All Things Return

by W.H. Harrod

Dark glasses and floppy golf hat in place, Terrance moved the clunker van away from the curb in front of the professor’s house. Everything had gone amazingly well during the meeting. He vowed to never forget the valuable lessons learned today. He now knew that a career as a successful thief or con man did not belong anywhere on his future employment opportunities’ list. Then again, a person never knows what they will try when a desperate situation confronts them. Next, and equally as important, he learned that if you have a true friend, believe in them or don’t bother to consider them as a friend in the first place.

  Terrance contrasted the different emotions experienced in the last hour, starting with the deep sense of dread and despair that enveloped him prior to meeting with the professor. And now, only a short time later, he felt a gigantic weight lifted from his shoulders—all very strange considering that none of the underlying facts had changed, only his perception of how another person viewed these same facts. Reality had not caused his anguish, but rather, his perception of the effects of this reality relating to other people caused his grief—something else to be remembered.

  This sudden sense of relief distracted his attention from the clanking and banging pile of rusty metal he attempted to maneuver through the Saturday morning traffic. He concerned himself now with that other small matter that required his immediate attention—making the phone calls to Arête as well as to his boss. He still had no idea how to break the news to Jess.

  For certain though, one additional item of previous concern had been taken care of back at the professor’s. Again, he underestimated the value of a true friend as the professor insisted on Terrance storing his belongings in his basement for as long as he needed. Not only that, but the professor insisted on moving his belongings for him after he left. Now, he only needed to make one more disguised trip back to the apartment to gather the necessary items for his relocation to Atlanta. Terrance paused his thinking for a moment to appreciate his good friend’s valuable assistance before pulling the vehicle into a small roadside park so he could make the calls. No one in their right mind considered making a cell phone call while trying to drive a heap like this around town.

  With the van at a complete stop, the engine shut off, cell phone in one hand, and Arête’s phone number written on a piece of paper in the other, Terrance dialed the cell phone. On the second ring, she picked up.

  “Well hello, stranger. I wondered if you were going to call.” She must have Caller I.D., Terrance reasoned as he listened to her playful greeting.

  “Hello,” replied Terrance, hoping he was the stranger she referred to. “I hope I’m not calling too early, but I wanted you to know I received your message.”

  “And?” she responded. “Is this something that you might have some interest in discussing? As I said earlier, I recall you told me more than once that you planned to become an attorney.”

  “Well, yes, I would appreciate the opportunity to talk with you about this.” He tried hard to keep any tone of excitement out of his voice.

  “Excellent. This is what I hoped to hear. I’ve kept my evening free so we can discuss this matter at length. I hope you’re available. My schedule is going to be crazy for the next couple of weeks, so I’d like to get this matter settled as quickly as possible.”

  It took Terrance a couple of seconds to realize she awaited a response from him. “Oh, sure, I’m available.”

  “Wonderful, I’m so glad. How about 7 p.m. at my house? Let me give you the directions.”

  Another thirty seconds and Terrance sat in the van with written directions in one hand and a disconnected cell phone in the other.

  Now that is a focused person, thought Terrance. Not one moment of hesitation or wasted conversation. This should prove to be very interesting relationship indeed.

  He looked over to the passenger seat again to ensure he did, in fact, put the clothing he’d retrieved from the apartment in the van. He had to look his best this evening. Once again he reminded himself not to appear too eager. If people sense your desperation or your fear, the entire tone of the conversation or transaction may change. No matter what, he must not show this lady how much the cartel affair frightened him. He needed to clear his mind of everything else: the cartel, Jess, everything. Tonight, only Arête mattered.

  That left the call to update his boss as the last item he needed to take care of right now, and he intended it to be short and sweet. He would tell him he hadn’t been able to find out anything new, “and oh, by the way, I’m giving my notice.” That ought to about cover everything. No need to drag the thing out any longer. He wanted to be done with it.

  But like before, his conscience insisted on making its presence known, and he asked himself one more time, Is this the right thing to do? What about a reporter’s responsibility? Does not the public have a right to know?

  Ask all he wanted, the same answers came back. He felt no more like a real reporter than any other young guy with a pencil looking for work..

  And the public’s right to know what exactly? That long ago some bad people messed up a young man’s life, and to stay alive he chose to run away and hide? That one of the most decent men to ever live in their community started out in life with another name? That a man was murdered over twenty years ago in a place far away? That extremely violent criminals still exist today in the world who will not hesitate to kill any number of people in this community if they have the slightest notion those people have information they want? That a young man from this community, who stumbled onto this story, is most likely the birth son of a person long sought after by these murderers and, in all likelihood, will remain in danger for uncovering the story?

  Terrance paused for only a moment before reaching his decision. “Yeah, right, they definitely need to know about that. How else could they expect to be good citizens unless they have this pathetic story to help them pass fifteen minutes of their morning? I don’t think so, at least, not from me.”

  Terrance made the call, and being put through to his boss’s voice mail made the task easier. He completed his entire report within thirty seconds. The gist of it being, “There is no more information available, and I quit.”

  Having completed all the calls he wanted to make at this time, Terrance cranked up his borrowed jalopy and coaxed it back onto the street passing through the downtown area heading back towards the bridge. All in all, it turned out to be a very successful morning. Everything worked out with the professor. A meeting had been set up with Arête. He dumped the story and quit his job, and now, he headed back to his slovenly friend’s safe house for a few hours of badly needed rest on an army cot. One last thing he wanted to do was stop at a convenience store for some packaged food and drink once he got north of the bridge. The thought of eating anything available in Anthony’s fridge or stored there on a shelf frightened him. It shouldn’t be done, unless, of course, one had been chained to one of those half-ton metal monstrosities Anthony so fondly referred to as Nouveau Kaw Art for months without food.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE