Adventures In A Pair-A-Dice

by Terry Michael Peters

  “Quarter of ten,” he said.

  “Where you at?” I asked.

  “Just around the corner. I just dropped off a fare.”

  “Well, shit, man – get your ass over here. Let’s get some breakfast.”

  Twenty minutes later over breakfast, Tom and I were like two kids fanaticizing about all kinds of imaginable ways to spend such an excessive amount of money. By the time we were through with breakfast, we had spent it all.

  Once again I hired Tom’s cab for the day. Our first stop was the Harley shop for the transmission parts needed to get Tom’s cycle back on the road. Our next stop was the super market where we filled five shopping carts full of stuff we always wanted to buy but could never afford.

  It took every bit of space in the cab to get our shopping spree back to Tom’s apartment. There we realized that there wasn’t enough space in the tiny kitchen for all the food we had purchased.

  During the course of the afternoon, while putting the bike back together, we reimagined our morning fantasies. One recurring vision was of us renting a house with a garage. Not that there was anything wrong with working on your motorcycle in the living room.

  There, one could be near the stereo and in close proximity to the refrigerator for a cold one, but with more than a few people around things got pretty cramped. The little apartment was nice enough but sat in the middle of a dumpy neighborhood. That part of town was a haven for undesirables and was another reason for the bike being in the living room.

  Something a little further west would be nice. Then, it was a place on the beach. Perhaps even further north where there wasn’t as much traffic. If we did that, it was a question of Tom’s job at the cab company. It took very few words on my part to talk Tom out of his job.

  My new found wealth would be more than enough to go around for a while. Besides, Tom was forever taking leaves of absence anyway. Because he was reliable his boss would keep hiring him back. The height of the season was winding down anyway and so were the fares.

  We had always liked the area of the coast about sixty miles north of us. I called a realtor and described what we were looking for. The woman said that she would compile a list and that we could come up in a couple of days to look at the properties. It was Friday so we agreed to meet with her the following Monday.

  I still had most of the ten thousand dollars left and figured that even if we only improved our living standards until it ran out it would be nice knowing what it was like. Besides, I wasn’t feeling that optimistic about Bruce’s chances and was beginning to think that in the end the money would be mine.

  That weekend with both bikes on the road again we headed south. Tom and a girlfriend along with Linda and myself rode the bikes down through the Keys. We camped out and spent the weekend having a great time. It was reminiscent of the old days when the two of us travelled across the country shortly after my return from Vietnam.

  Those years, despite the adventure and good times of being out on the road, were rough ones for me. It took a few years after my return from overseas to straighten out the conflicts I had within. I had lost some real good friends to the ambitions of that war.

  Like most times that I’m ever out cruising on my motorcycle I seem to draw attention. I would like to think that people were just admiring a classic “Built in America” scooter, but from experience, I knew better. That weekend was no exception. Despite the two of us having long hair and beards and the fact that we wore leather jackets that held more oil and road dirt than our bikes, we were actually decent good ol’ boys at heart.

  On the way back home Sunday night we stopped for some coffee. We talked about this image people had of those who rode big bikes and laughed about the times we would pull up next to a car at a traffic light and the people would lock their doors. Then there was the time a few of us pulled into a rest area along the interstate and some people that were seated at one of the roadside picnic tables got up and headed for their car leaving behind all their food.

  Now for me to look at Tom, I could see why some people might react that way. It seemed that he perceived the same about me. That in mind, we wondered about our impression on Mrs. Ashley, the real estate woman we were to meet the following afternoon. Perhaps some new clothes were in order but pulling up on our motorcycles even being dressed in a three piece suit wouldn’t change much.

  Chapter 3

  “How much?” I said.

  “Well, you’ll need about thirty five hundred dollars,” the car salesman answered.

  “No, man, for the whole car, now, today?” I asked.

  “Uh, well, let me see. Usually people will finance such a car,” he said.

  “Hey, but I want to pay cash right now for the car.”

  “Well sir,” (Wow, I thought to myself. What respect. That was something I had never been called before) “let me see what I can do.”

  After some calculations and conversations with the various people sitting in the offices around the sales floor area, he said, “That would be a total cost of eighteen thousand, three hundred and thirty dollars. We could sell you one the same color without the moon roof.”

  Tom and I walked back outside to the cab. He told me he knew somebody who had a late model car for sale at good price. It just needed a new fender.

  “Fuck the fender,” I said. “Let’s buy the car.”

  Nothing more needed saying. Tom could see in my eyes what the plan was.

  “Hop in,” he said.

  “Wait, I’ll go tell this guy to get the car ready.”

  I then decided to withdraw a little more of Bruce’s funds to finance our new ride. Within two hours of first setting eyes on the car it was ours. I couldn’t believe it. Just like that, I give this guy some paper money and he hands me the keys to an eighteen thousand dollar automobile, shakes my hand and promises me that all the paper work, including insurance, will be handled promptly and forwarded to me by way of the mail.

