Escape

CHARLIE

The day began like most others, a slow, resentful emergence from the blissful respite of sleep into the harsh reality of his lonely existence. The old man stretched out his weary limbs and left the shelter of the broken-down Chevy he currently called home. A labored stroll down to the sheltering trees along the river gave his arthritic joints a chance to limber up. Once there, he relieved his aching bladder. It was then that he spied the little black book. The book’s sleek black finish stood out against the greys, browns, and greens along the riverbank, so much that even the old man’s fading vision was able to pick it out.

“It must have been dropped by someone on the bridge,” he muttered to himself,” It looks new. I better grab it.” He talked to himself a lot these days.

He gingerly made his way across the rocks and grasped the book. The old man then picked his way back to the path and fumbled in his shirt pocket for his cheap dollar store readers. Glasses in place, he turned his attention to his find. Upon closer examination he could see that the Moleskine notebook was not exactly new, but well cared for. Inside the front cover was printed ‘Please Return if Found’ and an address. The pages inside contained words and rows of figures that meant nothing to him.

“I wonder if this book is important. Maybe it’s worth something?”

Perhaps, he hoped, he could get rewarded for its return and fill his belly or buy a bottle to numb the ache in his soul. God he still missed Ruthie.

The last few years had not been kind. He and his wife had never been wealthy, but they had been comfortably content. They were hardworking blue-collar folks just getting by. He had worked at various construction jobs, framing, sheetrock, finish carpentry, while Ruthie had cashiered at the local grocery for most of their married lives. When the aggressive cancer that so cruelly ravaged her body, and depleted their retirement nest egg, took her from him, he assuaged the pain of loss with bottles of liquor and drank up what little resources he had left. He became too unreliable to keep work. Eventually he lost the heavily mortgaged, modest home they had shared for 40 years. He and Ruthie had never been blessed with children and he had no surviving family. He was old and alone. He had nothing. Now he bounced between the homeless shelter and the streets, depending on the weather.

He slipped off his scratched glasses and returned them to his shirt. After gently stuffing the little book into his hip pocket, the old man shuffled the few blocks to downtown and his established street corner. He retrieved the cardboard sign that was stashed against the utility box and held it up, smiling, waving, and hoping for the generosity of strangers. He couldn’t stop thinking about the notebook he could feel in his pocket. Who did it belong to? What were those words and figures all about? Was he just being a silly old man to think that it was worth any reward?

Traffic was slow. A few dollars were all he was able to collect; typical for a Saturday morning. He began reminiscing about life before his Ruthie got sick. When the young man who claimed the corner for the afternoons walked up behind him the old man was so lost in his thoughts that he was startled. “Shit Wendell, ‘bout scared the piss out of me,” the old man exclaimed. “I was somewhere else! I hope you have a better afternoon than I had a morning. Folks not feeling too generous today.”

“You got to make them notice you, old man," the flamboyant Wendell replied, “Got to move a little, Charlie. Work the damned corner!”

Wendell always seemed to be in motion. Probably the methamphetamine the kid was often high on. He danced and cavorted his way back and forth. He laughed and he sang. He definitely got noticed. The driver’s window of a car waiting for the light rolled down. An arm reached out with a couple of bills between the index and middle fingers.

“Well, I got to go,” the old man said with a smile, “Have a good afternoon.”

“Thanks. You stay safe Charlie,” Wendell replied, as he handed Charlie one of the bills.

Charlie returned to the lot by the river where his few possessions were stashed in the Chevy. The day was starting to get hot. He made sure no one was watching and reached inside. The old man lifted a dirty backpack from behind the seat and pulled out an apple and his good shirt. He needed to replace the smelly one he had been wearing for the last few days. After switching shirts, he leaned against the car, pulled out his glasses and fumbled for the book. He studied it while he ate the apple. He still couldn’t make any sense of the book’s contents, but that address was on the other side of downtown. He had a long walk ahead of him if he wanted to return it to its owner. If that owner were sufficiently grateful maybe he could get enough to splurge for a fleabag room and a bottle of cheap vodka.

“Wouldn’t a hot shower be a treat,” he said to himself as he started the long walk.

CONSTANCE

The office door swung shut behind her and latched with a satisfying click as she left for the last time. Twenty years of her life had been given to that firm. Now was the dawn of a new chapter in her story. It took a concerted effort not to laugh giddily and dance down the spacious tiled hallway. Smiling, she trudged out of the building and into the late afternoon sun just as she had done so many times before; she had too much at stake to draw any unusual attention to herself.

