He saw her turn and he shifted his gaze away. He was playing the image of the box over and over in his mind’s eye. Willing it to fling itself open so he could see what was inside.
The band had taken a break, now it was just jukebox music and Marco liked that better. He sipped at his new beer and let his mind wander with the music. Lost in his own thought, he hadn’t kept track of time and closing snuck up on him.
He settled his tab and left the barmaid a large tip. He hoped this made her feel better about their interaction regarding the box. He smiled and thanked her then sauntered out the door. The whole time he was thinking about the box.
He got into his rusty pick up, fired it up, but just sat there. He couldn’t get his mind off of that box; that beautiful, mysterious, wood box. He had to know what was in it. He had never wanted to know something so badly in his entire life.
It stuck out like he did. Something that didn’t fit in that town. He may have bought that rusty pick up and moved into a meager apartment, but his clothing made him stand out. He couldn’t walk away from his button ups and chinos. That was about as casual as he allowed himself to dress his whole life. It probably started with the private schools he went to as a boy. The uniforms were never anything less than business casual.
As he sat there, in the wee hours, a knock came on his window. It was the barmaid.
“Everything okay, Sugar?”
“Oh,” he stammered out of surprise, “Yes. Yeah, everything is fine. I was just, uh, thinking.” He hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of the knock on his window.
“That box will make you think,” she said flatly. “It’s done that to many-a-man, I hear.”
“It is an interesting box. The craftsmanship is absolutely stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s my boss’s box. He keeps it at the bar because he figures that way, no one will accidentally get a hold of it and he won’t be tempted to open it. Apparently, there’s something very special inside, although he won’t tell anyone what it is or how he got it. If you ask him about it he’ll actually get pissed,” she laughed.
Marco managed a forced chuckle, but now he was seriously curious. He began hatching his plan to get his hands on the box, or at least try to.
“Thanks for checkin’ on me. I’m going to pack it in. Be careful out there!”
“No problem, darlin’. It’s part of my job, whether I want to admit it or not.”
With that, she walked away. Marco put the truck in gear and took the long route home.
He felt a little bit of excitement. Something that he hadn’t felt since his black hair turned to salt and pepper. He had a distraction from his pain; a mystery to solve. He was determined to get the box.
He pulled into his parking spot at the complex and went inside. He flopped down on the couch and put his feet up on the table.
Marco rubbed his temples. He had to do some research. He could have ask the barmaid the owner’s name, but he didn’t. He wanted to kick himself for that. Now, he’d have to nose around town to find out his name and plan a chance encounter.
Marco was a pretty smooth talker, he was sure that once he met the mystery guy that he could talk his way into getting the box handed to him. He hoped he was still as smooth as his younger years.
He drifted off to sleep on the couch. His dreams were riddled with different images of the box in different situations. His brain imagined it having healing qualities that could help a man forget. It also conjured images of a priceless antiquity, an heirloom from ancient societies, but the one that disturbed him to his core was the one that would be etched in his memory for the rest of his life.
He saw a man being drawn into the box. He wasn’t going willingly. He saw the room around him flex and wane while he grabbed onto anything he could get his hands on. He was screaming something, as if he was talking to someone in the room, but there was no audio. He saw the disembodied face of an old man, or at least that was the best his brain could describe him, floating above the box. It felt very evil.
Marco woke up in a cold sweat with is heart racing. He flailed around tossing pillows, blankets, and even couch cushions. It took him several minutes to figure out where he was.
Once he calmed down he saw he was in his living room. A wave of relief swept over him, but that was it for sleep. He spent the rest of the night looking through his TV set, staring into nothingness. He couldn’t focus a thought. The wood box was there, even as the sun came up.
He hauled himself into the shower, there wasn’t anything he could do for a few hours yet and he hadn’t picked up any work for today. The day was completely his. He could do as he pleased. He was tired, but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting his hands on the box. He felt a renewed resolve after his dream. He had to know what mysteries the box held.
As he lathered up, his thoughts turned to Melinda. What would she have thought about his new obsession? Would she tell him he was crazy and to let it go, or would she have egged on the adventure? He knew it wasn’t even a question. She loved adventures, the unknown, and, of course, a good mystery. This was all three of those wrapped in a neat little package.
Only, the package wasn’t so neat. He had a sinking feeling that this was going to get grimy. He had never committed any unsavory acts outside of the boardroom in all of his years.
He got dressed and headed out the door.
As he drove through town, he decided the best way to network would be to go for some breakfast at the diner. He was pretty sure there would be locals who were as old as the town itself in there. Those are the people who know things. They know things that aren’t said out loud. Things like how mysterious artifacts came into the possession of certain people.
He pulled into one of the street-side parking spaces and turned off the truck. It sputtered to silence, in protest. Marco went into the diner and took a seat at the counter amongst the old-timers swilling coffee and eating grits and eggs. Looking at them, you could see one hundred and fifty years of hard work, sweat, and sacrifice. They looked gritty, they looked like they knew things.
