by David Smith
“As much as one man can. And nothing. I found his cart, which he crashed into the bushes, I’m sure in an attempt to hide it. I’ve gone along the service roads, the foot path that goes to the Indian Village, the back way into Fantasyland, and all along the monorail track, from where he climbed up to where he fell,” Wolf described, lifting a page from his notes, making a small notation on one line. “But, even with my sense of observation and tracking, I literally found nothing until I went to the back of the village and found fresh footprints going up over the mound behind the scene. I also tried to locate his wallet, which we assume fell out of his back pocket while he ran.”
When the Blond-Haired Man looked confused, Wolf elaborated. “His back pocket was torn and nothing was in it.” Wolf shrugged his shoulder in a defeatist gesture, which was rare for the man. “I even had Willie Riggio, Duncan’s landscaping foreman, check his locker to see if anything was there. All that was inside was a sack lunch and a paperback book. I told Riggio to leave everything exactly where it was and I would be over to give it all a thorough search, which I did immediately.”
“This is not good, Wolf,” the Blond-Haired Man said dejectedly. He put his elbows on the edge of the desk and rubbed his eyes. “You know, this changes the future, the past, everything, AGAIN!”
“Yes Sir,” Wolf said. If anyone knew anything about how the past and the future could be changed, it was indeed Wolf.
Just then Wolf’s black phone rang.
“Yes,” Wolf said into the phone and then listened. His blue eyes darkened. “Are you sure? Okay. Yes, he is here. I’ll relay that information. Yes, I know it couldn’t come at a worse time.” Wolf hung up.
“What now?”
Wolf looked directly into the other man’s eyes. “You won’t believe this. Over one-hundred thousand dollars is missing from Cash Control.”
“What?! When???” The Blond-Haired Man said standing up, putting his hands on the edge of the desk, leaning over it as if getting closer to Wolf helped him better comprehend the incomprehensible.
“Accounting just discovered a discrepancy in their monthly audit. They don’t have the exact amount yet, but it appears that a number of Cash Control deposit bags were taken about a month ago.”
“Could this have something to do with Duncan?” The Blond-Haired Man asked.
“Could. But we don’t know for sure,” Wolf said, and then in a lower voice he added, “With Duncan dead and no clue yet of what he has been doing, we may never find out.”
The Blond-Haired man looked directly into Wolf’s blue eyes. “Okay. I understand what we are up against. But Wolf, we can’t give up. We have some areas to check on. You go down to landscaping and comb his locker again, the cart he crashed, and landscaping sheds, any area he may have worked. Talk to Riggio again, talk to his co-workers. Find out where he has been working over the past month. See if he has friends. And see where his family lives and what they do.” He paused to take a breath. “I’ll go over all administration records on him. Find out where Duncan lives, who he lives with, where he banks,” the Blond-Haired Man continued. “We need to learn everything we can about this guy.”
Wolf nodded, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on him. “I’ll check his personal locker in the main building, too.” He then thought of one more thing. “What about his car? It would have to be in the lot.”
“Unless he walks or rides a bike or takes the bus.”
“True,” Wolf said, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out. “We need to find out.”
3:12pm
It was just after three o’clock that afternoon when Lynie, sitting in her small kitchen in her newly rented mobile home, saw the news on her black and white RCA television set that sat on the Formica counter next to her refrigerator. A reporter wearing a thin tie and a white, short-sleeved shirt and dark pants, was on the television, talking into a microphone while looking into the camera:
“Earlier this afternoon, Disneyland experienced another terrible loss. In addition to the on-going coverage of the tragic news surrounding Walt Disney’s death early this morning, KABC News just received a report that an employee of the Park was killed this afternoon. A preliminary bulletin released by Park officials suggests that the employee was electrocuted when he accidently touched the high-voltage beams that power the Disneyland Alweg Monorails, the same monorails that are used in the Park for the transportation of guests to and from the Disneyland Hotel.”
The small black and white television with rabbit ears had limited reception; the grainy image then showed stock footage of the Main Entrance of Disneyland including an overhead shot taken from a helicopter of Tomorrowland. The image shifted back to a close up of the reporter, then to a broad shot of the area behind him including a panned shot of the length of monorail track as it ran south along Harbor Boulevard. The camera returned to the reporter who was now talking about how much voltage runs through the monorail system as well as a short history of a previous death that had occurred in the park two years earlier on a different attraction, the Matterhorn Bobsled ride.
The reporter then repeated remarks about the tragic loss of Walt Disney earlier, as KABC and every other news station, had been doing reports about Walt’s death most of the day. Then, the camera zoomed out and showed an area cordoned off by police tape next to the tall fence of at the perimeter of Disneyland. The camera, obviously held by a cameraman and not supported on a tripod, was then walked towards the taped off area. The lens focused first on the backs of several officials that were in front of the camera, then as those people moved away, the picture moved forward to show the area within the taped off zone. Briefly, the camera showed a man lying on a sidewalk with traffic cones placed around the area.