  There is much to be said about being rich and having such an automobile. Sure it drank some gas, but it was like driving down the road while sitting on your living room couch. Even better than that, I had never owned a leather couch before.

  “Now this is the life,” I said to Tom and then told him I would follow him to the cab company.

  Tom came back out the door of the office grinning from ear to ear. A leave of absence for him had been long overdue.

  With the cruise control on we were headed north on the Turnpike. It was amazing what some new clothes and a set of fashionable wheels could do for a man’s image. We now actually looked halfway respectable. At least we thought so.

  Mrs. Ashley was quite different from what I expected. To me, her voice left the impression that she was an older woman. Mrs. Ashley, or Judy as she then introduced herself, was a nice looking girl in her mid-twenties.

  When she first set eyes on us it was like she knew we were wolves in sheep’s clothing. It didn’t seem to matter to her and, as with the car salesman, our money spoke for itself. All this new found respect was something we weren’t used to and we were truly enjoying it.

  The first house we looked at was an older one that was located just off the beach. It had plenty of space around it with some huge old pine trees for shade. It would have been perfect except that during the short time we were there at least twenty people walked by on the beach. I was thinking of something with a little more privacy.

  “Well, I do have a newer home just across the way. It has a screened in pool and a boat dock with access to the Intracoastal.”

  “Sounds great,” we said. “Let’s take a look at it.”

  This house was in a newer development that, for the most part, seemed void of life. Many of the houses were empty. Judy explained that most of the houses were either seasonal refuge for northerners or were up for rent by people who had built them for investments.

  “How much is this one?” I asked.

  “Well, this one is two thousand dollars a month,” she said.

&n
bsp; “Wow!” Tom exclaimed in disbelief.

  Judy turned and looked at him with an expression of What did you expect?.

  “Can we see inside?” I asked.

  “Sure, I’ve got the key right here,” she said.

  Inside this place was even nicer than the outside. It was completely furnished and included color TV and stereo system. It even came with dishes, pots and pans.

  “We’ll take it,” I said.

  I was really enjoying being able to say that.

  Judy informed us that we could move in right away and explained about the need for a large security deposit.

  “No problem,” I said. “We’ll be back in the morning.”

  A time was agreed upon and she drove us back to her office where we had left the car. On the way home I was pretty quiet. I was thinking about the money and how addictive its influence was on me. I also couldn’t believe how differently people treated you when they know you have money. Neither Judy nor the car salesman had even asked where I worked or how long I’d been there - questions I was used to being asked. Being a vagabond didn’t set well with most creditors and, because of that, I was never before able to establish any credit.

  The next morning I was awakened by the sounds of Tom’s knuckles rapping on the car window. I had slept in the car for fear of leaving it unattended in that part of town. Besides, the front seat was more comfortable than the thread worn couch in Tom’s living room.

  After calling Linda at work and assuring her that I would be at her house the following evening for dinner, we set out in search of a truck for our move north. For the past eight years I had been living here and there with no real place of my own. I was really looking forward to settling into a new house.

  Before picking up the rental truck I decided to drive past the marina to check on Bruce’s car. I couldn’t believe it. It was gone. Maybe he had somehow survived and had made it back to the States. Pedal to the metal and we were away from there. Paranoia time again and I felt that our move north was for the best.

  We packed up the truck with what little we had. We left all the furniture behind. It was mostly just our motorcycles, tools and our clothing and the five shopping carts worth of groceries.

  Once the papers were signed and the money exchanged, Judy handed me a set of keys and a transmitter for the automatic garage door opener. The house was ours for as long as we could come up with the two thousand dollars a month. I got to the house first and was pushing the button on the transmitter to close the garage door as Tom pulled up in the truck.

  “Put the car in the garage,” he said.

  “It’s too fucking big,” I replied. “Can you believe it?”

  “Just as well, we’ll keep the bikes in there,” he said.

  It didn’t take long to get moved in with what little we owned. All the furniture, like the Cadillac, was real comfortable. The house had an intercom system that fed into each room as well as the garage and out around the pool. The place even had a washer and dryer - luxuries that neither of us was accustomed to.

  I was wondering how I could explain all this sudden wealth to Linda the next day when I would see her. I had to because I wanted her to move in with us. She lived in a duplex where you shared the driveway and a clothesline. This house, I felt, was more befitting a woman of her stature. Where she worked was about thirty five miles north of where she was living so it would be about the same distance south from here. Besides, she had grown up in this area and her friends were here.

  While Tom was fixing up some lunch, I was paging through a West Palm phone book and specifically searching for people with the same last name as Bruce. Surprisingly, there were only three. What was even more surprising was that all three lived in Palm Beach. Palm Beach was where the exclusively rich lived. I hadn’t taken Bruce as one coming from money and perhaps his phone number was unlisted. Still, I was curious.