Marco smiled. Those are the men he was looking for. He ordered some coffee and sat there listening to them jawing over weather, politics, and their wives’ cooking. He imagined his father as one of these fellas, but it was comical. His father was a straight laced business man. He came up through boarding schools with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. He never even pushed a lawn mower or drove himself anywhere.
Then the men started talking about local people. This is what Marco had hoped for. Maybe he could glean information without even having to interact with them. They talked about the local grocer, his wife was cheating with the guy who owned the feed store.
“Barney just turns a blind eye. He doesn’t want to give that old bitch half his store,” one of them confided.
“Martha said that Benita said that Barney was an old coot who only wanted her to cook and clean for him. Ain’t that what they’re supposed to do?” another piped in.
“Get with the times Bill, women are, whatchacallit, independent now. They want us to help them do their job. It’s long past women’s lib, ya know.”
“Either way, that woman shouldn’t be runnin’ around with someone other than her husband. It’s a sin.”
“When’s the last time you even went to church, Bill?”
“Shut up, Ted.”
Conversation continued like this for what seemed like hours. Marco was on his third cup of coffee before something useful came out.
“Jeb’s talkin’ about hirin’ someone to run security over at the honky tonk. Like he needs security.”
“Well, better safe than sorry. Marge said there’s been some youngsters in there causin’ trouble a couple times a week.”
“They should be more afraid of Marge than anyone. Jeb just needs to green light her to take ‘em out when they have a few too many.”
They all erupted in laughter, which was immediately followed by several coughing
fits from old dusty lungs.
Jeb, the guy who ran the bar was Jeb, and the bartender was Marge. He knew who to look for and who to avoid, all in one breakfast sitting. Things were looking up. He swigged the last of his coffee and tossed a five on the counter.
He sat in his truck mulling over his little nugget of information. Step one accomplished, find out who owns the bar. A last name would have been helpful, but how many Jebs could there be in this town? Hopefully not many, ideally, only one.
He put his key in the ignition and turned over the truck motor, which screeched in protest. It didn’t start. He turned the key again, it squealed, but didn’t start. He tried again and it fired up, much louder than normal. He supposed he’d have to take it to a mechanic.
He smiled. The local mechanic had a small shop and not a lot of work. It shouldn’t take long for him to take a look at it, but Marco could shoot the breeze with the guys that sat in front of the shop.
He backed onto the street and the truck protested louder than it had when it started. It sputtered, backfired, and finally went into gear. He took it straight to the shop.
The owner, Jake, was pleasant enough and said he could look at it right then and to have a seat. There were two guys sitting there nattering on about who was going to the state playoffs in high school football. Marco sat next to them. He didn’t care about football, but had hoped the topic would change so he could interject something. He wanted to ask about Jeb and his interest in hiring.
He pulled out his book, not really to read, but to look totally uninterested in what the guys were talking about. The ruse proved perfect. They never said a word to him. Until, he heard them mention Jeb’s bar while hashing their plans for the evening.
He perked up and listened as they talked about the bar and who would be there. Then, the perfect opening came.
“I heard that Jeb’s been having some trouble at the bar,” Luke said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, it’s going around that he’s thinking about hiring a bouncer to start handling stuff. I thought about it, but it would cut into my drinking time,” Jerry chortled.
Marco interjected, “Who’s he having trouble with? I might be looking for a job.”
The two guys laughed. “You’re about straw pole skinny, who’d worry about you if you tried to stop a fight?”
“I’m scrappy,” Marco said with a half laugh.
“Jeb’s said there’s some folks comin’ from the next town over. Seems they have a problem with the locals and are givin’ ‘em hell,” Luke confided in a half whisper as if he was giving up classified information.
“You could probably catch him at the bar now. He’s usually in there cleanin’ up or stockin’ booze this time of day,” Jerry interjected.
“Thanks, fellas. Maybe after Jake’s done with my truck, I’ll head up there,” he said as he turned back to his book.
It was as if he shut a door. Jerry and Luke when back to their conversation as if he wasn’t even there. That worked for him.
Moments later, Jake came around the corner. “Your truck’s done. It needed a tune up and I flushed the radiator. You should be good now.”
“Thanks, man. What do I owe ya?”
Jake gave him the total. This guy was fast and reasonably priced. He liked that. Marco paid him and hopped into the truck. It fired up like she was brand new. He waved as he pulled away headed to the bar.
Time to interview for a job and feel out Jeb before Marco started his inquiry about what he was really there for.
He unbuttoned the top 2 buttons on his shirt and untucked it from his pants. He needed to look more disheveled workman than put together businessman.
As the road wound up to the bar, he played his words over in his head. What he was going to say, how he was going to approach Jeb, and even how he was going to accept the job. Images of the box filled his mind. It began to overshadow the ruse he had planned.
It was as if he could hear the box whispering to him. He tried to shake it off, but the grip it had on his tired psyche was too much. He hadn’t been sleeping well the last twenty years. He had chalked it up to grief, but now something told him it was something else. Something was drawing him through all those moves and states. Something was causing the bouts of depression. Every move brought him closer to this one, it was a predetermined path. It’s not something any rational person would have seen, and he was rational. Up until now.
