to join me?"
"I can't. Tomorrow I should have time after school."
"I'm sure you’re here for something. Came to see my sister I bet." He gave a sly glance to his friend.
"No, not today." Dennis seemed embarrassed. "I wondered if you've seen my Ernie Banks card. It's gone."
"No man I haven't. When did it go missing?"
"Somewhere between the time I showed it to you guys and when I got home. My father is going to be pissed."
"I can relate. I remember when I lost Dad's camera a couple of years back. I couldn't sit down for a week."
"If you see it will you let me know? It's worth a whole lot of money. Mister Mann is a Private Detective I've hired to help me find it."
"That sounds like an interesting occupation. It must be exciting chasing down the bad guys."
"Sometimes, but lately…" I stated while shrugging.
"Well, got to go before I lose all my daylight. A pleasure meeting you Mister Mann. I'll see you at school tomorrow Dennis and we can shoot some hoops afterwards."
Terence climbed onto his shining black eighteen-speed bicycle and peddled off with basketball in hand.
"Strike three," I said.
"What?" wondered Dennis.
"Just counting out loud. A baseball analogy since we’re searching for a baseball card. I believe we've struck out. Anyone else you can think of who might have had access to it?"
Dennis gave it a few minutes thought. Thinking the worst of people didn't seem easy for him. Zero was all he came up with.
"How about someone in your family, maybe a sibling? A brother?"
"Yea, but I don't think he'd do it. He respects my stuff. Never had a problem with him taking anything of mine."
"Gee, I wish I could say that about my brother. He couldn't keep his hands off anything of mine. I'd always get in fights with him for using my bike and baseball
mitt."
"So I guess you didn't like him much."
"On the contrary. Though two years older, he saved my butt on a couple of occasions when someone was picking on me. Even if annoying, he went to the wall for me when necessary."
"I saved my brother a couple of times as well. When it’s family…"
The time had come for me to use my years of experience. When faced with a problem I found it best to talk over your options with your client and something may come to light you hadn’t thought of.
"We need to think like the bad guy Dennis."
"Ok."
"Put yourself in their shoes. If you stole a valuable bubble gum card, or even found one, what would you do?"
"I'd try to sell it," he said without hesitation.
"Sell it where?"
"Someplace that buys collectors cards."
"And is there one in the area?"
"Actually there's one right on Broadway, Bill's Sports Collectibles. I’ve been inside many times."
"Then let's take a trip to see if anyone has brought in an Ernie Banks rookie card to sell recently."
The drive wasn’t far, only a few blocks away and we arrived pretty quickly. Since it was getting late on this Sunday I hoped they were still open.
"If I was the culprit, I'd do one of two things,” I stated on the way over. “I'd either hold onto the card for awhile to see if anyone missed it, or if in desperate need of money, try to cash it in right away. My professional instinct says Bill's Sports Collectibles is the spot where we will learn something."
Dennis agreed with me, though he didn't seem overly impressed with my deduction. Of course few people ever were, so I'd gotten used to it. We found an open parking spot as Bill's seemed to be fairly busy on this Sunday with four cars parked out front. The entire structure was theirs, the combination tan brick and green aluminum trimmed facing looking freshly remodeled. White security bars graced their windows, as well as many sports posters depicting some of the greatest athletes. Their yellow sign showed the business name; the hours on the main door showed they’d be closing soon, so we needed to be quick.
Inside the whole store had wall to wall collectibles; programs, guides, books, autographs, jerseys, pins, pennants, caps, jackets, posters, and collecting accessories. They specialized in Baseball and Football cards, but also Basketball and Hockey as well. Glass cases displayed the various cards of thousands of athletes from all the different eras going back beyond my birth date. From every team you could imagine, and from teams which no longer existed. The prices for a small piece of cardboard were outrageous. And the wheeling and dealing led one to believe that sports cards were traded much like stocks on Wall Street. The common man's hedge against inflation, an investment in the future.
One could see the change on Dennis's face as he walked up and down the various cases fixating in awe. It wasn’t his first time here but that didn't matter. Before him were his heroes staring back at him in two dimensions. It may be as close as he'd ever come to these athletes.
A salesperson greeted us and I asked for the manager who thankfully was working. A few minutes later we were talking. His answers to my well thought up 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 les
s. 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."
