Jump City: Apprentice

by MK Alexander

  “My pleasure… can you tell me what it is?”

  “It’s an ancient Greek drachma, over two thousand years old…”

  “I’ll be damned… so you’re a numismatist?”

  “Come again, a what?” I could tell this Durbin was at least as smart as his grandson.

  “A coin collector.”

  “Well, I guess.”

  “And you’re sure it’s yours?”

  “Of course I am.”

  Durbin flipped the coin up in the air and caught it again. “If it’s genuine, you might get a good price…”

  “It’s real, I guarantee it.”

  “Do you now? Are you some kind of expert?”

  “No… it’s um, just a hobby.”

  “Tell you what, I have to go to Fairhaven tomorrow. I’ll talk to my friend, see what he says…” Durbin gave off his grin. “That way you might be able to pay off the Doc here.” He glanced over at Valenti. “He’s got problems of his own, right Doc?”

  “You needn’t remind me.”

  “Oh yeah— who was that guy, your buddy, Burtan?”

  “Please Sheriff, I do not wish to speak of the matter again. The man is a renowned cardiologist, I had no idea he was a communist, nor a suspect.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “The man fooled us both, yes, but I will have justice eventually.”

  “Whatever you say, Doc.” Durbin grinned and turned back to me. “You’re not some kind of bagman, right?”

  “A what?”

  “A racketeer.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Okay, you wouldn’t be the first guy who’s washed up on our shores…” Durbin said with a chuckle.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A couple of years ago… some guy ran his cabin cruiser aground at North Point. I’ll admit I was a little suspicious at first. Turns out though, the guy was a well-respected doctor.”

  “Really?” I asked casually but Durbin caught on to my extra curiosity.

  “You seem interested.”

  “Well, it makes for a good story. What was this guy’s name?”

  “Mallinger. Another friend of the Doc here, as it turns out.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Out of the country, I think. But the real question is, why are you here, Mr Jardel?”

  “I’m just here for the New Deal,” I said, remembering that much about history.

  “What?” Durbin seemed surprised.

  “The New Deal…” I repeated.

  “What do you know about that?” he asked almost in a whisper.

  “Everybody knows about the New Deal.”

  “No... not everyone.” Durbin eyed me warily. “Doc, I’d like to talk to this fella in private, if you catch my drift.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not sure that’s possible at the moment.” Valenti glanced over at Smith, a couple of beds over.

  “I’m afraid, I’m gonna have to insist.”

  “Has this man done something wrong? Is he a criminal?”

  “Not that I know of… but—”

  “I’m not feeling so good,” I said and put my hand up to the bandage on my head.

  Durbin glanced at us both and then relented. “Okay. Well, we’ll talk again, I’m sure of it.” As he was leaving, Durbin turned to me one last time. “Oh, almost forgot… never found your hat by the way.”

  “My hat?”

  “At the quarry. You must have had a hat with you.”

  “Oh… thanks anyway.”

  The last thing I remember was seeing an orderly handing Sheriff Durbin a large brown paper bag. He patted it with undue fondness. I could also see a big squinty grin pass across his face.

  “What was in that bag you gave the Sheriff?” I asked a bit later.

  “Oh… your clothes… Said he was going to the cleaners… I hope you don’t mind?”

  A small bit of panic rose up. “Mind? No, not really, not like I need them right now.”

  ***

  It was getting close to lunch, or at least my stomach thought so. I was feeling better, physically, though now a bit bored and restless.

  “Well, good morning, my democratic friend, my hospital mate, my fellow patient,” Mr Smith called across from his bed. He was propped up by several pillows, but his foot was still caught in some contraption and lay in what looked to be a shallow bucket of ice. I couldn’t help but notice he was speaking rather loudly.

  I returned his greeting. “Is it still morning?” I asked. “I was hoping for lunch soon.”

  “Don’t hope for much. The food here is not very good. You’ll be lucky to get a sandwich and a piece of fruit.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Me?” Smith laughed with a booming sort of chuckle. “I’m fine. Just this terrible gout. Runs in the family.”

  “You’ve been here before, I take it.”

  “Yes, on a regular basis, I’m afraid to say… damn doctors…” Smith lapsed into silence for a time. “What are you in for?”

  “An accident.”

  “I couldn’t help but overhear some of that,” Smith said. “How long do you suppose they’ll be keeping you?”

  “Oh. I’m not sure. I guess I have to be able to walk first.”

  “Well, get to it man. Use that stick I gave you.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the loan.”

  “Not a loan, kind sir. A gift from me to you.”

  “I couldn’t possibly accept it.”

  “Do you realize you saved my life last night?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I was positively dying of thirst. You sir, are my savior.” He paused. “The cane is yours now, I must insist… besides I’m sure I have half a dozen more in the cloakroom.”

  “Well thanks. I would like to try to walk today… though I was thinking more like crutches.”

  “Nonsense,” Smith bellowed.

  I looked over at the cane resting against my bedside table. It was strangely familiar and quite beautiful with a brass bear claw on top. I knew it well but from a lifetime ago. It was also very clear in my mind: this was not Mortimer’s cane.

