The Case of the Missing Bubble Gum Card

by R Weir

fashionable ensemble. He acted leery of me, never once glancing my way until introduced. With a polite handshake and short eye contact he turned back to his friend.

  "What's up?" He had his hands in his jacket pocket for it was cooling off quickly.

  "You remember yesterday at church I showed you the Ernie Banks card?"

  "Sure. What about it?"

  "When I got home it was missing. I was wondering if you might have seen it."

  Alonzo turned and stared off into the distance. "What's this guy got to do with it? Is he a cop or something?"

  Apparently C-O-P was traced all over my face. That strong authority figure in me always shined through.

  "Sort of," said Dennis.

  "Your friend here hired me to help him find his card. I'm a Private Detective." I pulled out my wallet and showed him the license which did little to impress.

  Alonzo didn't know what to do as those two words made him nervous.

  "Are you saying I took the card?" Anger began to show on his face.

  "No man I'm not. I'm wondering if you might have seen or heard something about it. I just want the card back."

  "Do you know how much the card is worth?" I stated adding my two cents; the question got his ire up even more.

  "What are you implying?" His voice seemed to hang on the last word.

  "It’s valuable to your friend here. And money sometimes clouds a person’s judgment."

  "So I took it, is that what you’re saying?"

  "No. But I haven't heard you say you didn't."

  "Well I didn't. Ok. I don't steal from friends. At least those I thought to be my friend." Alonzo turned away again, his feelings hurt.

  "Good enough," I said while turning and heading towards my car.

  As I got there I saw the two of them talking. The anger had receded and they shook hands with a series of grips too complicated to explain. Even with months of practice I doubted I could duplicate it. The two separated, looking satisfied with the end result.

  Now with both of us back in the car I wondered where to next.

  "Why did you come down on him?" asked Dennis.

  "Well sometimes you confront someone bluntly to get an honest answer. When you work in the world I do, it's easy for people to lie. Most everyone I come in contact with have an adversity to the truth. They live lies, so it's second nature for them. The direct approach sometimes is the best one. I came out and said what had to be said, pushing your friend to give me an answer.”

  "So you believed him?"

  "Yea, pretty much. I couldn't tell if he was avoiding me because of shyness, he hated authority figures, or I'm white."

  "Maybe a little of all three. He's had problems with cops, his parents, and even some white kids at school who are racist. So his first response is to be cautious since you represent what he sees as the establishment."

  "Good analogy. How old are you?"

  "I'll be sixteen in a month."

  "You act older than your age. Tell me something, did you believe him?"

  "Yea I did. He was being straight with me."

  "Where to next?"

  The next stop we came up empty. The mother of his friend told us he went with his father to see a Denver Nuggets game and wouldn't be back until fairly late. Strike two.

  With only one swing left we headed east. On Vassar Street we stopped in front of a two story blood-red brick home. The whole neighborhood was made of brick, the building material of choice in those days. In the yard stood Terence with basketball in hand, his frame several inches taller than Dennis, and heavier. He wore newer looking Reebok high-tops, black sweats, and a Colorado Rockies baseball cap. The young African-American appeared to be in excellent shape, and extremely athletic. Dennis explained to me he was a two sport athlete, football and basketball, the main focuses of his life. He dreamed of being an outside linebacker or power forward.

  We left the car and Dennis greeted Terence happily. The two appeared to be close friends. I figured I wouldn’t be so pushy this time. The lad was built to blind side me pretty easily. It had been some time since I'd woke up without any recollection of my name, and getting my ass kicked by a teenager might damage my tough guy image.

  "This is Jarvis Mann," introduced Dennis.

  "Good to meet you sir."

  I shook the hand and found it strong and firm, the voice deeply baritone. He was damn close to my size but thicker and likely stronger, yet only a year or so older than Dennis. He had big wide brown eyes, some short growth under his chin, and a noticeable scar running along the right side of his nose.

  "Gonna shoot some hoops?" asked Dennis of his friend.

  "Thinking about it. Got an hour or so of sun left. Care to join me?"

  "I can't. Tomorrow I should have time after school."

  "I'm sure you’re here for something. Came to see my sister I bet." He gave a sly glance to his friend.

