by DS Whitaker
“I believe in the heavenly Kingdom? Why?”
“My mother, deceased for several years now, speaks to me. She guides me in all my financial affairs. At first, I thought I was going off my trolley, you see, but she’s always steered me to the best investments. I count her as the reason for my sizable success.”
Samuel stared.
Cud assumed he had left the poor man stunned. “Well, yes, I know it sounds bonkers and you think I’m off my proverbial rocker. But the reason I mention this, I’d like to be left in the vault for a few minutes so my mother’s spirit can guide me to the select the right box. And unfortunately, mother often won’t communicate in front of strangers. If you could simply show me which ones are available, it shouldn’t take more than five minutes for her to help me make the sound choice.”
Sam looked side to side, around his desk, and at the ceiling.
In a soft voice, Cud said, “I assure you this is not a practical joke or one of those Candid Camera set ups. I understand your reluctance.” He got up from the chair. “I can go to another bank if this is a problem.”
Samuel burst from his seat. “No! I mean, Sir, this will not be a problem. Let us go look. Follow me.”
Samuel opened the vault room door in the back of the bank. He pointed to the boxes that were free and wrote their numbers on the back of one of his business cards. “Mr. Loughton, I can’t leave the door open for security reasons, but please knock loudly when you are finished. Then we can do the paperwork.”
Cudlow smiled. Everything went as he hoped. “Thanks, Samuel. You are a wonderful bloke for indulging me so. Yes, mother was right about you.”
The manager scratched his cheek and blinked at him. “She’s talked to you about me? Just now?”
“Oh, no. In a dream last night. She said I’d meet a delightful fellow at the bank today.”
“Um. Well,” Samuel directed his voice into the air, “thank you, Mama Loughton.” Samuel looked around the vault and behind him. “I’ll leave you now.”
After the vault door closed, Cud took Bob’s key out of his pocket. It was hard to make out the tiny engraved number. It looked like 33. Could have been 38, 36 or 88. Perhaps he needed reading glasses. He hadn’t had a proper eye exam in years. Nor a physical. Yet, he felt more vigor and stamina than in his earlier life. Losing nearly fifty pounds could have that effect.
He tried the box numbers with two-digit sequences with 3’s, 6’s and 8’s. To camouflage the noise, every so often he said loudly, “Mother! I seek your loving guidance! Speak to me!”
The key turned in number 88. He consulted the list of available boxes. Now for the difficult part.
He knocked on the door. “Samuel, I’m ready.”
Samuel came in. “Did your mother communicate?”
“No, not yet. She likes odd numbers. Perhaps 89? Could I see the size of it? The interior?”
“Let me get my keys. Come with me.”
Cudlow waited at Samuel’s desk. The next step was madness. But he’d come this far.
Back in the vault, Samuel put both the customer key and the master key into number 89.
Cudlow took out a paper fan from his pocket and stuffed it up his sleeve. He turned and yelled, “Mother! You’re here!”
Samuel turned to look. “Where?”
Cudlow pointed to the opposite corner by the vault door. “Don’t you see her? The blue light?”
Samuel took a couple steps, tilting his head side to side. “I don’t see anything.” He returned to his keys.
Cudlow wafted a breeze across the back of Samuel’s head and quickly folded and tucked the fan away.
“What was that?”
“Did you feel that? Her presence? Oh, how wonderful.”
Samuel’s eyes widened. “Yes. Dear Lord.”
“Don’t be frightened. She said he wants to say hello. Goodness, she never appears to strangers. A high honor. Go to the corner. Please. Shake her hand.”
Samuel stared at the corner.
Cudlow nodded, “She won’t bite.”
The bank manager turned and put his hand out.
“No take a step further. To the corner.” With Samuel looking the other way, Cudlow switched the bank’s master key into number 88 and added Bob’s key alongside.
When Samuel turned, Cudlow said, “Oh, dear. She’s gone again. Well, if you don’t mind, I need to summon her again. Allow her to bless the inside of the box. Confirm the choice. Could you be a good sport and give me a couple minutes?”
Samuel grimaced. “Sure. I’ll start the paperwork.” He walked out of the vault and headed to his desk.