  That night we invited some people over that we knew in the area and gave a proper house warming party. With the lack of human habitation in the surrounding houses, our loud music and carrying on bothered no one.

  There were a few women there that night that made me appreciate Tom’s philosophy about women. He believed that, like fine wine, one could lose perspective if one didn’t have something to compare it to and reassure its worth. Still, I wasn’t about to chance ruining the best thing in my life – my relationship with Linda.

  Sometime after midnight I decided to take a ride. With a push of the button on the wall of the garage the door lifted and I pushed the motorcycle out onto the driveway. The night was warm and I had the urge to ride.

  I kicked the old panhead engine to life and the sound of the motor cut through the night like thunder. For about an hour and a half I rode up the coastal highway before turning back south. During that time I went over in my mind everything that had happened since my bike had broken down that night coming back east.

  I was determined to find out whether Bruce had, in fact, made it. I could justify in my own mind keeping what money we had taken so far but not without feelings of guilt could I keep the rest of it. I decided that if he was alive the money was his. If he wasn’t, it was mine. It was as simple as that. My plan was to check out the addresses I had gotten out of the phone book and then go from there, perhaps even call the numbers inquiring about Bruce.

  Waking up the next day and making my way to the kitchen, I could see that not everyone had a respect for the finer things in life. Stepping over bodies and kicked over beer cans, I decided that in the future we had to be a little more careful about who we invited over to the house. Rich or not, our five thousand dollar security deposit was a lot of money.

  Making my way into the kitchen I was surprised to find Tom already up and ready to go. He said that he had figured when I took off the night before, that I had a problem I would want to get straightened out first thing in the morning.

  With a little persuasion we finally were able to get everybody up and out of the house. Closing the door as the last person went out, I said, “Great party”.

  “Hey, I know. I think I’m in love,” was Tom’s reply.

  “Hey, she was kind of cute,” I said. “What’s her name?” He had already forgotten.

  Any other time we had come over the bridge into Palm Beach we were usually soon thereafter given a police escort until we went back over the bridge. This time, however, not being on our motorcycles, we got none.

  “It was a good thing we got tinted windows on the car,” I said as we passed a police car.

  The first address we checked was a huge house with a wall all the way around it. Before getting out and climbing up to see over it, I thought we would check out the second address. This house was right on the ocean and as we drove by I saw the blue Mercedes in the driveway and parked right in front of the house. There was no movement outside the house but with two other cars in the driveway somebody had to be there.

  “Let’s find a phone,” I said, “I’m gonna call.”

  Once back across the bridge from Palm Beach to West Palm, we found a phone where it was relatively quiet. I reasoned that a phone call was a safe form of confrontation. They couldn’t see me and had no way of knowing where I was. Still my hands trembled as I dialed the number. A woman’s voice answered. It took the second time she said hello for me to answer.

  “Ah, yes, hello, is Bruce there?” I asked.

  “Just a moment,” she said.

  Oh, shit – not what I thought would happen.

  “Yes, hello, can I help you?” a man’s voice said.

  “You’re looking for Bruce?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You see I met Bruce a few months ago and was in town and I thought – “

  The man’s voice cut me off before I could finish.

  “Yes, well your name sir?”

  “My name, ah, well, goodbye,” I said.

  “Damn, that was real cool,” Tom said.

  “Shit man, what was I supposed to say? Let’s get
out of here. I’ll deal with this later.”

  “It’s great,” I said. “You make the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”

  “Then, how come you’re not eating it?” Linda asked.

  Keeping something from Linda wasn’t easy. She was in tune with my moods and could detect when something was bothering me.

  “You’ve been acting kind of weird ever since you got back from Naples. Is it another woman?” she asked.

  “Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed. “You’re the best. Who else would put up with my bullshit?”

  “Then does it have something to do with that car Tommy’s driving?”

  “The car? Well, yeah, in a way it does,” I said.

  “How about you taking off tomorrow from work and we’ll cruise up the coast?” I offered in an attempt to change the subject.

  “We can visit some of your friends. There’s also something I’d like to show you.”

  Linda proposed talking with her boss to get the day off if I would make an effort to relax. I agreed.

  I wakened to the smells of breakfast the next morning and was treated to the luxury of eating it in bed.

  “What time is it?” I asked Linda as she walked into the bedroom with the food.

  “It’s nine o’clock,” she said.

  “Shit, I’ve got to call Tom at Pat’s house to get him up.”

  “He’s here,” she said. “He’s eating in the kitchen.”

  Damn, that boy is starting to get too reliable, I thought to myself as I had hoped to persuade Linda back into the bed for a while.

  On the way north Linda wanted to know whose car we were driving and what we were doing with it. I kept trying to change the subject and Tom was sounding like the guy who had sold us the car. He was explaining the finer attributes of the car and why someone should own one.

  “Forget it,” she said. “If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t.”

  “I’ll explain in a bit,” I promised her.

  As we drove through the exclusive development where our new house was Linda asked if this was where the owner of the car lived.