The 26th Letter

by Larry Flewin

  I walked on for a minute, only to stop dead in my tracks. I’d been seeing green in the back of my mind for the last little while, not knowing why. A very unusual shade of green, the kind that sticks in your mind and won’t give you any peace, like a second wife or third girlfriend. Then I was racing back to the last place I remembered seeing the bag and its contents.

  I shoved people aside, scouring the pavement like an eagle after an ant. I got a lot of dirty looks, but God was smiling on me because a block later I bent down and scooped them all up, the bag and two neatly folded squares of paper. I held my breath while I unfolded the green one first, praying that God was still on my side, that he’d temporarily at least forgiven this old sinner his daily allotment of trouble.

  And he had. The greenery unfolded into a single large sheet of standard government issue paper, the kind only available from bowties with soft pink hands and slicked back hair. The writing was standard legal boilerplate and splashed across the top were the words The Naturalization Act. There was a date from three months ago typed into the lower left corner and, and a name typed onto a blank line in the centre of the document. My man’s name. Zane.

  If guesses were gold, I was plenty rich right about now. I had in my hands the one thing the whole world had been looking for, and I’d all but thrown it away. How hard can a guy smile when he finds out he’s been right the whole time. Just goes to show what a lotta hard work, and a little luck, can sometimes get you. In this case the clue that pointed the way to the end of the rainbow.

  I whistled up a cab and headed back downtown, time was money and I wasting both. As we tooled along, I couldn’t help but think that this was a bigger deal than I was giving it credit for. This was supposed to be a quick hit, finding a missing person, now dead and gone, and me already paid for the privilege of finding that out.

  Nobody wasted that kind of time and lead on a moth-eaten suit like me unless there was a really big pot at the end of that rainbow. No wonder Michael was sweating bullets. I had a piece of it hanging around my neck, and with the treasure map coming together piece by piece, time was running out for him, fast. What the rest of it was I had no idea, but a couple more pieces like the cross and I'd be on easy street.

  Which kinda made you think. Like maybe I was getting too old for this game, that maybe this was the last game I should play. I was two steps ahead of Michael now, and if I could stay that way just a little while longer, I could cash in and get the hell out of Dodge, permanently.

  I ran on empty a lot, and when that ran out, gut instinct and lady luck. They had their limits, and I knew I was pushing mine further every time I woke up. My old partner had always talked about getting out the business at some point. Yeah, I’d had one of those, an army buddy of mine. He hadn’t lasted too long, but he’d talked about buying a ranch somewhere and raising cows and chickens and crap like that.

  So, who was the lucky one now I wondered? Even if I did cash out, they’d never stop looking for me. Pride did that to a guy, wound it and he’d spend the rest of his life hunting you down. And wouldn’t this wound Michaels. He was prickly enough as it was but take this from him and he’d leave no stone unturned to get it back and get back at whoever’d done him wrong. This didn’t bode well for the future.

  The cab dropped me off downtown outside a small faded green door set into the middle of a large red brick warehouse wall. I waited while the eyeball behind the peephole gave me the once over. I opened my coat to show I was packing, but the door opened anyways. Louie was like that. Trust everyone and no one he would always say. Didn’t make much sense to me but since I was one of a few he trusted it didn’t matter.

  This was Louie’s place, his home and his business. He was the man who knew all, saw all and never got up off his sofa. He couldn’t. He was four hundred pounds, almost none of it heart. I’d done business with him before, usually to cash in a fee. Not all of my clients paid cash so if it wasn’t soft and warm, I’d take it to Louie. We were both thieves of unique nature he was fond of saying. We both fed on the weak and the gullible, but I got twelve cents on the dollar while they got five. Simply put he was a fence, the city’s best.

  The eyeball, a tall, slim, one-eyed greaser named Rico, ushered me in and brought me a chair. We both knew this was going to take a while. Louie didn’t eat while he conducted business, he conducted business in between bites. Food wasn’t everything to him, but it ran a close second to all the dusty crap lying around his place. Rooms full of stuff he’d paid next to nothing for but somehow hadn’t gotten around to selling. I couldn’t tell if he was sentimental or just stupid, just so long as I got my twelve cents.

  “Ahhh …Mr. Ford, how good of you to drop by. Haven’t laid eyes on you in quite some little time. Staying out of trouble I trust.”

  I smiled. “As always. Mind if I smoke?”

  “Not at all, not all dear boy, so long as it’s not one of those vile American things. Can’t stand ‘em, gets me all wheezy.”

  I lit up a Lucky Strike, ignored his scowl, and waved my magic wand under his bulbous red nose. My cross fitchee vanished into the fleshy mitt he called a hand while he squeezed the life out of a corned beef on rye with the other. There was mustard everywhere.

  “Well now,” he wheezed. “This is something new for you. Rob a church, did you? Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Yeah well I’m just full of surprises today. All I wanna know is what it’s worth.”

  “Hmmm…not my usual thing you understand, but I’ll give it due consideration.”

  “You do that.”

  “And you got this where?”

  “I don’ recall saying. I’d just like your…uh…opinion on its value.”