He turned into the gravel parking lot and parked his truck a good distance from the entrance. He wasn’t sure why, there was only one other car in the lot, and he assumed it was Jeb’s. It felt like it was what he was supposed to do. It became apparent there was a predetermined plan for him, but he had no say in it.
He slowly walked to the back door. He was pretty sure Jeb carried a gun. Hell, just about everyone in Texas did, and he had no desire to get shot. After all, getting shot was never part of anyone’s plan. He shuffled his feet so Jeb could hear the gravel crunching and was aware someone was coming.
It worked, Jeb appeared in the doorway. “Can I help you, Son?”
It made Marco laugh, they were about the same age, but someone as hardened as Jeb was saw everyone as an inferior of sorts. He let it slide, he didn’t want to alienate Jeb immediately. That would come later, he supposed.
“Hey there! I heard you might be lookin’ to hire someone. I came to inqui…ummm…ask about that, Sir.”
Jeb eyed Marco up and down. He was trying to surmise all he could about the guy without asking anything. It helped him keep the upper-handed in most situations.
Marco felt Jeb staring through him and suddenly felt like he had to shield his thoughts. He didn’t want Jeb to know why he was really there. He wasn’t sure why this need blanketed him, but he rolled with it.
While Jeb was giving him the thrice over, he did his own sizing up. Jeb looked older than he was, like he lived a hard life. His hair was a gray, out of control mop that seamlessly shifted into a beard that was identical except a bit coarser. His blue steel eyes were emphasized by the dark circles and bags acquired by bar owners that are awake into the wee hours, seven days a week. His hands were a mass of callouses and twisted in the throes of arthritis. They rested on a girth that would rival Santa Claus, but he wasn’t nearly as jolly. The man probably couldn’t tell you what shoes he was wearing.
Marco finished his assessment when Jeb cleared his throat.
“So, you’re looking for a job. I’m looking for security. You seem a little slight for that job,” he scoffed.
Not missing a beat, Marco replied, “Looks can be deceiving, Sir.” He stuck out his hand, “I’m Marco Polenzino.”
“Well, Marco,” he looked at the outstretched hand, “Come on in and we’ll have ourselves a talk.”
Jeb turned around and walked into the bar. Marco followed. No handshake. He wasn’t surprised.
He followed Jeb through the back of the bar into the front where he had been the previous night. The bar looked much different without drunken patrons and a band. It was clean and didn’t smell like stale beer and cigarettes. Instead it smelled like Pine Sol and brass cleaner.
Jeb sidled up to the bar and sat on a stool, or maybe two, Marco couldn’t tell. He sat down across from him, which positioned him directly in front of the wood box.
Jeb asked questions about his background. Marco answered them carefully, but coolly. He told the story of Melinda and Jeb nodded as if he knew that sort of pain. Marco imagined that he knew all sorts of pain, he looked like he had been through the wringer.
After several minutes of inane conversation, Marco broached the subject he came here for. He did his best to seem uninterested beyond slight curiosity.
“So, I gotta ask Jeb. What is that little box on the liquor stand? Does it hold some special shot glasses or something?”
Jeb’s demeanor shifted immediately. “That’s something that’s been in my family as far back as anyone can remember.”
That was all he said. Marco was trying to decide w
hether to pry more, or to let this slide as well. Jeb was obviously uptight about the box. He decided to push a little further.
“What’s it made out of? It’s very intricate design is beautiful.”
“I think it’s African black ironwood,” Jeb answered very flatly. He shifted uncomfortably on his barstool.
“That’s cool, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
With that, he let the conversation go back to working in the bar. He talked his way into a job as security. He was very smooth, but he didn’t remember most of the conversation. It was as if it were driven by something else.
Jeb shook Marco’s hand and told him what time to show up. He said he’d let Marge know and she could point out the troublemakers as they arrived. Marco nodded and left out the back door to his truck.
He sat in his truck for a while before heading home. When he arrived in his apartment he began hatching his plan to get his hands on the box.
The hours flew by, and as the sun began to dip in the sky it was time for Marco to go to work. He found his only pair of blue jeans and a polo shirt, it was the best he could do for rough and tumble clothes. He got dressed excitedly. He was looking forward to that job. He knew he would be able to execute his plan. The box would be in his hands before the clock struck midnight.
He wound his way back up to the bar. He could hear the music blaring from a quarter mile away. When he pulled into the parking lot, it was much fuller than when he was there earlier. He parked in the same spot as he had earlier in the day. It should have seemed odd that it was open, but it didn’t.
Marco went in through the front doors this time. He smiled as he saw Marge behind the bar. There was a smattering of people, but nothing like there would be in a couple of hours. This had become the place for evening entertainment for three towns. Jeb had quite a business going.
He wove his way to Marge. She flashed him a smile. He saluted. “Reporting for duty, ma’am.”
She chuckled. “So you’re the one that’s going to be taking care of the drunken meat heads, huh? I never would have thought.”
“I’m full of surprises,” Marco quipped.
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