***
“I’ve got a Chinese chicken salad with extra snow peas and bean sprouts and an iced tea,” said the deliveryman.
Sylvia Radcliffe put up her hand and beckoned him to her office. The tall young man smiled, turned his hat around so that the peak was facing forward, puffed up his chest, and walked to her door. He bent forward with a flourish to place the bag on her desk in what seemed to be almost a bow. Delivering Sylvia’s lunch was always the high point of his day. She wasn’t a big tipper, but she always gave him a wide smile and fodder for his fantasies before she sent him on his way.
Sylvia closed her door and spread a napkin open on her desk. Lunch was a time to catch up on personal business in the privacy of her office. It was time for an update. She opened the computer file containing a mailing list of customers and their purchases for the last four years. This data was being sent to a market research firm to help determine buying habits compared to local demographics. It was all very boring and probably would yield nothing useful for the store. It was, however, very useful to Sylvia and her partner, Mortimer Banks. She removed a small flash drive from her purse and plugged it into the USB receptacle on her computer.
Sylvia carefully planned every mission before she met with Mort to give him his instructions. She studied store receipts to find just the right piece of jewelry to steal. She would select a ring, a watch, a necklace, or some other fine piece, not too recently sold, which was of high value, or contained at least one stone that was of the size and quality she loved, but not distinctive enough to make the gem easily identifiable as stolen and thus difficult to resell.
Sylvia performed her “due diligence” on hundreds of prospective marks. She gathered all the available information about the purchaser from the store computers. She copied the buyer’s credit information, home address, and place of business. Then, she usually worked from a public computer in a library or on occasion just drove around a neighborhood until she found an unsecure Wi-Fi access and worked from her laptop in her car.
She searched the Internet social networking pages to discover how many members were in the mark’s family and any other useful information unwittingly offered online. She made anonymous calls to the mark’s employer to determine work schedules to determine the most likely time that the home or apartment would be empty. Once she even made a call to the target’s home, claiming to be a political poll taker and fitted questions into the survey that would give her the information she needed. It was easy to find out the things she wanted to know.
Sylvia developed a schedule for each job that would allow Mortimer to retrieve the prize with a minimum of risk. People who bought expensive jewelry usually owned other valuable objects as well. Mort’s assignment was to “appropriate” anything of high value so that the single piece of jewelry would not appear to be the objective of the heist.
Sylvia highlighted the name “James Farnsworth” on the store database. He seemed to be a valued customer who was worth a more in-depth look. Of course he hadn’t made a purchase in over a year, but in 2010 he bought a Patek Philippe series twenty ladies’ wristwatch in eighteen-karat white gold. It was a fine choice and a bargain at only eighty-three thousand dollars. The sales slip showed a gift card addressed to Debora. If that was his wife’s name, they were in business.
Sylvia knew that Mort could sell the watch for about half that value, and once they split the profit, she would probably be left with less than twenty thousand dollars. It was highway robbery, but the market for purloined jewelry was limited. Still, it wasn’t bad for a few days’ work.
After leaving Stanton’s tonight, she would search the social networks to check Farnsworth’s marital status. Assuming he had a wife named Debora, and assuming she was the recipient of the watch, the next step would be to determine the best time for the robbery.
If James Farnsworth or Debora had a Facebook account, it would be like striking gold. Why do people make it so easy? she thought. There always was the chance that the watch would not be in the house, but the wealth of the family was such that Mort could probably find enough other loot to make the trip profitable. This looked like a good prospect.
Sylvia turned toward the window in her office door to see if she was being watched and downloaded the details of both the sale and the buyer to her flash drive. Then she ejected the drive and slipped it back into her purse.
3
Franklin stood just inside the doorway of the coffee shop and looked down the row of tables. He listened to the sizzling of the eggs on the open grill and closed his eyes to savor the aroma of the bacon popping as it crisped in its own fat. It sounded like rain dancing on a woodland pond.
