Camden's Knife

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  “Apple juice?”

  “Yes, Mr. Keeton. It’s apple juice. Unsweetened, 100% natural apple juice.”

  Stonetree looked at McReynolds, who almost imperceptibly shook his head. He didn’t know what to think or do. He smiled at the guard when he caught his eye.

  “Can we leave now, Mr. Keeton? We’re late for an engagement.”

  Then two additional security personnel stepped out of the cross corridor and walked to where they stood. Cribbet, had sergeant stripes and looked mean. The other, O’Connell, bore the same nervous look as Keeton.

  “Do we have a problem here?” Cribbet asked.”What’s going on?”

  “These gentlemen were on their way out. Mr. Stonetree,” he said, pointing him out, “is an employee and was showing his friends his office. I asked to see the contents of the briefcase. That’s all.”

  “And the contents of the bottles?” Cribbet asked, looking Stonetree up and down.

  “Apple juice,” he sighed.

  “Mr. Stonetree,” the sergeant said, “I’m going to have to assume that there is not apple juice in this,” he said, picking up one of the flasks and holding it up to the light.”I just don’t believe someone would carry around small bottles of apple juice and nothing else. I’ll have to assume that this is contraband of some kind.”

  “I am,” Camden said flatly, “what is known as a health nut. Part of my regime is frequent ingestion of apple juice.”

  “That’s about the craziest excuse for a story I’ve ever heard.”

  “Now just wait a second,” Stonetree interrupted.

  “Now you just wait a second, mister,” the sergeant shot back.”We have rules here and everybody follows them. You are not leaving with these. If it’s nothing, you’ll get them back next week. But they’re going to spend the weekend with us,” he added, nodding toward Keeton and O’Connell.”Nobody’s fault if I’m wrong.”

  “It’s not your property,” McReynolds offered.

  “Property?” Cribbet asked.”Property? I’ll tell you about property. I know all about property.” He paused.”Possession is 90% of the law.”

  “It’s all right,” Camden interceded.”No problem. If constipation sets in, it sets in. You can keep the juice and the briefcase over the weekend, Mr. Cribbet. I have no quarrel with that, but we do need to be on our way.”

  The sergeant squinted at Camden and closed the briefcase, pressing on the latches. He picked it up and nestled it under his arm, patting the end facing Stonetree.

  “You just give us a call on Monday, Mr. Stonetree,” he grinned.”We’ll give you your apple juice back, if that’s what it is.”

  Stonetree pushed the door open and grinned back.”Thank you, Sergeant Cribbet. I’ll see to it Miss Lane is advised of what an exemplary job you’re doing.”

  “You just do that, sir.”

  Stonetree could feel his stomach knot again and his face flush. He motioned to McReynolds and Camden and they exited together. As they stood on the sidewalk a moment, Stonetree looked back through the entrance at the three uniformed statues staring at him.”Let’s get out of here.”

  Nobody spoke until they were at least a mile from the Plaza. McReynolds finally asked where they were headed. Stonetree realized he thought Hyatt to himself but instead was driving in the direction of Sirius.”I’m gonna pull over,” he replied.”Let’s figure this out.” After parking he turned to Camden in the backseat.

  “Well Doctor, what happens now?”

  “I’m not sure,” Camden replied thoughtfully.”What do you think? Are you in trouble?”

  “It depends on what’s in the bottles. Could you please tell me what the bottles contained?”

  “It’s not contraband. It’s harmless. Will you be in trouble if it’s harmless?”

  He thought a moment.

  “I’m not sure. What was in them? Do you know, Robin?” he asked, turning to McReynolds.

  “Nope. Though I’d like to know myself. How about it, Doctor?”

  “Take my word that it’s harmless, it’s nothing. Think of it as apple juice. Let’s see what the security people do with it. We can wait till Monday, yes?”

  “Well, maybe you can wait,” Stonetree snapped, “but I’d like a little more information before I stroll into Miss Lane’s office on Monday. I know how those Security nuts are. There’ll probably be a report on her desk tomorrow morning. And I will be in trouble if I don’t have a good explanation for this. Now, what was in the damn bottles?”

