Strange Encounters

The bar is quiet tonight. Except for the bartender who is in the back somewhere, I’m the only one here. The TVs are also muted, as if they are somehow adding to the silence. But maybe that’s normal. My usual spot is at one of the booths and I never pay attention to them since I’m either chatting it up with somebody or on my laptop getting caught up on work.

Tonight I am sitting at the bar, am on my first apple martini and have had maybe half of it. For some reason I don’t feel interested in drinking the rest of it. The lack of a crowd may have something to do with it.

Out of boredom I take a deep breath, and as I exhale, my eyes land on the bartender who has reappeared. He is gorgeous and might be the reason I come here so often even though he doesn’t give me much more than the time of day. I let my eyes linger on him for a few moments. He’s intently focused on a small black notebook in his hands and is writing something in it.

I swear he doesn’t move his eyes away from his notebook, but he asks, “Do you want something else to drink?” With his eyes partially closed from looking down at the notebook, he must have killer peripheral vision to see that I haven’t finished my drink, especially since we’re on opposite ends of the bar.

“No, thank you,” I reply.

He disappears again as he continues writing.

Looking up at the TVs, one is playing a basketball game and the other has some TV show I don’t recognize. I watch the basketball game for a minute and am thinking about leaving when a man sits on the stool next to mine on my right. With nothing else demanding my attention I give him a glance. He looks to be in his late 30s or early 40s, is wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, glasses, brown hair, and sneakers. He appears nervous, agitated or both, and has a small rectangular box in his hands.

Deciding I am done with this place tonight I am just about to get up and leave when the man suddenly stands up, slides the box in front of me and says, “Here, this is all of it. I have taken care of my part of the deal, but I am out. I have decided that I just can’t do it. I will keep my mouth shut; you have my word. But I can’t do this.”

“Sir, I—”

“Please,” he interrupts me. He continues, speaking very quickly. “I have put a lot of thought into this and there is just too much at stake. Just take the money and do what you want with it. I don’t care. I just can’t do it anymore. I’m out and I beg of you not to contact me again. Whoever you are, just please leave me alone.” He turns around to leave the bar. I’m not sure if this guy is out of his mind or mistaking me for somebody else, but this box should be in his possession and not mine.

“But, sir—”

He turns around to face me, again interrupts me and I notice that his eyes are as brown as his hair. “No! I’m out! I can’t do this! I can’t do this!” He is speaking much louder now and seems as if he’s about to jump out of his skin. He continues to say, “I can’t do this” over and over as he turns around and continues exiting the bar. I am stunned and try to say something, but he either doesn’t hear me or ignores me.

I get up to stop him and explain that I am not who he thinks I am, but I forget about my backpack on the floor at my feet, trip on it and land on the floor with a loud thud. He must have heard me rise from my stool as he started running for the door as I fell. By the time I get back on my feet and outside he is gone. I look to the left and to the right, but I see no one that matches what he was wearing. Maybe he knew he would just be a minute and had a cab waiting…?

So, now what? I turn around and look back inside the bar. My backpack is behind the stool the man briefly used and the box is next to my drink. I go back inside and am surprised the bartender never emerged in response to my body colliding with the floor or the man speaking loudly. How did he not hear any of that?

Back at my seat I figure I might as well look inside the box. After lifting the lid my eyes bulge in surprise. It is filled with money! I take a quick look around to confirm that I am still alone and then flip through it. The stack appears to only have twenties in it. Putting the lid back on the box I’m not sure what to do with it. For now I guess I’ll put it in my backpack so I retrieve it from the floor, place it on my bar stool, unzip a pouch, slip in the box, zip it closed, and sigh.

All of a sudden it occurs to me that the person the man expected to meet will probably be here. Soon. Do I want to be here so that the rightful person gets the money… or is something illegal going on and that would make me an accomplice? That guy was pretty upset. Whatever is going on, it can’t be innocent. No, I don’t want to get involved. I could leave the money… but, no, I think I would sort of still be an accomplice, and even though the bartender couldn’t give a hoot about me, I don’t want to put his life at risk.