  He smiled. “You are learning, but it will take more than few honeyed words to impress me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He held it under a big round light on his desk, squinting at it through a jeweller’s loupe. My fingers beat an impatient tattoo on the sides of the chair.

  “Patience, my friend, patience, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

  “Yeah, well, neither was my patience. I just want to know if it’s the real thing and how much.”

  Bits of food dribbled down his chin onto his flannel shirt, already decorated with breakfast and last night’s steak. He took a pull on a beer beside the lamp and wedged it down onto the desktop beside a mountain of day-old pastrami.

  “This is a helluva thing, my friend. A helluva thing. It’s European certainly, you can tell by the assay markings here,” he said, pointing to some tiny writing under one of the arms of the cross.

  “You don’t say, I thought those were scratches.”

  “They are scratches my friend, very important scratches. This one tells you who made it, this tells you when it was made, this one tells you how pure the gold is.” He caught the glint in my eye.

  “I assure you it is real gold, and judging by the marks, twenty-four carat. Unusual in a piece this. Where did you say you got it?”

  “I didn’t. How much.”

  He ignored me and continued to play with the cross. He squeezed it, scratched it with a knife, and I swear he even sniffed it. I was waiting for him to bite it but there was so much food in front of him I was more concerned about losing it. A couple of bangs on the desk, a swish in a glass of some kinda liquid, and he handed it off to Rico who shined it up real nice with his tie and gave it back to me.

  “This bothers me,” muttered Louie under his breath.

  “So, what else is new.”

  “I’m not comfortable with the lack of provenance. Without knowing it’s history I can’t judge its true value.”

  “Now you know me better than that. I can’t tell you where this came from even if I wanted to, and I don’t. You taking this off my hands or not.”

  Louie wasn’t real superstitious, or even all that religious but he did have a scruple or two, as he called them. He wouldn’t buy anything with blood on it an
d didn’t like to handle churchey things as he called them. Reminded him too much of his mortality he would say, but I really think he was afraid of going down instead of up. Me, I already knew where I was going. He took a deep breath.

  “For you,” he said, in between bites of the pastrami, “For you, five.”

  “Five? Are you kidding me? Five bucks for that? C’mon, it’s gotta worth a c-note easy, if not two.”

  “No no no you oaf not five bucks five hundred. It’s easily worth that, if not more. And the answer is no I’m not interested, not at this time.” The expression on his face darkened.

  I took a deep breath and stuffed the thing back into my jacket pocket. “That’s a lotta dough you’re passing up. You sure about this? You don’t want to think it over a little?”

  He gave me that look. “Absolutely not. Remember who you’re talking to. I most certainly have buyers in hand for that little trinket of yours, but a certain gentleman has expressed an interest in anything odd or unusual that might come to my attention, and to those of my colleagues. Word is he’s misplaced some items of great value and he wants them back. Badly. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that now, would you?” He leaned forward, as much as his bulk would allow, and stared right at me. He didn’t have much of an evil eye, but I got the hint.

  “I might ask you the same,” I said, “but seeing as how you’re asking me, you probably don’t want to hear about it.”

  “I never believe what I hear, only what I see.”

  “And what do you hear, not that it’s of any real interest to me, you understand.”

  “Then it wouldn’t interest you to know that half the city has been alerted to the fact that our mutual friend and acquaintance is on something of a treasure hunt. Anyone who sees or hears anything is directed to advise him immediately, on pain of certain consequences.”

  “Is that so.”

  “That’s so. And you know those consequences. They can be quite painful, or so I’m told.”

  I smiled knowingly. That was Michael, right down to the consequences. Those involved usually wound up floating in the river or lying in a ditch somewhere. With him death was the only certain consequence.

  “Yeah, well, don’t look at me brother, I wouldn’t know anything about that. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be spreading it around too much. I hate seeing innocent people getting hurt.”

  “Your sincerity is duly noted. Now get out.”

  No wonder he was less than his usual generous self. Every fence in town had probably been warned, and judging by the look on his face, not very nicely. Then I show up waving my trinket under his nose, daring the bull to charge the cape. Louis wanted no part in our bunfight and who could blame him, we used real bullets and lots of them.

  A hill of pastrami by his right elbow took a hit, a sure sign he was feeling a little stressed, he usually didn’t hit that until just before beddy byes. The man knew his food, but more importantly, knew who was doing what to whom in this burned out burg. I knew I could count on him not to say anything, especially where Michael was concerned. He liked living.

  “Leaving so soon? Ah well, parting is such sweet sorrow. Don’t be in a such a hurry next time. Call first. Now go.” Rico showed me to the door, slamming the bolts shut behind me as I headed down the street. That was fear alright.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  So, that’s what this was, a treasure hunt. A good old-fashioned game of kill to get rich first. So, did that make me the hunter, or the hunted. Zane’s improbable brunette companion had marked me down for hunter and sent me off down the trail. A means to an end, but what her end was I couldn’t figure. Was she playing both sides, hoping to slip away at the last second and take it all for herself, or sticking to Michael for a cut of the prize she knew he was so desperate to find?