Cudlow opened Bob’s box and scanned the contents. A thumb drive, a copy of the Washington Times dated two weeks prior, and a photocopy of a map showing the northern portion of St. John and the east end of Tortola. He took out the newspaper and a folded note fell out. It was addressed to a woman named Mary saying only he was sorry and he loved both her and someone named Robbie.
Should he take the note and somehow deliver it to this Mary person? In that moment, he wished he actually had a deceased mother that could tell him the correct thing to do. Truth was, his mother was living, 99-years old, in the Bahamas at an assisted living community. She’d disowned him when he gave up his fortune. He often assumed his mother survived on a mixture of sheer greed, pettiness, and stubbornness.
Cud took only mental pictures of the newspaper, note, and map. He pocketed the thumb drive.
From outside the vault, Samuel called, “Are you alright in there, Mr. Loughton?”
He raised his voice, “Yes, right as rain.” He closed the box, while saying loudly, “Mother, are you with me? Just give me a sign! That is all I ask,” to mask the squeak of the box on the metal drawer slides. He scanned the area to ensure no loose ends.
A few seconds later, he exited the vault. “Yes, Samuel, I’m ready.”
“Did your mother approve the box?”
Cud said, “Well, wouldn’t you know it. Mother wasn’t decisive today. That happens sometimes. Well, I’ll just have to see if she tells me in a dream tonight.” He held up the paper with the box numbers and touched it to his temple with a smile.
“So, um, you won’t be selecting a box today?” Samuel retrieved his keys from box 89.
They headed back to Samuel’s desk. Cud picked up the bottled water and downed half of it. “Sadly, no box today. My grandfather’s Rolex will need to remain in my domicile for another fortnight until Mother decides. She cooperates mostly on the new moon wouldn’t you know it. However, Samuel, I would like to make a small withdrawal, if you could help me with that.”
“Whatever you need, sir.”
“I’ll need ten.”
“Ten? Thousand?”
“No, just ten dollars. Hmm. Maybe twenty. I plan to get an ice cream and reading spectacles. Yes, that sounds about right.”
Samuel walked to the teller and came back with a twenty-dollar bill and a withdrawal slip. “Just sign here.”
He signed. As he stood, he looked down at his tie. He couldn’t wait to get the blasted thing off. He loosened the knot, pulled it over his head, unwound it flat, and folded it in fourths.
Samuel said, “Anything else I can do? We have some wonderful long-term CD rates.” He smiled ear to ear and handed him a brochure.
Cud raised his hand. “No, thank you, Samuel. Here.” He handed him the tie. “With great pleasure, I can say I won’t be needing this. Perhaps you can make use of it. A gift from mother and me.”
The bank manager took the tie and inspected the tag on the back. “Armani? Well. Yes, I will wear it fondly.” He beamed and shook Cud’s hand.
Cud walked out the door, his hand in one pocket, fondling the plastic orange thumb drive. He could hardly believe he’d done it. Samuel was so nice. Perhaps mother would have really liked him.
The sun beat down on him, heating his suit fabric like a microwave. Down the sidewalk, he stopped at a stone bench, took off his suit jacket, transferred Denise
’s business card, the thumb drive, and his wallet to his pants pockets, and untied his shoes. He stuffed the jacket and shoes in a rubbish bin.
After obtaining his gelato—mint chocolate chip—he sat on the grass under a nearby palm tree to savor it. Across the street, a steady flow of people sauntered by on the sidewalk. He rubbed the red marks on his ankles. They weren’t bleeding but they would be sore for a few days.
What was on the thumb drive? Did it have something to do with Bob’s demise? He had half a mind to call Denise and ask to use her hotel’s business center. But no, he didn’t have shoes now. He didn’t want to embarrass her. Instead, he decided to get those reading glasses and drive the scooter back to the beach to see Johnnie.
They could figure out the next steps together.
***
Dear Diary,
Cud is staying with me again tonight, so I can’t write much. The dead guy’s brother is an imposter and a punk and I really wanted to punch him today. But I didn’t. Plus, I didn’t know iguanas liked corn so much. Remind me to bring cheesy puffs tomorrow.
