M is for Moleskine

It was just chance that Patrick Tindle picked up the one notebook that was in fact used. He, having only seen the one Moleskine notebook, thought they were all printed that way. It must be a contest of sorts, he concluded mentally as he placed the small black journal on the counter. His discount card had expired. Yes, he would like to renew. No, he wasn’t interested in the magazine subscriptions they offered free for six months. He had the journal out of the bag and was skimming the pages before he had exited the large bookstore. The words hidden and $20,000 caught his attention. There were other mundane entries one might expect to find in a daily journal. This book appeared to take place in the present day as the dates were all current with the first entry being from the beginning of the year and the last entry near the end of the journal dated just...today. This was odd. It was so well written. As if a real person had kept a diary of sorts. One particular entry caught his eye. It was dated just two days ago and it referenced an armored truck robbery. He found himself deep in thought, remembering a real armored truck robbery that he had seen something in passing on the front page of...today’s paper.

He looked around. Suddenly aware that he was standing in the parking lot just off the curb that led to the store’s entrance. He had become so engrossed in the journal that he scarcely noticed that he had stopped mid stride and was beginning to draw attention to himself. He hurried to his car. The four door Honda wasn’t new. It needed work. His thoughts began to wander. $20,000 would go along way to getting him on track with his life. A newer car. A haircut. Some clothes. He was spending money mentally inspired by a story in a book that looked like a journal that seemed to be written around current events...he turned so abruptly that he didn’t even see her. She was passing behind him, herself in a hurry to get to her own Honda. He found himself steadying her as he almost knocked her over with his sudden direction change. She smiled. He removed his hands from her arms and the awkward grip he had inadvertently caused. She reached down and picked up the Moleskine journal. “You dropped this.” She said and continued to smile. It was an absent minded smile that he returned as he took the offered book. They appeared to dance momentarily as she moved one way and he matched in a brief entanglement. He pulled the door open and returned to the isle where they kept the small black journals. He was looking for confirmation. Another copy of this oddly interesting book. He began to search faster. They were all...blank. This wasn’t the book section. These were all blank journals. He looked around him. Suddenly aware that what he had purchased wasn’t even for sale. A Moleskine journal that was mostly completed. Used in fact. His thoughts jumped to asking for a refund. He needed gas. His thoughts raced again. This time settling on a memory of a heist. An armored truck had in fact been robbed just days ago. Could this be real? Was he being watched? Who had left the journal? Where was the money? He had so many unanswered questions now. He needed to finish reading the journal.

Mike Murphy was Thirtysix. He had watched the movie Groundhogs day at least four times in his life. The last time was only three weeks ago. The blow to the face took him by surprise. The last few were body shots. They were working him over pretty good. “Where’s the money?” Thwack. Another shot to the head. “I told you I don’t got it no more...” Thwack thwack. Spit. Blood. He had studied the movements of the armored truck drivers for hours in the days following the rerun of the Bill Murray classic. He had been able to steal one bag of cash he told them. $20,000 give or take a few thousand. The media was reporting that over $100,000 was missing. Thwack. Hence the beating. They wanted that money.

The journal ended with a hurried note that alluded to the chase that must have ensured that led to the biding of the Moleskine among the other new journals at the book store. Mike had been caught just after leaving the book store. An hour later they had dispatched Shelia to search for the journal. She laughed remembering the cute guy she had literally run into just outside the store. A different time and different place and she would have used her award winning smile and physique to sleep with that one. They only learned about the journal from Leon. He was present when a drunk Mike Murphy tried to sell the Moleskine for $5,000 with a tale of hidden cash from an armored car heist. Murphy, now passed out from one too many blows to the head had been drunk and as such had left no detail untold with the exception of the location of the actual loot.

Patrick read the direction over and over. He wasn’t familiar with the first location and so all that followed was based on that; leaving him confused and unsure of how to proceed. He needed a local. Someone who hadn’t just moved from Née York City. Someone who knew where the “back way to town” was. Once he knew where to start the rest was easy. At least that was what he had convinced himself of.

Timothy Fleming, born and raised was the perfect candidate for Patrick to find the starting location from the Moleskine journal that led to the cash. “Yeah. I know where that’s at.” Said Timothy. And thus led them to the secluded cabin in the woods. It was an illusion really, as the place was just one street off from civilization. Thwack, Thwack. The sound was coming from inside. Muffled voices described a one sided conversation that could only be recognized as an interrogation. “You think this is the guy that hid the journal?” Timothy asked. His hushed whisper loud in the tense silence. “How many in there?” Said Patrick. “Looks like three. A hot chick, Mike Tyson using the third guy as a punching bag. That’s all I can see.” He looked around. “There’s only one car. Can’t be very many more.” Patrick slinked back toward his car. The Tesla was silent so they were able to get close without being heard. “I’m getting my shotgun.” He disappeared momentarily. When he emerged from the shadows and rejoined Timothy the conversation inside got considerably louder. “We’re going in!” Patrick said and once again he was swallowed by the darkeness.

Shelia was standing facing away from Mike between him and Connor. “You’re gonna kill him!” Shelia yelled. She wanted the money. More so that Connor did. She knew this with certainty because she knew he would never betray her like she was planning on betraying him. Her loosely put together plan was to turn Connor in and collect the reward from the armored truck company. She needed to find the money first and she didn’t want a murder charge on the table even if it would be Connor that would take the fall. “Shut the fuck up” said Patrick and he cocked the shotgun for effect.

The man and woman that stood in front of Patrick stopped shouting and looked his way as if annoyed by the interruption. Mike Murphy smiled and then passed out. Timothy leveled his 9mm pistol at the guy’s head to kinda level the playing field. “Tie him up.” Said Patrick to the woman. She smiled a kind of smirk and then reached for a section of rope from a pile near Mike Murphy’s feet. “Tie her up.” Patrick motioned to Timothy. “There’s more rope there.” Pointing to the pile Shelia had taken from. Timothy looked her over. She was hot. He shrugged and went for the rope. A few minutes later they splashed water on Mike Murphy’s face in an attempt to wake him. Patrick cut the last of the ropes securing Mike to the chair. He slumped over for a second and that seemed to do the trick. He came to life with a spark. He was on his feet and swinging wildly at the air. When he realized that he was awake it took another moment to realize he was no longer held captive. The look of relief was apparent when he noticed Shelia and Connor tied up and sitting against the far wall of the cabin.

“So the money isn’t here?” Said Patrick. Mike shook his head. “No...well yes and no. That journal wasn’t a roadmap to the money. That was planned for a rescue mission. I knew that the local syndicate would want a good chunk of any proceed from a heist on their turf. I knew it was only a matter of time before they fingered me. I only got $20,000 but the reward for info on any robbery is $150,000. These two played chess with the wrong old man. “And the money from the heist?” Timothy asked. “Heist...” Mike laughed. “If you could call it that. Its there, on the coffee table.” He pointed to the coffee table that had been shoved haphazardly to the side to interrogate him. “I don’t see anythi...” He stopped. There it was. A $20,000 bearer bond .

“I noticed them at the bank one day after watching that flick, with Andy McDowell and Bill Murray. Groundhog Day.” He said. “I just timed it right and took one off the top of a stack. When I felt the syndicate closing in I headed to the bookstore, dropped off the Moleskine and prayed someone would find it. The funny thing is. This psychic gave me the journal and told me that this would happen. Sometime truth is stranger than fiction.”