For a moment, the reception got fuzzy. Lynie got up out of her chair and tried adjusting one of the metal rabbit ears; the antenna was bent but extended about three feet from the top of the television. She got a little better picture and then leaned forward closer to the screen. She watched as the camera panned around several people standing over the body. The shot paused for a moment and Lynie could see there was a towel or blanket covering the face of the body. The reporter’s voice was heard still describing the scene while the camera continued to show the man on the ground in shaky, hand-held realism.
“Disneyland officials have not yet released the name of the employee, only saying that the death is under investigation.”
A Disney official could be seen looking over the body then turning and spotting the news camera filming the scene. The official moved towards the camera holding his hands out, waving them in an obvious gesture. Through the speakers, you could hear a voice saying, “Please no pictures. No cameras, please.”
Just before the camera was moved away, it zoomed in briefly on the uniform of the dead body. The lens was out of focus for a moment jiggling as if someone was trying to move or push it away. Just then, the camera zoomed in on some label or patch that was on the chest of the dead man. The camera quickly focused and then it was moved suddenly, followed by seeing nothing but sky, before the image went black.
Lynie put her hand to her mouth stifling a scream, not listening to the station newsman saying something about losing reception at the scene.
The image just before it had been suspended was of a blue triangular patch sewn on the shirt of the dead man, a patch that said, “Disneyland Landscaping.”
CHAPTER 21
Dining Examination
Sunday, June 25th, 2010
6:35pm
Blain and Malaysia arrived at the reservation podium of the Blue Bayou, the restaurant inside Pirates of the Caribbean, five minutes after their scheduled reservation. Blain was carrying the clay-encrusted wallet wrapped in a large palm tree frond to keep Blain’s hands from getting any more clay and dirt on them.
“Looks like you just made it, Mr. Walters,” the hostess said, checking her reservation sheet then running a yellow highlighter pen across his name. She glanced down at the green
palm frond-wrapped shape in Blain’s hand with a puzzled stare. “That isn’t something…like alive…or was once alive, is it?” the hostess said wrinkling her nose.
“No, it’s just my wallet. It dropped in some mud,” Blain said casually.
The hostess nodded, but had a look like, ‘and how in the world could that happen?’ She then shrugged and smiled up at Blain. “You work here, don’t you?”
“Yes. Canoes,” Blain said matter-of-factly.
The hostess smiled with a faint look of recognition. She then glanced at Malaysia, looking at her for what seemed to be a long time. It looked like she was going to say something else and then thought better of it, instead reaching under the podium for two menus. Another hostess approached the podium when the first girl handed her the two menus, telling the couple, “Rena will take you to your table. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Welcome to the Blue Bayou,” Rena said, with welcoming smile. “Follow me please.”
Malaysia was impressed with the restaurant, suddenly feeling like she was in an outdoor courtyard at twilight. Just as when they went on Pirates of the Caribbean earlier and saw the indoor restaurant from across the simulated bayou, the ambiance inside the large building was that of being outside; the lighting was subtle, candles on the tables, some mood lighting illuminating the façade of buildings against one wall that added to the feeling of being in a tranquil patio at dusk. The soft background music was so subtle that she hardly noticed it. What she did notice were the authentic-looking fireflies that danced around a few of the moss-covered trees that “grew” out of the lagoon waters.
“Those aren’t real, are they?” Malaysia asked as they sat down at a small, square table, facing each other at opposite sides. Rena handed her a menu followed by one she handed Blain.
“Enjoy your dinner,” Rena said before returning to the entrance of the restaurant.
Blain thanked Rena and picked up his menu as he looked over the top of it at Malaysia.
“What Missy?” He asked as Malaysia was looking at a particular area just outside the seating area of the restaurant.
“Are those lightning bugs?” Malaysia asked, pointing to a nearby tree.
“Oh those, those are fireflies. And no, they are not real.”
Malaysia just said, “Oh,” and then turned and looked across the water that mimicked a Louisiana bayou. Malaysia, never having been anywhere else in the U.S. except southern California to this point, she would not recognize the setting as anything but unusual. She would not know what the “south” was or the way of life being subtly depicted within the scenes of the ride. Malaysia could see the activity of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride that she and Blain rode earlier. It looked different to her from this viewpoint.
Malaysia finally began to look over her menu. “Everything looks so good. What do you suggest?”
“I like the Filet…if you are a meat lover. Or, I sometimes get the Cajun-spiced Salmon. Really, everything is actually very good. Just depends on what you are in the mood for,” Blain said.
After “Kelly,” their waitress, took their order, Blain got up.
“I’m going to go try and rinse this thing off,” He explained as he reached for the floor where he had set the leaf-wrapped wallet when they sat down, not wanting it on or even near the table.
“Okay, but don’t leave me alone too long,” Malaysia said with a smile.
“Trust me, I won’t!”
In the men’s restroom, Blain unfolded the wrapped palm frond from around the wallet. The clay had held the leaf in place well and he had to actually pull the leaf from the soft, black mud-like covering on one side of the wallet.