  * * *

  chapter twenty-two

  new deal

  The windows were all open, sheer curtains swayed in a hot, salty breeze, but I was drifting off towards sleep again. I woke to hear a soft musical voice.

  “So… How are you feeling, Mr Jardel?”

  “Better, thanks,” I replied and gave a weak smile. I looked up at Elsie. “But please call me Patrick.”

  “Well Patrick, I just dropped by to see how you were. My shift is starting soon.”

  “So you’ll be with me all night?”

  “No, I’m on a different ward.”

  “That’s disappointing… When will I see you again?”

  Elsie nearly blushed. “You’re not being fresh, I hope.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll let you take me to the Jamboree, if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Our annual clambake... Sunday.”

  “In two days?”

  “No, next week.”

  “That’s a long time to wait.”

  She searched my eyes to see if I was teasing. “Well, I don’t suppose you’ll be dancing anytime soon.”

  “You like to dance?” I asked.

  “I do enjoy it.”

  “I’m not a very good dancer anyways. Sprained ankle or not.”

  “Just as well, it’s a long ride to Fairhaven.” Elsie pouted slightly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The nearest dance hall.”

  “What kind of music do they play there?”

  “A little bit of everything, but I like the old fashioned stuff.”

  “Old stuff?”

  “Jazz, swing, the blues.”

  “Really? Not show tunes, big bands?”

  “Big bands? No, not at all…” Elsie smiled. “Of course,
if you prefer sitting, there’s always the new picture house in town…”

  “Picture house?” I asked.

  “The Roxy on Main Street… you know, the movie theater.”

  “When did that open?”

  “Last year... by some foreigner, a Greek gentleman, I think… goes by the name of Skouras.”

  “What’s playing?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Isn’t it listed in the paper, the Chronicle?”

  “Not that I know of…”

  “Well, whatever’s playing, I’d love to go with you.”

  Elsie gave off a big smile and squeezed my hand. “It will have to be a matinee, of course.”

  A moment later, Sheriff Durbin strode down the hall carrying something brown in his hands. He took Elsie aside for a while. I watched them talking but they were just out of earshot. I couldn’t quite tell if they were arguing or not, but then Elsie laughed and touched his arm with some small affection. I admit a stir of jealousy came upon me, and some anxiety… They were laughing now. I felt some paranoia creep in. Elsie departed with a small wave and Durbin came over to hover by my bed. He looked at me and I could tell he was perplexed. I had the feeling he didn’t quite know where to begin.

  “There he is, the money man,” Deputy Durbin greeted me as he sat by my bedside.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The numismatist.”

  I chuckled slightly. “Ha, a num- numis— I can’t even say it.”

  “A collector of money, like a coin collector… or a counterfeiter.”

  “What?” I asked, this time slightly alarmed.

  “No amnesia this evening, I hope,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “I just have a couple of questions before I hand you over to the Secret Service.”

  “The who?” I noticed Durbin was carrying the paper bag full of… well, for him, it was evidence. For me, it was trouble.

  “We’ll get to all that in a second or two.” The sheriff gave me his trademark grin. “Had your clothes laundered, sure you don’t mind.”

  “Wow, thanks…”

  “They’ll put it on your tab.”

  “My tab?”

  “The hospital bill.” Durbin moved a bit closer. “Possessions say a lot about a man, Mr Jardel,” he began with an indescribable intent.

  Uh-oh, I thought, and made a mental list of all the anachronisms he was likely to drag out of the bag.

  “A set of keys for example. This tells me plenty…” He held up the key chain. “One for a door, and I’d guess it opens the place you live, or the place you work.”

  “Yeah, the Chronicle.”

  “Right,” said Durbin skeptically. “And this? Not sure I’ve seen one like this before. What’s it open?”

  It was the key to my sliding doors. “A window.”

  “A window, huh? Not a safe?”

  “A safe? No.”

  “Okay… this one is the oddest of the bunch. Kind of looks like a key, maybe. Never seen anything like it though.” Durbin held the key to my Saab that had yet to be built.

  “It’s for a boat— covered in rubber… so it floats,” I explained.

  “Rubber? Looks more like bakelite to me… You have a boat?”

  “Oh yeah, my cabin cruiser… sank off the point…”

  “You being a wise guy?”

  “It’s my friend’s boat actually.”

  “And where is he?”

  “Traveling.”

  “Really? From Canada or from China?”

  “China?” I asked.

  “Never mind that for now.” Durbin held up the final key on the chain. “Tell you what, I did trace this one here. It opens a box at the new post office. And it belongs to Doc Valenti. How did it come into your possession, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “He made me a copy.”

  “Says right on the key: Do Not Duplicate.”

  “Oh…”

  “Of course, I checked the box— it’s empty. Care to explain any of this, Mr Jardel?”

  “Um, Doctor Valenti lent me his key. I’m expecting a letter… from my friend.”

  “I’m not sure that makes any sense to me.”

  “I don’t have an address yet.”

  “What, so you cabled your friend his address?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Who is this friend of yours?”

  “I told you, a Canadian policeman.”