  Somebody got too close so Zane popped him and made a run for it, taking his treasure with him. Is that why she was in town, out for revenge maybe, or some kind of bounty for bringing him in? He was all the way over here because of Michael, someone he figured would help him out, maybe even hide him. Something spooked him, so he set up the treasure hunt in order to deal with his supposed partner in crime in safety. Funny how crooks don’t trust each other any more than they trust the cops, even the ones they own.

  My guess, Michael tracked him down but the negotiations went south and Zane expired without giving up anything useful. Or so they all thought. Then I came along and the hunt was on again, meaning the treasure was still up for grabs, depending on who figured things out first.

  So, what do you do with all that loot, with everybody and his dog on your tail? Why bury it of course, just like in the movies, and come back for it later when the heat’s off. And it just like in the third reel, use a familiar X to mark the spot. It’s been my experience that no matter how desperate, dangerous, or just plain crazy a guy was, there was always something key to him and his habits. A certain something that would ordinarily go unnoticed and yet be too obvious for words.

  My guy had been hiding out in the open for so long that any other idea just didn’t have the same feel. My fingertips were itching just thinking about it. He had already buried something in the back yard so why not bury something else somewhere else only in a much bigger hole.

  Case I worked on a few years back came to mind. The old world has some funny ideas about things, especially about the dead. They liked to do things in a hurry, like the guy was gonna wake up somehow and come looking for them. This one guy wanted it fast and furious, closed casket, in by sundown, three days of mourning, stuff like that.

  The deceased’s will mentioned an old-world custom that he pleaded with his wife and heirs to follow faithfully. Bury the family jewels with me and I will increase their value from the great beyond, in about ten years or so. That way she wouldn’t have to worry her pretty little head about money, he could still take care of her. The grieving widow dutifully buried everything with him, including the kitchen sink.

  Problem was she got a little suspicious when the deceased’s young secretary showed up for the three days of mourning wearing a pair of old diamond earrings. Hers. Hell hath no fury stormed into my office and got me to give the whole thing the once over twice. I made her day when they stopped by in his new car at midnight to dig up the rest of the jewellery, and I was there to help them return it all to the rightful owner. This had the same feel to it, buried at midnight and the motor running.

  I gave it some thought as I wandered up the street. The cross suggested that Zane had been a church going man, and being from the old country, probably got himself twice on Sundays. That meant the north side of town, up where the trains didn’t stop, the land was cheap, and the old world was still alive and kicking. Every corner had a church and every church its own certain congregation, all were welcome unless you weren’t one of them, then it was try the next cross down the road.

  I smiled at the thought of Michael going to church on Sunday, getting his fingers scorched every time he touched something. And wouldn’t he be the soul of discretion when the collection plate went around. Gran tried forever to get me to sit still and sing for my soul, but it was easier to slip around back and sit in on the crap game behind the choir stalls. Not all of us were made to be choirboys.

  As for churches, that could mean any number of other Old World save your souls. All of them in preaching in three languages with three different ways to repent you of your sins and empty your wallet. I'd thought about going myself, especially when their soup was hot and my caseload was cold, but Sunday morning usually found me lying down somewhere uncomfortable, brain dead and broke.

  The bonus in all this was the immigration paperwork, it listed his probable country of origin, so I had a fighting chance of finding where he had attended more quickly than I had hoped. Someone had written Polish or Ukrainian, as if unsure they were two different places, but it was enough to get me off and running. A streetcar took me uptown until I could see one of those onion domes
poking through the trees and got off.

  I hit up a corner store for supplies, this was going to be a lot of running around and I wasn’t about to do it on empty. I worked better with a bit of an edge, and something in my hands other than my forty-five, especially in a church. I was hoping that maybe the shop keep could give me the lay of the land and save me a little footwork. The screen door slammed back against the wall as I wandered in, the shop keep standing at attention behind the counter like I was royalty or something.

  The one thing about the old world is that they know little enough of the new world, like how to speak its language. All I wanted was a couple decks of smokes and a fifth of something to warm up my gentler side, but it was like walking into a silent movie. All the pointing and waving and smokee drinkee didn’t get me anywhere until he saw what was under my left arm.

  “No shoot, no shoot, I give, I give”, he babbled, hastily cranking open the cash register. A very shaky fist handed over what probably amounted to the week’s take, eyes bugged out of their sockets in abject fear of what I might do if it wasn’t enough. I swore under my breath, gently placed his fist down on the countertop, and motioned to him as best I could not to move. He didn’t. Didn’t even breath.

  I walked his shop around like I owned the place, yanked two packs of Luckies off the shelf behind him, and sampled a dozen bottles of brown liquid until I found something that wouldn’t kill me. I pulled a fin out of my wallet, pried open his fist, and added it to his meagre collection.

  He swallowed hard, closed his fist, and put the money back in the register. He froze when I pulled out the green paper, thinking it might be armed. He calmed down when I opened it, stabbed at the Subject Citizen of line, and asked him Polish-Ukrainian church was. He nodded helpfully.

  “Hello, how are you,” he says, “I speak English very good, I learn from a book. What speak no understand, please and thank you, very proud man, happy to meet your acquaintance.” Now he was making with the language. I swore under my breath.