The Case of the Missing Bubble Gum Card
Page 5
hoped things would look up for us now and give Dad time to find work again. He thinks he’s got a good shot at something part-time. The interview is tomorrow."
"Stealing is not the answer," I said. "There are better ways, and I'm sure you know that because it currently shows on your face. The guilt inside will bring the honesty out in you." It was my best sermon in some time, the one I'd given to myself several times when money had gotten tight.
"Did your parents use the money?" asked Dennis.
"Yes they did. They told us tonight the plans to move had been postponed for now. But they stressed to us the trouble was far from over."
Dennis stared for a long time at his friend. The anger and even the twinge of hatred had gone away. The sorrow for the misfortune of what Terence and his family were going through showed in his eyes. There would be no pity, at least not out loud. He stepped forward and reached out his hand, the two brothers held the grasp for several minutes. Nothing more needed to be said.
After retrieving the basketball we loaded his bike into my trunk, strapping the lid down, and drove Terence home in silence. He got out and Dennis walked him to the front door. They talked for a time, but I couldn't hear them and didn't want to. What they shared was most certainly personal. A moment between friends; among brothers they would remember forever. A swirling orange glow filled the ebbing skies.
Dennis got back into the car and told me the money was no longer important. Terence could have it all to save his family. This was a gesture born out of deep feelings. In hard times we must make sacrifices. And a little piece of cardboard appeared small on the grand scale of things.
"What are you going to tell your father?" I asked as we pulled up in front of his house.
"The truth." Dennis seemed resolved of the proper action. "If he doesn't understand I'll make him understand."
"I'll stand with you." This was my gesture of friendship.
"Thanks, but I'll do it myself. Still you must come in. I owe you payment for the help you provided."
"I'm not so sure I did much."
"You helped me to confront my problem. Not to mention drive me all over the place to find the card, making me realize material goods aren't the end all. You've earned your choice of one card."
I couldn't argue as the strength bled from the lad's broadening shoulders. I followed him into the house.
I stood in the foyer and waited. Dennis returned with his collection notebook. He had several hundred neatly displayed in two layer sleeves. We sat on the comfortable ebony sofa in the living room as I searched through each page carefully. Most teams were represented, with cards from Aaron to Todd Zeile, a catcher who played for my favorite team growing up the St. Louis Cardinals in the 80’s. Players from the Chicago Cubs past and present were strongly prevalent. Though he had been traded to the Yankees the previous year, Alfonso Soriano was his current favorite player, his card mixed in with other great Cubs. All the cards were in excellent shape. Many had value, others probably not much at all. Three cards stood out.
The first was a Mickey Mantle card, a Topps from the year 1964. It was the last time the Yankees had made the World Series for many years, and his last superb season before injuries brought an early end to his career in 1968. With a good set of knees he would have hit over 700 homeruns.
Then the greatest right handed pitcher baseball would ever know. Sandy Koufax was the best left hander, but Bob Gibson was the most intimidating pitcher to ever play. This Topps 1970 card showed all his career stats, including the most dominating season a pitcher ever had in 1968. His 1.12 earned run average that year will probably never be matched and forced baseball to change the rules by lowering the pitcher’s mound to add more offense to the diamond.
Finally there was the Topps MVP card from 1961 featuring my father’s favorite player of all time, and probably the greatest to ever play the game. Willie Mays had the grace and style tremendous athletes had. He could run, field, hit for power and average. His over the head catch in the 1954 World Series is legendary. Truly he was a marvel to watch. Though I’d only seen him play via archive footage, what he did was incredible and my father’s stories of watching him play were etched in my mind. This was the card I wanted.
"Do you know the value of this one?" I asked
"Not a whole lot. I believe twenty-five or thirty dollars at the most." Dennis seemed somewhat surprised. "I have a Henry Aaron card in there worth close to a hundred dollars. This would be more in line with our deal."
"Well Hammerin Hank the homerun king was one of the greats. But Willie Mays was something special to me. Dad told me stories of seeing him play in San Francisco when he was a kid. He did it all. Those were the tales which bonded us and what I remember best." I shook my head in happiness. "This card here is the one I want. Deal?"
Dennis wasn't about to argue. "All yours Mister Mann."
"I think we've been through enough for you to call me Jarvis."
We shook hands in a more conventional way. I hadn't learned those complicated series of clasps yet. I hoped someday he would teach me.
"Hello," sounded a deep voice from outside the room. In walked a tall, strong looking man, a cautious smile working over his face. I stood to shake his hand and introduce myself. I left out my title for I didn't want to alarm him. The mere mention of Private Detective can make even the strongest men quiver. Dennis would explain to him later.
"Well, I'm sorry but I must to be leaving," I said. "I hope I can stop over sometime and take a closer view of your collection. It's quite impressive."
"I'd like that." said Dennis rising from his chair.
"Don't bother. I'll find my way out. A pleasure to meet you Mister Gash." I shook his hand again and headed towards the exit. When I opened it I heard Dennis say something to his father. "We need to talk, Pop."
I closed the door knowing what was coming. I figured he'd have no trouble making his dad understand and would take pride in how his son handled the situation. It was the kind of thing a generous man would do. He'd certainly grown some today, as had I.
Driving home I knew right where I'd put the Willie Mays card, placing it in lower left hand corner of the autumn mountain picture which hung behind my desk. When things looked down, and times had gotten tough, and the whole world seemed cruel and unkind, I'd stare at the card and remember a young man who'd learned to give and forgive, while facing responsibility all in the same day. With such heart the future held hope if others like him emerged from this grim, greedy, selfish world. Maybe the ‘me generation’ would turn into the ‘we generation’.
The thought of it all brought a smile to this cynical brow of mine. I stared into the rear view mirror, for I'd forgotten what happiness looked like on my face. I enjoyed what I saw, and wished to see it more often. One could only hope.
Thank you so much for reading my short story. I hoped you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. Please leave a review on Amazon if you think others will enjoy as well. And look for a follow up novel coming soon with Jarvis Mann PI dealing with a new perplexing case.
If you want to reach out me please email me at:
rweir720@gmail.com.
You can also visit my blog where I talk about my writing experiences, previews of upcoming work and personal tidbits here and there.
https://jarvismann.blogspot.com/
Peace to all and love those closest to you…
R Weir