At the sink, he got the leaf off and then tried to knock off as much clay first over the trash can opening in the counter next to the basin. One side of the wallet was fairly dry but very battered and worn. The corners were rounded from decomposition and there was what looked like a worn hole near the center. He ran the other side of the wallet under the hot water, using a paper towel to help the water loosen the remaining clay. He was being careful not to let the water into the open end of what he now saw was indeed a men’s leather folding billfold.
As the clay fell in small clumps from the leather into the sink, Blain found that the one side, which had been covered with clay, was relatively intact. Blain figured the clay surrounding the wallet must have helped prevent moisture from eating away at the leather. Satisfied that he got most of the wallet clean, he dried it with paper towels and then began to open it very carefully.
Suddenly he stopped.
I should share this with Missy, Blain thought, looking at himself in the mirror. She might like to be the first one with me to see what was inside.
He cleaned the remaining dirt and clay from around the sink basin and dried his hands with a paper towel before heading back to the table.
“Well, it is indeed a wallet,” Blain said, sliding into his seat, leaning forward towards Malaysia. The waitress had brought water and he took a sip from the crystal clear glass that had a thin lemon slice floating at the surface among the sparkling clear ice cubes.
“What was in it?” Malaysia asked curiously, watching Blain taking his sip of water. She thought that whoever lost it would be very happy to have it back, probably a fellow Disneyland employee since guests would not have been privy to the area. Then she thought about where they found it. Blain said he didn’t think anyone even knew about the trail. He also said something that she remembered: “The trail was probably an old service road used decades earlier.” She wondered how old this wallet just might be. That thought heightened her curiosity even more.
“I didn’t open it yet. I thought since you technically found it…by risking life and limb, I might add,” Blain started, “I wanted to first open it with you.”
“How sweet and thoughtful,” Malaysia said, with a smile.
Blain stood and switched seats with the one next to her left side.
“Ready?” Blain said, raising his eyebrows, leaning a little closer to her.
“YES! Open it,” Malaysia said, her blue eyes dancing with animation.
The wallet opened and inside was not exactly what the two expected. Even though it was thin, they both had expected to see one of those plastic window things where people put pictures in. There were none. Blain began to think they had found a young boy’s wallet, probably the kid’s first wallet since most youngsters would not have the means or the desire to carry pictures as adults would. However, there was a yellowed plastic window sewn into the wallet with leather trim around it. Some of the stitches were broken but there was something under the plastic.
“Looks like an old driver’s license in here,” Blain said, slipping a finger into the slit. It was stuck closed and he had to grab a knife from the table and slit the opening like opening an envelope. Setting the knife down, he reached in and carefully pulled out a piece of paper. It was fairly heavy paper but very yellow and had a film of what looked like hard powder covering parts of it.
“Looks like a date right there,” Malaysia said pointing to the top right corner.
“I think you’re right,” Blain said, taking the knife again and using it carefully as a scrapping tool.
“Looks like….” Blain started to see some black numbers, “Nineteen…,” he scrapped a bit more. “Sixty…two, I think.”
“Nineteen sixty-two?” Malaysia said, almost in disbelief. She counted on her fingers. “That’s almost fifty years old! How could it have lasted that long in all that…muck?”
“Well, being half buried in clay, that would have acted like a moisture barrier. The rock you fell over probably had somehow been moved over it…a long time ago. That protected it from the elements too.”
“Is there a name?” Malaysia asked, looking at the paper Blain held.
“I don’t know if I can make it out.” Blain tried to scrape the paper. He could make out part of an address, but much of the ink was so faded and blurred, he couldn’t make out the street or
number; only the city, which was “Anaheim.”
“He, assuming it is a man’s wallet, lived here close to Disneyland,” Blain said, showing her the city he was able to salvage. “The name looks like it is pretty much gone, look.” The bottom of the paper was eaten away, and it looked like that was where the name on the license was located.
“Is there anything else in there?”
Blain looked inside the bill compartment. “This is interesting,” he said. Blain carefully pulled out some well-worn, and very old, monetary bills: A five, six ones, and a ten, and laid them on the table.
“Look how old those are!” Malaysia picked up the five-dollar bill, examining it. It was one thing to see American money, not having seen too many treasury notes from the U.S. in Switzerland. It was something else seeing such old money.
“That bill is actually rare, it is a Silver Certificate,” Blain said, pointing along the top of the bill where the engraved words were located above the head of Lincoln. “What is the issue date on that?” Blain asked. “It should be printed below and to the right of President Lincoln.”
“Nineteen fifty-two, it says.”
“Look, there are two more bills in here, and something else,” Blain said as Malaysia set the five-dollar bill down with the others. Blain pulled what looked like two more one-dollar bills, from the billfold, but a small envelop was stuck in-between them, sticking out slightly from the top of where the bills clung together.
Carefully, Blain pulled the bills apart. They were not glued, just pressed so long together with whatever was in-between them that they had sort of melded together. The two bills pulled apart as a yellow envelope, about the size of a three-by-five inch index card, came off one of the bills. He finished pulling the first bill off and set it down, then Blain carefully pulled the other bill from the envelope.