At work, it looked like some folks trampled over the turtle nest, which isn’t cool.
Cud did great today. I can’t talk about it to you, diary, because it would be stupid to write it down. He wasn’t supposed to take anything, but the stick thing got me curious. But the files needed a password and now I’m stuck. Plus, Cud told me about the map showing the north side but I don’t know what it means. This is a real mystery.
Also, Cud talks in a British accent now. Not all the time, but it comes and goes. He’s freaking me out and I told him this and he said he’d try harder to be normal. We cut off the sleeves and bottom half of his new pants and he said it made him feel better. Cud also got reading glasses today, and he asked if he could have one of my old paperbacks. He picked the weird novel about a pandemic spread by dogs.
Have a good night, Diary. Your friend, Johnnie.
P.S. It’s now the next morning and Cud is still asleep. I need to make a correction. I yelled at Cud last night to stop talking British. It just came out but I think I hurt his feelings. He accepted my apology but then I almost cried, which was worse. After he went to sleep, I went outside to look at the stars and then I cried.
I’m a real rotten person, Diary.
Chapter 8
The sunrise was violently orange, like a volcanic eruption across the sky. As the sun ascended, the color eased into a bright yellow before turning pale blue. A donkey walked by Gertie’s driveway with a bell around its neck, and kept walking, heading downhill on the dirt road.
It was Saturday. Johnnie’s day off. But he liked to keep to his routine, waking before dawn. While Cud slept, he sat outside on a folding chair, drinking a diet soda, reading a book and watching the day begin. Roosters crowed on and off. The hill behind him was alive and wide awake, with birds and the clacking of crabs rolling downhill.
A few minutes later, Cud appeared, asking for a ride back to Hawksnest, saying something about an appointment in town later. Which was a good idea, because he wanted to pick up something from the tool shed.
They arrived at the beach at seven and there were a dozen cars in the parking lot. A man wearing a brimmed black canvas hat walked the beach with a metal detector, which was strictly forbidden anywhere within park service boundaries. A young couple was necking on a beach blanket by the east end; the sort of public display of affection that made Johnnie’s skin crawl. Three middle-aged women on yoga mats talked and stretched their legs near the west end. The Saturday morning class was popular and more folks would arrive soon. A ranger crouched by the turtle nest; his face obscured by his felt Stetson style hat. With cordless power tools at his feet, the ranger tinkered with a molded-plastic box.
Cud said, “Cheerio,” waved, and was gone.
Johnnie walked up to the ranger. It was Merv, an okay guy in Johnnie’s book, although a little vain. Ranger Merv Hartley was a decade older and a former power-lifter who enjoyed talking about his daily push-up routine. Back in the day, according to Robin’s accounts, Johnnie could do a hundred push-ups. Now, he’d rather have all his marbles than arm strength; though in reality, he had neither. Merv was bald, with a five-head and eyes that always looked like they were judging. But in reality, Merv was mostly concerned with himself.
Johnnie asked, “Whatcha doing?”
Merv looked up. “Hey, Johnnie. Kemper asked me to install this wildlife camera. To check for mongoose. Something was digging near the nest.”
“Cool. Do you need any help?”
“Isn’t it your day off?” Merv checked the batteries in the box, taking them out, inspecting the ends for corrosion.
“Yeah, but I don’t have anything else to do.” An ache of sadness pricked his thoughts, knowing how true that was. He didn’t have a girlfriend. No friends—except for Cud, Robin, and Gertie—and no hobbies except for reading and spear fishing. If he’d had a boat, he would sail around the island every weekend. But owning and maintaining a boat was costly.
Sometimes he played chess online but only because his therapist said games were good for reinforcing neural connections. But he couldn’t play role-playing games because of the violence, or poker because it made him angry when a douche sucked out with a lousy hand on the river. Doctor Phillips strictly forbid social media; it was a mine field of hate, intolerance, and stupidity. Or worse, people posted pictures of their glamorous, perfect lives; he hated them the most.