  McReynolds recoiled a bit. Camden leaned forward and smiled.

  “It’s apple juice, David. Unsweetened, 100% natural apple juice.”

  They agreed it might be a good idea to split up and not talk for a couple days. They drove back to the Hyatt where Camden got out, saying he’d talk to them soon and wished them luck.

  McReynolds just wanted to go home so Stonetree drove him back to Wilson Towers. He invited him up for a drink but Stonetree declined. Instead, they sat silently in the car for a few minutes, the radio playing softly. Finally McReynolds let out a deep breath, mumbled good night and got out of the car, not looking back when he reached the entrance of the high-rise. He thought of going to Sirius but decided he needed sleep more than anything so drove home, exhausted and angry and scared.

  He spent the entire weekend inside. Sharon was having more problems with the store and her and Becky’s other partner Jim. She was in no mood to visit, which was just as well because he wasn’t prepared to tell her what had happened. Instead, he stayed in his bedroom most of the time reading, watching television and napping. He felt like he should be drinking lots of liquids and eating bowls of soup. He did both. He called Hendricks but there was no answer. He drank an entire bottle of Chablis with a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. Monday arrived quickly.

  It was evident Lane was already in when he reached his office, going directly to his desk and asking Debbie to join him and shut the door.

  “Is she here?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “I’m in trouble. At least I might be.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “I brought a couple of friends in here on Friday night to show them around. We got stopped by Security and one of them had some liquor on him or something. Anyway, what I want you to do…”

  The phone rang. It was Lane. Could he please come to her office?

  “Never mind,” he said to Debbie as he hung up the phone.”I’m going to find out firsthand.”

  He stepped to her office and looked in, seeing she was reading a document at her desk. Rather than knocking to get her attention he went directly to one of the chairs in front and sat down. She didn’t look up immediately but when she did, she smiled.

  “Nice weekend?”

  “Restful,” he replied.

  “Good. Mine wasn’t. I’ve been going over your last update on expenses. They’re getting better. I think you might be onto something. I brought back a report from our friend Taylor in Seattle,” she continued, passing across the memo.”Go through it and tell me if you see anything strange. I think they blew a couple cases of 700 but don’t want to admit it. Some of the numbers look wrong but I can’t figure it out. Look at them, will you? I’m about ready to trim the payroll out there a few notches.”

  “Sure. Anything else?” he asked, rolling the paper into a tight tube.

  “Umm, let’s see. I talked to Sony again and it looks like they are getting a little more anxious about The Bahamas. I stopped in Denver on the way back to talk with Doug Smite who’s being more difficult than usual. Wexford’s new project has moved along considerably but I think we’re going to have some problems.”

  “Anything else?”

  She pushed her tortoise shell glasses up into her hair and leaned away.

  “You certainly are curious today. What brought on this anything else attack?”

  “Just curious to know what’s going on. I like to keep on top of things.”

  “Oh, by the way,” she continued
, reaching into a drawer for a piece of paper.”Were you in here on Friday night with someone?”

  He stared at her, trying to judge her mood, once again not knowing which way she was shifting. He stood and looked out the window.

  “Oh, did Security send you something?”

  “Yes, they did. It says here that you were showing a couple of friends your office, Security stopped you, they checked a briefcase which held a pair of two ounce plastic bottles containing an unidentified liquid that your guest identified as apple juice which Security didn’t believe. Are they accurate up to that point?”

  “Yes.”

  “So they seized the bottles which did turn out to be filled with your basic apple juice and you may reclaim the briefcase and its contents from them. Talk about paranoia.” She laughed as she made her hanging scale motion.”What did they think it was? Nitro?”

  “It baffled me,” he replied, trying to sound disinterested.”We told them but they wanted it anyway. I was really embarrassed.”

  “Well as long as it wasn’t alcohol, there’s no problem. Did they really hassle you? I can check on this person Cribbet if you’d like.”

  “That’s not necessary. He was just doing his job. No harm done.”

  She nodded. He moved to leave but as he reached the door she asked, “David? Can I have a few more minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  “Close the door, please?”