“Excuse me, honey,” a white-uniformed waitress said as she swiveled her hips past him with three plates of the breakfast special lined up on one arm and an orange-capped pot of decaf coffee in the opposite hand. “Just sit anywhere you want.” She hurried down the aisle before Franklin could reply. In seconds the waitress was lost in the crowd of patrons coming and going among the clatter of dishes and the sound of muffled conversation. Franklin walked between the rows of wood-grain laminate tables and chairs with red vinyl seat cushions. He stood for a few seconds and turned from side to side, scanning the room.
Even from the back of her head he knew it was her. Her hair—that long black hair—still shone as it fell around her shoulders. He took a deep breath and held it, trying to quiet the pounding in his chest. Three years, and he was still moved by the sight of her. Myra slowly stirred her coffee, clinking the spoon against the side of the cup. Franklin remembered how exasperated he had become and how he shouted at her each time that sound had interrupted the reading of his morning paper. Today it was a welcome sound.
“You got here early.” He walked around the table to face her and hooked the Derby handle of his cane onto the back of a chair.
“I’ve changed the way I do a lot of things,” she said. Myra reached up, took his hand, and pulled him down into his seat. She placed her elbows on the table and held her cup up to her lips. “I’ve already ordered; I hope you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine; I’m just having coffee anyway.” He turned the cup at his place setting right side up and poured from the coffee carafe already on the table. Franklin didn’t recall her eyes being so bright, or her smile so wide. The last time he saw her she was leaving the courthouse with her lawyer. She smiled then too, but it was the smile of victory. Now she had a warmer smile. Maybe three years apart had changed her. Maybe she came back because she’s sorry about the way we—
“What can I get’cha, honey?” the waitress asked, appearing out of nowhere.
Franklin shook his head. “I’m not having—”
“He’ll have two poached eggs on rye toast,” Myra interrupted. “You know you don’t do well without a good breakfast.”
Franklin smiled and nodded to the waitress. She looked at Franklin, then at Myra, and said, “Does he want orange juice with that?” Franklin touched the waitress’s hand to attract her attention and then shook his head. The waitress smiled at him, then turned to Myra, exhaled loudly, and walked away.
“Still the same Myra,” he said.
“Still the same Franklin?” she asked. “I’ve missed you. Are you still trading stocks, or whatever those arbitrage things were?”
“No.” Franklin laughed. “Actually, I retired two years ago.”
“Retired at forty-five—that must be nice,” she said.
On the sidewalk outside the coffee shop, a man in a scarred brown leather bomber jacket with a brown lamb’s-wool collar peered through the window, shading his eyes from the glare of the late-morning sun. Franklin looked up at him, and the man looked away as though he had been caught eavesdropping. This guy could be waiting to rob someone as soon as they leave the restaurant. Franklin rubbed the back of his neck. He became paranoid every time he came to Manhattan. It’s the middle of the morning. No one is dumb enough to commit a robbery in a crowd near high noon, he told himself.
“What hotel are you staying in?” Franklin asked. He focused on her eyes to keep her from turning to see where his attention had wandered.
“Oh, no, I’m staying with a friend in Queens. I’m helping her through some problems she’s having.”
“What kind of problems?”
Franklin shifted his eyes to the window and watched the man in the leather jacket pacing back and forth in front of the coffee shop, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his breath making frosty plumes in front of him. A last glance at the window, and the man slipped out of view toward the corner of the street. Franklin focused his attention back to Myra, glad that the distraction was finally gone.
“Look, Franklin, she’s having a difficult time. She just went through a divorce, and you know how rough that can be. I gave her more help than I could afford, but it wasn’t enough. She’s going to lose her apartment if she doesn’t come up with twenty thousand dollars to pay back taxes and late mortgage payments. I thought you could help out. It’s not for her. You could lend me the money to get us out of debt, and then when we sell the apartment, I could pay you back. That is, if you want the money back.”