“Okay, if you don’t mind. You can hold this in place against the tree while I cinch up the cable lock.” Merv pointed up in the palm tree. “I need to point it towards the nest.”
“Happy to.”
They got down to work.
“Hey, did you see that guy with the metal detector? You should bust him.”
Merv shook his head. “He said his wife lost her wedding ring yesterday. The dude looked like he might cry, so I gave him five minutes.”
“When did you become a softy?”
“I’m not always a douche.” Merv’s voice registered annoyance. “The guy seemed like a basket case.”
“Nice watch. Is it new?” Johnnie pointed to Merv’s gold wrist-watch. It matched the chunky gold ring on his right hand, the one with the black opal center stone.
He quickly placed a hand over the dial. “Thanks. I…inherited it.”
“Cool. Anything else I can do?” Johnnie asked.
Merv shrugged. “Nah, I got this. Go have some fun. It’s a beautiful day.”
Johnnie looked out over the water. No sign of the Goddess. More sailboats dotted the horizon. The holiday crowd was arriving.
“Yeah, I was thinking of doing some fishing.” He walked to the tool shed and undid the lock. Merv followed him.
Johnnie took out a three-piece interconnecting spear-fish pole set, bundled together with some wire. The pole itself was fiberglass. The spear had five prongs, roughly six inches long.
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary! Johnnie!” Merv yelled, his hands clutching his sizeable forehead beneath his brimmed hat. “You can’t use that fucking thing in the National Park! Are you crazy?”
“I know.” Merv was correct. The National Park’s protected waters extended over a mile from the shore.
Merv pointed to the instrument. “Just having it in your possession in the park is illegal. A friggin’ five-thousand dollar fine.”
“I know, Merv! Fuck. Give me a little fuckin’ credit. I confiscated it last week from some ass-hat. Mine broke so I’m taking it back home to Calabash. Unless you want to report me for that too.” He bared his teeth at Marv, daring him.
Merv sighed and crossed his arms. “Did you report the guy to Kemper?”
“No. I try not to be a hard guy.” Johnnie took a plastic garbage bag from a box in the corner of the shed and dropped the pole bundle inside, twisting the top of the bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“Dude, you like cheated the government out of that fine money. You should have radioed me or one of the othe
r rangers.”
“The government will survive. Look, the guy begged me. And he hadn’t used it yet. I caught him before he got two feet into the water. No harm done.”
“Fine. I didn’t hear or see anything. But you owe me one.” He moved away from the shed, gesturing Johnnie to move so he could lock the door again.
“Really? What about the detector guy? Like you’re Mr. Perfect?” Plus, he remembered Merv got wasted at the employee Christmas party and demanded everyone challenge him at arm wrestling. It was stupid.
“It was just a figure of speech. Relax, Johnnie.” Merv clicked the lock in place.
Johnnie reflected. Yes, he was too spun up. Being called crazy and being yelled at wasn’t improving his mood. But Merv was a good guy. He didn’t need to be so defensive. “Sure. Sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” He sighed. It felt like he was apologizing twenty times a day. Which wasn’t wrong, but it meant maybe he needed to talk with Dr. Phillips.
“No problem, bro. See you later.” Merv walked away, took his phone out of his pocket and appeared to be dialing.
Johnnie stopped, hoping to listen to Merv’s phone call. Was he reporting Johnnie’s rule-breaking? After five seconds, he heard Merv say, “Hey, yeah, it’s me. Two hundred on the Steelers. Yeah. I’m good for it. I came into some cash.”
Time for my exit, Johnnie thought. He walked towards the parking lot. The man in the broad-brimmed hat, the one metal detecting on the beach, walked parallel to him toward the lot, about fifteen feet away. But now, Johnnie recognized him. It was Mark, Bob’s phony brother. The way Mark marched with his head down, he didn’t seem in good spirits. He stomped the sand like a hippopotamus with a mood disorder.
Johnnie stopped and ducked behind the corner of the rest room. He didn’t need another confrontation.
Mark approached a parked black SUV. He pulled out his phone.
Johnnie crept closer, finding some bushes nearby to hide and listen.
“Yeah, it’s me. Couldn’t find it. Nothing.”