  “Like a Mountie?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I still have some other questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Well, first off, you’re kind of overdressed for the middle of August.”

  “It’s a lot colder in Canada…”

  “Canada, eh? As far as I can tell, almost everything in this bag comes from China.”

  “What?”

  “Except the money,” Durbin said. “But we’ll get to that in a second… I’m curious about your clothes for now… like these socks…” He started to remove garments from the bag one by one and placed them neatly on the bed. They seemed a little damp still.

  “What? They’re socks…”

  “Socks yeah, but they’re all stretchy. Do they stay on your legs without a garter?”

  “A garter?”

  “And I see you’ve got an extra pair.”

  I smiled. “They’re yours, Sheriff, my compliments.”

  “Thanks.” Durbin stuffed them into his pocket. “Tell me, I never seen a… what’s the word? A zipper, like this one,” Durbin said almost admiringly and held up my leather jacket.

  “You’ve never seen a zipper?”

  “I thought they were only for galoshes or something… or, maybe kid’s clothes.”

  “It’s all the rage in China.”

  “China? I thought you were from Canada.”

  “I travel a lot.”

  “And what do you have against buttons?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I have to admit, I do kinda like this jacket…”

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s this stuff? Some kind of sticky tape?” Durbin endlessly fastened and unfastened a strip of velcro, like it was glue that was bound to give up eventually.

  I thought it best not to reply.

  “This is pretty strange too… a pullover with a hood sewn in.”

  “A hoody.”

  “A what?” he asked but didn’t seem to be expecting an answer. “Never seen dungarees like these either… Well, what d’ ya know? Another one of them zippers.” Durbin smiled. “…and all made in China.”

  “I spent some time in Hong Kong.”

  “Did you now?” Durbin asked then paused. “And about your shoes… Chuck Taylor All-Stars. What, you actually play basketball?”

  “No, I’m a terrible shot. I just like the shoes. They’re really comfortable.”

  “Where is Vietnam?” Durbin asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Your Chuck Taylor’s… Says right here on the label: Made in Vietnam.”

  “Oh… it’s just south of—”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess… China, right?”

  “Yeah. That’s where I bought them. High tops.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what they call them there… in… Hong Kong.”

  “Right…” Durbin held up the knife Fynn had given me. “Nice… Can’t give it back just yet. I’m sure you understand.” He paused. “Swiss though, I think.” He rummaged through his bag of tricks and pulled out my cell phone. The thin box glimmered to life for a brief moment and then went dark. For once I was happy not having charged it.

  “What’s this thing?” he asked. “It’s heavy…”

  “A paperweight, it’s a souvenir from Hong Kong.”

  “Is it a cigarette case? I’m guessing one of these buttons on the side opens it up but I can’t seem to get it.”

  “It’s um,
a flashlight.”

  “A flashlight, huh?”

  “Like a map light for reading at night.

  “Pretty snazzy.”

  “Yeah, I think the battery’s dead.”

  “Never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s um, Japanese… see, says so right on the back.”

  “E-phone,” Durbin read aloud. “What’s that?”

  “Maybe Japanese for light? Or, like a brand name?”

  Durbin turned it over and read: “Designed in California, assembled in Japan… Well, I’ll be darned. Can’t say I like the Japs much.”

  “Why not?”

  “I read about some terrible stuff they’re doing over in Manchuria… China.”

  “That’s partly why I had to travel there.”

  “Really, why is that?”

  “For my newspaper.”

  Durbin eyed me with some suspicion. “You’ve got to be the strangest person who has ever set foot in Fair Oaks.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Not sure I meant that as a compliment.” Durbin rose from his seat. He held on to his own lapels to pace back and forth for a time. He came up to my face and whispered, “Tell me, Mr Jardel, how do you know about the New Deal?”

  “Please, call me Patrick.”

  “Okay, Patrick.”

  “Well, I can’t say much… but it’s a plan to get America back on its feet.”

  “And…?”

  I was saved from explaining further by Mr Smith, who started groaning, stirring and coughing. A couple of alert orderlies entered the ward. Smith seemed to be waking uneasily. Durbin looked over.

  “Do you know him?” I asked.

  “Who, Percy? Sure, everybody knows Percy… He’s the—” Durbin cut himself off and pantomimed a man drinking from a glass. “Nicest republican I ever met.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Pretty sure he voted for Hoover last time around.”

  Durbin walked off for a few moments and then reappeared rolling a high-backed wicker wheelchair. “Let’s take a little ride, Mr Jardel.”

  “What?”

  He positioned the wheelchair to the side of my bed. “Looks like you could use a little fresh air. What do you say?”

  “Fresh air?”

  “Sure, you know what Doc Valenti says about fresh air… cures everything.”

  “Why not?” I smiled and eased myself into the chair. Durbin pushed me to the only exit, out the door and into the grand entrance. It was filled with massive columns and a double stairway leading up to the next level. Everywhere was quiet, a muffled quiet, and it seemed apparent that Durbin hoped to sneak past Greta the receptionist who lay in wait. I caught a glimpse of her as we passed, an enormous woman with scraggly gray hair and decidedly thin lips. She seemed otherwise distracted.