  "No, not today." Dennis seemed embarrassed. "I wondered if you've seen my Ernie Banks card. It's gone."

  "No man I haven't. When did it go missing?"

  "Somewhere between the time I showed it to you guys and when I got home. My father is going to be pissed."

  "I can relate. I remember when I lost Dad's camera a couple of years back. I couldn't sit down for a week."

  "If you see it will you let me know? It's worth a whole lot of money. Mister Mann is a Private Detective I've hired to help me find it."

  "That sounds like an interesting occupation. It must be exciting chasing down the bad guys."

  "Sometimes, but lately…" I stated while shrugging.

  "Well, got to go before I lose all my daylight. A pleasure meeting you Mister Mann. I'll see you at school tomorrow Dennis and we can shoot some hoops afterwards."

  Terence climbed onto his shining black eighteen-speed bicycle and peddled off with basketball in hand.

  "Strike three," I said.

  "What?" wondered Dennis.

  "Just counting out loud. A baseball analogy since we’re searching for a baseball card. I believe we've struck out. Anyone else you can think of who might have had access to it?"

  Dennis gave it a few minutes thought. Thinking the worst of people didn't seem easy for him. Zero was all he came up with.

  "How about someone in your family, maybe a sibling? A brother?"

  "Yea, but I don't think he'd do it. He respects my stuff. Never had a problem with him taking anything of mine."

  "Gee, I wish I could say that about my brother. He couldn't keep his hands off anything of mine. I'd always get in fights with him for using my bike and baseball mitt."

  "So I guess you didn't like him much."

  "On the contrary. Though two years older, he saved my butt on a couple of occasions when someone was picking on me. Even if annoying, he went to the wall for me when necessary."

  "I saved my brother a couple of times as well. When it’s family…"

  The time had come for me to use my years of experience. When faced with a problem I found it best to talk over your options with your client and something may come to light you hadn’t thought of.

  "We need to think like the bad guy Dennis."

  "Ok."

  "Put yourself in their shoes. If you stole a valuable bubble gum card, or even found one, what would you do?"

  "I'd try to sell it," he said without hesitation.

  "Sell it where?"

  "Someplace that buys collectors cards."

  "And is there one in the area?"

  "Actually there's one right on Broadway, Bill's Sports Collectibles. I’ve been inside many times."

  "Then let's take a trip to see if anyone has brought in an Ernie Banks rookie card to sell recently."

  The drive wasn’t far, only a few blocks away and we arrived pretty quickly. Since it was getting late on this Sunday I hoped they were still open.

  "If I was the culprit, I'd do one of two things,” I stated on the way over. “I'd either hold onto the card for awhile to see if anyone missed it, or if in despe
rate need of money, try to cash it in right away. My professional instinct says Bill's Sports Collectibles is the spot where we will learn something."

  Dennis agreed with me, though he didn't seem overly impressed with my deduction. Of course few people ever were, so I'd gotten used to it. We found an open parking spot as Bill's seemed to be fairly busy on this Sunday with four cars parked out front. The entire structure was theirs, the combination tan brick and green aluminum trimmed facing looking freshly remodeled. White security bars graced their windows, as well as many sports posters depicting some of the greatest athletes. Their yellow sign showed the business name; the hours on the main door showed they’d be closing soon, so we needed to be quick.

  Inside the whole store had wall to wall collectibles; programs, guides, books, autographs, jerseys, pins, pennants, caps, jackets, posters, and collecting accessories. They specialized in Baseball and Football cards, but also Basketball and Hockey as well. Glass cases displayed the various cards of thousands of athletes from all the different eras going back beyond my birth date. From every team you could imagine, and from teams which no longer existed. The prices for a small piece of cardboard were outrageous. And the wheeling and dealing led one to believe that sports cards were traded much like stocks on Wall Street. The common man's hedge against inflation, an investment in the future.

  One could see the change on Dennis's face as he walked up and down the various cases fixating in awe. It wasn’t his first time here but that didn't matter. Before him were his heroes staring back at him in two dimensions. It may be as close as he'd ever come to these athletes.

  A salesperson greeted us and I asked for the manager who thankfully was working. A few minutes later we were talking. His answers to my well thought up