But this Friday afternoon was exceptional. This weekend she intended to finally convert all of those stealthily arranged and cleverly hidden accounts into funding for her new life. The years of planning were about to pay off. The notebook in her purse contained everything she required. She had been carefully encrypting information into it since shortly after the tragic accident that had torn her family from her. By Monday Constance Lister would be no more. A new name and a new life awaited her.

Ten years ago, a drunk driver had swerved his Cadillac Escalade into a bike lane. In one instant, Constance lost her husband and two teenage children. The driver happened to be a very wealthy client of Higgins and Wall, the accounting and investment firm where she worked. A new prescription had reacted badly with his after-work martinis. He had a couple of priors, but his high-priced lawyers were able to get him the minimum prison sentence. He paid a heavy fine, including financial restitution to Constance, donated to DUI awareness programs, and gave the state two years of his life. But Constance had lost everything that mattered to her. Her family was gone. She laid plans to exact more retribution. Her foray into embezzlement began.

Since that time, she had been setting up offshore accounts, creating false identities, and laying the groundwork for her little financial coup. Starting with accounts belonging to the man who had taken her family's life, and then those of other clients she knew to have unscrupulous business practices, Constance arranged to move portions of investment revenues into dummy accounts. The funds eventual destination would be the portfolio of her new identity in extradition free Vanuatu. She was now ready to claim her fortune.

As she started across the parking lot towards her car to leave this place for the last time, fate once again slapped her in the face. From out of nowhere a huge, masked man barreled into her, knocking her to the ground, skinning her knees, and ripping her purse from her. Then he was gone, along with her purse and the notebook holding the information she needed to finalize her plan.

THE PERP

After knocking the well-dressed old lady down and running off with her purse, Jason ducked into the nearest alleyway, removed his ski mask, and stashed the purse under his jacket. He felt bad about hurting the lady, but his need for oxy overrode his sense of decency. He walked swiftly through the alley for several blocks, then moved out onto the greenbelt along the river. He was alone, so he riffled through the purse as he strode along the path. He carelessly tossed the worthless items that he pulled from the purse out onto the rocks and into the bushes as he walked. He kept the credit cards and the cash he found in her wallet and then dumped it and the purse into a trash receptacle as he walked under the bridge.

DELIVERANCE

It seemed an eternity that Charlie waited for someone to answer the doorbell. “Oh Lord,” he despaired aloud, “Is no one home?” Then he heard movement from behind the door.

Constance was dragged from her fitful nap and back into consciousness by the sound of the doorbell. “How can this have happened?" She wondered yet again. “What am I going to do?” She moped her way to the front door and peeked out the adjacent beveled glass window. Her jaw dropped in disbelief. There, in disheveled, dirty clothes and looking extremely nervous, stood a man who appeared to be holding her notebook in his weathered hands.

Charlie heard the door unlock and it cracked open as far as the security chain would allow. A tentative, yet somehow hopeful voice asked, “Yes, Can I help you with something?”

“Well mam, I uh, I found this little book down by the river this morning and I saw your address inside the cover here. I thought maybe you somehow dropped it and would appreciate getting it back.”

She was incredulous. And suspicious. “I was mugged yesterday, and my purse was taken. That notebook was in my purse.”

“Sorry lady, I didn’t see no purse. Just saw this book laying on the rocks,” Charlie replied defensively, “I don’t know nothing about who took it. Is this important?”

“You cannot imagine how important that book is to me,” Constance said as she hesitantly unhooked the safety chain. The man looked familiar. “Charles," she queried, “Is that you?”

“Yes mam. I’m Charlie. Charles McNaughton. Do I know you?”

“I think I used to prepare your taxes,” she replied, “It’s been several years.”

Charlie remembered her. She was genuinely sorry when he told her about Ruthie and his present circumstances. She wanted to do something to reward him for returning her notebook. When he expressed interest in a place to get a hot shower, Constance called and booked him a room. Then she called an Uber and had him delivered. As they parted, she slipped him a couple of twenties.

“Please take this Charles. I am so grateful. You saved my life! Really!”

After he had gone, Constance went to work at her computer making online transactions. Maybe, she thought as she worked, she could give Charles a fresh start. He had, however unknowingly, rescued her.

Charlie was dumbfounded to discover that Constance had booked his room for the week. “What the hell was in that book?”

Monday afternoon, when he returned from working his corner, the clerk at the front desk stopped Charlie and handed him a package. Inside it he found a change of clothes and an envelope. He put on his glasses and tore it open. It contained a letter and four $5,000.00 cashier’s checks. “What the hell?” he shouted in amazement. The letter from Constance contained a work offer and an invitation to a new life.

Two days later he bought a ticket to Vanuatu.