“Us, you said get us out of debt,” Franklin said, watching her begin to squirm in her chair.
“Well, yes, she’s agreed to sign half of the apartment over to me if you give me the money. It’s a good investment.”
Franklin’s mind quickly began to line up the facts. The housing market was poor, but not that poor in New York. Half of any New York apartment for twenty thousand dollars was a rare opportunity. Now if her girlfriend truly had received title to the apartment in the divorce, and she actually did sign half over to Myra…
His evaluation of the possibilities was interrupted by the ring of Myra’s cell phone.
Myra looked at the number on the screen. “It’s my friend, Tiffany. She’s the one I’m talking about. I’ll call her back later.”
“No, no, she may be having a crisis. You take this opportunity to talk to her while I go to the men’s room. It was a long bus ride from Pennsylvania.”
Franklin smiled, placed his napkin on the table, unhooked his cane, and walked toward the side of the restaurant. Myra nodded and said, “Hello, Tiffany, where are you?”
Franklin satisfied himself that she was well engrossed in her call and then circled around the coffee shop until he reached the front door. He leaned out, looking toward the corner, being careful not to lean so far that he could be easily seen.
Sure enough, he spotted the man in the brown bomber jacket facing away from him, leaning on a mailbox, but clearly holding a cell phone to his ear.
Franklin rushed back to the table, grabbed the telephone from Myra’s hand, and listened. “Just get a check from this jerk, and let’s get out of here before he catches on. I’m afraid he might have seen me through the window.”
“That’s right, Tiffany,” Franklin said. “You should have stayed farther away. She’s much better at ripping people off all by herself.”
“Drop dead!” the man replied.
“No, you drop dead,” Franklin said. He tossed the phone into Myra’s lap, threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and said, “You can drop dead too!”
Franklin walked out the door, swinging it wide as heads turned to watch him leave.
***
That evening Franklin sat in front of his television. His eyes glazed over as the evening news anchorwoman talked about a politician that had been arrested for embezzling funds and a house fire that was burning out of control somewhere in the area.
Franklin sat in his favorite chair, a large tan leather recliner. He picked up the framed picture of Myra from the end table and turned it to the wall. Any bonds linking them together had been finally severed. He wasn’t responsible for her future any longer.
He thumbed through an old photo album that he kept on the coffee table. He stopped at a picture of Myra standing in the kitchen of their first home. She was holding up a casserole and smiling. “What a fraud,” he said out loud. She looked like Margaret Anderson from Father Knows Best. Myra never was the good wife waiting for her husband to come home with dinner on the table, ready to share conversation about her day. No, Myra was usually out when he came home from work. Her pots were more wall ornaments than cooking utensils. She never understood what he did for a living and didn’t much care, as long as the money kept coming in.
He turned another page and stopped at a picture of a nineteen-year-old Myra and himself standing on the shore of Lake Oneida. The photo was thick and protruded from its sleeve. He slid the picture out of the plastic. The left side of the picture had been folded back so that one-third was hidden. Franklin unfolded the photograph. The third person in the picture, the one behind the fold, was his old friend, Dennis. Franklin nodded at the picture several times, refolded it so he and Dennis stood together, with Myra’s image folded behind, and arranged it back in its sleeve. He placed the open album on the coffee table, yawned, picked up the remote, and shut off the television. He sat alone in the silence for several minutes.
Franklin had been living alone now for about three years, and until the recent disturbing dreams, he’d never really felt alone or vulnerable. Now he walked through the house and checked the windows and doors before going up to bed. In his room, he lifted the comforter and dropped to one knee to look under the king-size bed.
“This is ridiculous,” he said out loud, but he walked to the closet and gave that a look also.
Again, sleep did not come quickly. Each time he closed his eyes, Myra appeared, her hand outstretched.