  He complied and eased back toward her end of the office, stopping in front of the desk. She rose from her chair, carefully smoothing the sides of her snug, dark blue skirt then eased around and rested against it, supported by her downturned palms. She regarded him a long moment then smiled as she looked to the window.

  “I’m not quite sure what you’ll think of this,” she began, continuing to stare at the skyline.”It didn’t occur to me until last night. It might sound a little awkward.”

  Stonetree leaned back on his heels and put a hand into his back pocket.”What?”

  “Well,” she began, finally looking back at him, “Wednesday is my birthday. I don’t usually make a big production of it and I don’t plan to this year.”

  Her eyes seemed to search his for a sign of recognition. He gave none because he had none.”Go ahead.”

  “I’ve always thought people make way too much out of this 33rd birthday thing. It’s like New Year’s Eve. People use it as an excuse to be ridiculous and I just don’t subscribe to that.”

  “People do get out of hand sometimes.”

  “But I started thinking about it.” She smiled as she brought her hands together, lacing her fingers.”And we all get only one 33rd birthday. Someday I might regret staying here at the office till 8:00 and picking up a sandwich on the way home.”

  “Did you want…to do something?”

  “I don’t have all that many friends David, especially people close to my age. Everyone seems to be 20 years older. Now don’t think I’m a charity case.”

  “Did you want to do something?”

  “How about this,” she said as she looked back out the window.”Would you like to come over for dinner?”

  “Dinner? At your place?” He couldn’t believe his ears. What a great idea. Especially now that he still had a job.

  “I’m not a bad cook. And we can just have a relaxing evening. Or, uh, would that cause any problems for you?”

  “Problems?” No, none at all. I’d enjoy that. I’d like to see your place, too. Where do you live?”

  “Wilson Towers. I moved in a month ago. It’s pretty sharp, if I do say so myself. Not that I get to enjoy it that much.” She shook her head.”So do we have a date?”

  “Sure. Great. What time?”

  “How about 7:00? I’ll have to run some errands… decided to give myself the whole day off.”

  “Fine. What can I bring?”

  “A bottle of wine? Maybe a medium red?”

  “Love to. What else?”

  “Just you. Informal attire, of course.” She grinned.”And although you still have a relapse once in a while, no Ms. Lanes or sirs, okay? Just Trisha.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” he said as he began to back away.”Seven, then?”

  “So will I. Seven is fine.”

  He returned to his office for a moment then decided to go down to the cafeteria. He found a few of his former colleagues from Technology and spent half an hour visiting with them. Then he got another cup of coffee and sat alone for a few minutes, wondering about Wednesday night. What to wear, what to bring, how to act.

  She had, he realized, suddenly sparkled in front of him like the glint from a double-edged blade. Of all the suitors, all the men she could have chosen to mark the passage, he was the one who received the nod. Crazy world, he thought.

  He considered dropping by Kravatz’s to find out if he genuinely wanted to have dinner prepared for him by Trisha. On second consideration, he knew that taking the disc to divine the answer would be a colossal waste of $250.

  CHAPTER 9

  By the time the late news began Tuesday night, Stonetree had his plan for the next day. First of all, knowing that Trisha was taking the day off, he’d decided to take a vacation day too, sleeping in late and then maybe a workout at the health club. He’d called Sharon to ask if she’d like to have lunch with him and she agreed. Still baffled about the events of the previous Friday night, he’d contacted McReynolds and they’d agreed to meet for a drink at 6:00. And of course there had to be a visit to the wine store.

  He was awake at 7:00 the following morning, clicking on the television at 8:00 to catch an hour of The Today Show and staying in bed ’til 9:00. Following two cups of coffee he left for the health club and put in a solid 45 minutes of exercise, followed by half an hour in the steam room plus ten minutes in the swimming pool to cool down.

