The Case of the Missing Bubble Gum Card

by R Weir

day someone comes in and asks me to find a bubble gum card."

  "Not just any old bubble gum card. This one is worth quite a bit of money, almost twelve hundred and fifty dollars. If my dad found out he'd kill me."

  From the sincere look on the lad's face, one would only guess the punishment he'd have in store. Still I wasn't convinced I could provide assistance.

  "Dennis, are you sure you didn't lose or misplace it somewhere?"

  "I had the card yesterday morning, carrying it to church in my coat pocket to show some friends. We placed it in penny sleeves and a top loader for protection, with a small sticker on the back bearing my name and address. Later we played around outside while our parents talked inside. I'd forgotten all about the card until I returned home. That's when I realized the card was missing."

  "So maybe it fell out of your pocket and is sitting in the back-seat of your car. Did you drive to church?"

  "No, we always walk since it’s close to home."

  "So it fell out somewhere between home and church. Someone would likely find and keep the card. I'd say chances of locating it are slim. Did you check with the church to see if someone turned it in?"

  "I did right away and they didn't have it. That's when I remembered passing your house and noticing your sign. I thought maybe…"

  Wow the plain banner worked. Time to save some money and get rid of the wimpy yellow pages advertisement.

  "Your parents homeowners insurance would probably cover the loss."

  "No. I can't tell my parents. Father would be angry and I don't want to disappoint him. He gave me the card when I was about seven. He said he trusted me to take care of it, like his dad trusted him. Continue to hold onto it he said and in time it would be worth a great deal of money."

  Twelve hundred and fifty dollars was a significant amount of money to someone his age. Hell that was a lot of dinero to me! Still I doubted the chances of finding the card. I put my P.I. mind to work. In seconds I came up with the most crucial question of the day.

  "How much money do you have?"

  "I have about seventy-five dollars in a savings account."

  "Do you realize what I charge per hour?" Lately that had been zero.

  "No."

  I told him my rate and I think he gasped. “I could work a couple of days and eat up the value of that card plus your savings account and still not track it down."

  "I have other cards that are worth some money. Not as much as this one, but still with value. Please help me!"

  The magic word broke down my resistance. I wasn't sure there was anything to do to help, but I had nothing planned this afternoon and no good sports games were on TV. Time to negotiate a deal.

  "Sometimes I do jobs for insurance companies for a finder’s fee. Usually it pays between ten and twenty percent of the value of the merchandise. So here's what I'll do. I go around with you this afternoon and ask about the card. You can pay me in value with another card from your collection if it turns up, something that adds up to ten to twenty percent of the value. We don’t find it, then you owe me nothing. But you must tell your father you lost it."

  "But he'll be mad at me."

  "I'll go in and help you explain. That's the deal. Take it or leave it.” Pausing for his reaction, I saw the realization on his face. “I'd say that's pretty fair, wouldn't you?"

  Dennis nodded his head. This was his only hope. I didn't figure we'd find the card, but at least he would own up to his father like a man, which is never easy for someone his age. I remembered that horrible feeling of admitting fault to my dad, and the anticipation of the oncoming punishment and the fear I felt.

  "So what card did you lose?" More high-tech questions.

  "A Topps Ernie Banks rookie card."

  "You’re a Chicago Cubs fan I gather."

  "Yea. My dad and his dad too. Grandpa got the card in 1954. He bought others as well, but Ernie was his favorite. Even after he'd given away, thrown away, or lost many others in his collection, he cherished Ernie the most. He found out how much the card was worth and protected it so it wouldn't deteriorate. Condition of the card is where its main value is judged and this one is near mint. Its value increases every year I keep the card. Grandpa told me he paid about ten cents for the whole pack. A pretty hefty increase in market price if you ask me."

  "I'll say. I wish the stock in my business had appreciated that much through the years. The certificates are only good for placemats right now."

  More wit lost on Dennis. Little did he know my jokes would someday be worth more than the Ernie Banks card. Good thing they were currently free of charge.

  "Okay let's get started. We'll follow the path you took to church, and talk to some of your friends who joined you that day. Maybe they can shed some light on what may have happened."

  "Are you going to carry a gun with you?"

  The stigma of television. I suppose TV Private Eye's wore their guns in the shower.

  "Do you think we'll need a gun?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Maybe if I flash a .38 at your friends they'll talk, tell us what we need to know."

  "We don’t need to do that!"

  "I agree. I only carry a gun when absolutely necessary. And I don't care to even then. So let's see if we can solve this caper with our wits and if that doesn't work we'll come back for the heavy hardware."

  Dennis broke out into a smile. I'd won him over. Next thing you know I'll have him laughing so hard he'll fall down in tears. Usually they didn't fall down in tears until they received my bill.

  I led the way outside to my old yellow and black striped car. He may have walked to church, but we were going to drive there this time. My six foot, 180 pound frame was in good shape, but the cool air of late afternoon began rolling in, and Dennis certainly wouldn't be able to stay up with my lightening pace. Besides I liked to do my part and add to the brown cloud that seemed to linger overhead during the winter months.

  The inside of my Mustang made the outside seem like a jewel. The black vinyl seats were torn, the black vinyl dash cracked, the floor covered with trash and dirt. The AM/FM mono radio probably had tubes instead of transistors. The mileage on the speedometer had turned over several times, with somewhere around 387,000 miles on an engine which ran loud but fairly smooth. In seven years of driving I'd totaled about 95,000 miles of my own. I planned on making improvements as soon as the money started rolling in. New leather seats and a stereo with thumping bass and speakers came first. This wasn't a BMW, but at least no one wanted to steal the relic in its current condition.

  Dennis didn’t appear to be overly impressed with my wheels. The passenger door creaked badly when he opened it. He sat down gingerly and looked down at the floorboard before he placed his feet. He slid the wrappers on the floor aside, the golden arches on them quite prevalent. Of course, only the best in gourmet fast food for this P.I. A good portion of my meal time was spent in the drive-thru.

  "I had to let the cleaning lady go the other day," I joked while starting the engine. "The cook as well!"

  Backing the Mustang out into the alley, we pulled onto Evans. With Dennis directing, we turned almost immediately onto Sherman, then two blocks later East on Iliff until we came to his burnt umber brick home on Grant Street.

  "This is where I live. We walked from here up a block to Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church."

  The church was a long narrow building made of soft brown brick, with stained glass windows gracing the South side. A very tall brick and stone outdoor temple with a statue of Jesus Christ erected out front. On the far North section of the block stood the church school and a house. In the middle of the property, a playground was built and the leafless bushes and dead ivy looped along the chain linked fence. The playground combined grass, concrete and sand, with a wooden jungle gym and slide, basketball hoops, four square and hopscotch markings on the asphalt, and a rack for locking up bicycles. A quick search of the grass and sand revealed no Ernie Banks card, though we did find a quarter and several wad
s of spent chewing gum. This did not satisfy my client. Time for the second phase of the job.

  "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