4
Franklin switched his cane to his left hand and pulled the heavy front door of 29 Office Park Place open with his right. The shadow from the door rippled across the building directory. His eye followed the shadow to a small sign now illuminated by the afternoon sun.
The sign on the bulletin board read:
Dr. Ruth Klein, Clinical Psychologist, focusing on the evaluation, prevention, diagnosis, and treatment of mental health issues. Dr. Klein uses psychotherapy and other counseling skills to improve both emotional and mental health.
Had providence just directed him to this sign? He wasn’t a religious man, but if some omniscient being was pointing a finger of light to guide him to a source of advice and comfort in his hour of need, could he refuse the help?
Franklin walked down the corridor to room 118, the office of Dr. Ruth Klein, and stood in front of the closed office door. He put his hand on the doorknob and froze. Should he or should he not walk in and make an appointment? What would he say?
Hi, my name is Franklin Jameson, and I think I’m losing my mind.
Or maybe, Hi, I’m a forty-five-year-old man who is afraid to go to sleep because I see poltergeists almost every night.
Franklin released the doorknob and looked down the hall toward his dentist’s office, his intended destination for a 1:00 p.m. cleaning appointment. He turned back to the psychologist’s door, this time with more conviction. He knew he should walk right into Dr. Klein’s office and make the appointment. It was the smart thing to do, the right thing to do, and he would do it now if it wasn’t so late. Yes, that was it; he would do it now, but there just wasn’t enough time. Franklin hurried down the hall to his dentist’s office.
He was generally cynical about all medical and dental checkups. He believed that even if nothing was wrong, and there usually wasn’t, most doctors or dentists would still try to find something to generate a bigger bill, but when visiting Dr. Green’s office, he was less skeptical. Dr. Green was a friend. He was always amiable and good-natured, he played sixties music throughout his office, and his dental hygienist, Michelle, was cute. He recalled how, on his last visit, she had wrapped her arms around his head as she scraped and picked at his teeth, seemingly lost in her work, and either knowingly or not, had pressed her breast against his ear. It made Franklin a strong advocate of regular oral hygiene. Several weeks ago he had met Michelle in a shopping mall and
asked her to join him for a cup of coffee. He thought that had gone quite well, and he hoped to ask her out on a more formal date during this visit.
Franklin sat in the waiting room listening to “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by the Beatles and fantasizing about an erotic episode of dental foreplay with Michelle when a slender man in a smock and a face mask hanging below his chin called Franklin’s name. “Hi, I’m Lars. Michelle is out today, so I will be performing your cleaning.” Franklin slowly rose from his seat and followed Lars to the examining room. The sound system in the background appropriately played “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” by the Rolling Stones.
When Lars completed his task, he told Franklin to rinse and spit and said Dr. Green would be in shortly to examine his teeth and gums. Franklin sat happily drumming his fingers to the music as he waited for the next blast from the past.
“Franklin, you look like crap,” said Dr. Green, joking as he entered the room. He offered Franklin his hand. Hyrum Green stood six feet tall. The remainder of a deep suntan was just beginning to fade. His eyes danced as he smiled, and he seemed genuinely happy to see his friend.
“My sleep has been off for a few nights. What’s your excuse?” Franklin chided with a smile. Hyrum Green had been Franklin’s dentist since before Franklin’s first implant. He trusted him.
“We missed you at the card party last week. I had to take someone else’s money,” said Hyrum as he pulled on his rubber gloves. “Elaine misses you too; no one else seems to like her artichoke dip.” He raised his face mask to cover a look of repugnance.
Franklin leaned back and opened his mouth. He had found it difficult to maintain his relationship with other couples since Myra had gone. And he now felt himself drifting away from one of his few remaining friends. “So what are you doing next weekend? You should come for a visit,” Hyrum said while stretching Franklin’s cheeks and examining his gums. Franklin made an unintelligible noise and rolled his eyes as the sound system played “Respect” by Aretha Franklin.
(Un) Sound Mind Page 3