This may be as good a time as any to leave. I was already thinking of heading out anyway. Before leaving I sit down for a moment, retrieve my wallet from another pouch in my backpack and mentally calculate how much it is for the drink plus a small tip. He hasn’t exactly aroused in me a feeling of generosity tonight.

Before I have a chance to set the money down I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see a woman. Except for her skin and dark red lipstick, she is shrouded in black. Even her sunglasses are black. I can see through her sunglasses just enough to see her eyes but not well enough to make out their color. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but something about this woman is giving me the creeps and I now know what it feels like to have a chill go down your spine.

“Umm… can I help you?” Judging by the slightest hint of the smile on her lips, my face may have given away my reaction to her and she is amused by it.

“If you don’t mind, I’m meeting someone here tonight and I told them I would be in this exact seat.” There is no friendliness in her voice at all. The words are said matter-of-factly and there seems to be very little behind them. There seem to be hardly any life or personality in her.

“Yes. I mean, no, I don’t mind. The seat is all yours. I was just leaving.” I place the money on the bar, pick up my drink and finish it in one big swallow. I should at least finish it if I have to pay for it. Still nervous as I get to my feet, I hope that I don’t give any indication that my backpack contains the money that I believe was intended for her. Having seen her, I now understand that man’s behavior.

Once outside I take a glance inside, but she isn’t watching me. Good. I waste no time in getting to my car, getting it started and locking the doors. With the backpack in the seat next to me I back out of my parking spot and try not to pull out so fast that my tires squeal, which might attract undesired attention.

I drive around aimlessly for a little while in the hopes that it will help me relax. It works. As my nervousness decreases, though, my curiosity about how much money is in that box increases. Feeling ready to find out, I look around and take note of where I am. There’s a park nearby so I head over there. It should be deserted by now.

_______

I reach my destination, park and nervously survey my surroundings. My hunch that this place would be deserted was correct.

It feels foreign to get a box of money out of my backpack. Setting it on my lap, I remove the lid, take out the money, and count… while looking up about 100 times to make sure there are no random passers-by. Finally done counting, the amount comes to $20,000. Wow. Just… wow. That’s a lot of money. I count again to double check before returning the cash to the box and re-hiding it in my backpack.

So… what now? Just then a cop car drives by. Perfect! They ignore me, but their presence gives me the idea that I can turn in the cash to the police station and be rid of it. I feel better now.

Not knowing where the police station is, I consult my phone’s map app and find that it’s not far from here. I’m about 20 minutes from putting this behind me.

_______

The drive felt like it took an eternity but I finally arrive at the police station. With my backpack in tow, I make my way inside to speak with an officer and hope this won’t take too long.

No one is available to see me right away so I’m asked to wait. That is not what I wanted to hear, but I oblige and take a seat, although I make sure to keep the backpack safe between my back and the back of the chair.

To pass the time I catch up on email, see what my friends have posted on their social media accounts and do some searching among the news headlines to see if the $20,000 could be linked to any of them but nothing seems to fit. Then, just as I am about to start playing my favorite game, someone calls my name. It’s my turn.

_______

I’m not sure how long I was in there, but the deed is finally done. They asked me to go over different parts of the story multiple times until they were finally satisfied that they’d gotten all they could get from me. There was also a mild scolding over my having touched all of the money, but there was no reason to believe a robbery had been committed so they let it go and took my fingerprints so that they would know which ones were mine.

In the end, the money is now in their possession and a weight has been gloriously lifted from my shoulders. As I leave the police station I feel confident that they will figure it out and that my hands are clean. Even so, I send up a silent prayer that the matter will be solved.

It was said that if no one comes to claim it or if nothing happens to link it to any crime, they will contact me in about 90 days and the money will be mine, but I’m not concerned. The man could be hard to find, but that lady would stand out anywhere and should be easy to locate.

It’s now time to go home, get some sleep and put this whole thing behind me.