  When he returned home, he agonized over how to dress, interrupting the process with another cup of coffee and the day’s NewsGlance. He finally decided on a casual but chic look including his favorite sport coat, a never-worn red-checkered Orvis hidden button down shirt, black suede Sperry Top Siders and his favorite black denims freshly back from a dry cleaning. Finally, as a humorous touch, he dug through his junk drawer and found a Wexford Crypto which he pinned to the jacket’s lapel.

  Running behind schedule, he called Sharon to tell her he’d be late. Instead of the usual lecture about his chronic tardiness, she simply said she was looking forward to lunch and he could pick her up at work whenever he wanted.

  On his way there he stopped at Great Grapes, the city’s premier wine shop located on North Hallmark Street, a ten-minute walk from Classy Cupcakes.

  He was greeted warmly by the assistant manager, a cute woman in her 30’s named Bernice who had a penchant for using the word grape in as many inappropriate ways as she could. Her greeting to him was no exception.

  “How are you today, Mr. Stonetree?” she asked when he stepped into the shop.”It’s really a grape day out there, isn’t it?”

  He agreed it was then wandered toward the back of the store to the sizable rack displaying that week’s featured vintages, divided into groups and subgroups by appellations, rankings and price.

  As he narrowed his focus on domestic Merlots in the $75-100 range, he heard an unmistakable voice call from behind.

  “Dio mio, potrebbe veramente essere il mio nipote David, che non ho visto da 20 anni?”

  He turned to see the man he loved more than anyone in the world.

  “Sono io, zio Chuck.”

  The man spread his arms wide and Stonetree moved to him quickly, sharing a warm embrace and pairs of cheek kisses.

  Charles Ulysses Bernardini had originally been the father he’d never had but over the years had become more of the big brother he’d never had—always there to offer guidance, always there to share his confidences but best of all always there to offer honest appraisals others might not.

  There wasn’t a time in his life he could remember when Uncle Chuck was absent from t
he picture. His father had died shortly after his birth and his mother, with only a high school education, had to work two jobs just to make ends meet. So he was often left in the care of Mrs. Calvello, one of Chuck’s daughters, who lived next door and already had three young children under wing, making his addition to the brood not much more than afterthought. The youngest, Allesandra, was in his kindergarten class and they remained close friends to this day, Stonetree being the proud godfather of her second child.

  Early on he sensed there was something very special about Bernardini, some unique set of indefinable qualities that differentiated him from all others, with generosity topping the list.

  When he thought Stonetree’s mother was being worn down by her 16 hour workdays he’d arranged for her an interview at a prominent suburban law firm which led to a position that paid twice as much as her two other jobs with half the hours, excellent benefits and more importantly a respect for the talents he knew she possessed though had never had the chance to display. When she’d passed away five years ago, she’d been the overseeing office manager for all three of the firm’s offices, which had closed down on the morning of her requiem mass, allowing everyone from partners through maintenance staff to attend, a crowd the pastor noted had only been rivaled by the previous Christmas Midnight Mass.

  When Stonetree had been accepted to attend a prestigious Catholic prep school but couldn’t afford the cost of tuition plus books plus uniforms plus activities fees, Uncle Chuck had offered to look into the matter. During his four-year stint, the only invoice he recalled seeing was a $20 charge for a 16-inch softball he’d admittedly taken home, then lost. The man pushed him to arm’s-length, holding him at the shoulders and looking him up and down.

  “Stai diventando troppo magro. Non mangi più pasta?”

  “Se non potessi avere i tuoi linguini, che senso avrebbe mangiare pasta?”

  “Mi prendi in giro.”

  “Non ti prendo in giro. È la verità.”

  His most precious memories were the gite familiari for his fellow nephews and nieces in which he was always included. Elaborate picnics and birthday celebrations. Skybox seats for football, basketball and baseball games, including one Super Bowl, one World Series and two Final Four championships. Choice tickets to sold-out concerts and weekend jaunts to destinations near and far. But the true highlight had been a two week trip to Italy one summer that featured private guided tours of the great museums and historical sites, meals at splendid restaurants and an hour each day with a private tutor to help polish the language he’d learned through assimilation. The day before their return flight, they’d had a private after-hours tour of the Vatican treasures, followed by dinner in the papal apartments with il Papa himself.