The Black Spot

“We gon’ fishin’ today?” a voiced cracked.

Another man didn’t say anything as they both watched each other in the dark.

“I heard that belly talkin’ last night and it sounds like mine” he said as he weakly pushed himself against the wall and stood up.

“But I ain’t waiting round for any more rats. I’m gon’ fishin’ and that’s it!” he said as he walked towards the back of the alley behind a dumpster. He was an old man, all bones, tall and long. In the shadows of the alley, he looked like a skeleton moving under a dark brown coat. From his fringed pocket he pulled out what used to be a white fishing line that was now black and began to straighten it out by tugging it in each direction. He pulled it hard a few times to make sure it wouldn’t break, and when he felt happy, he began to tie a loop.

Eventually the other man got up and began hobbling to the back of the alley. He was much broader and younger. He had the air of youth about him and bottle of liquor in his coat that he swished at. He took a drink and then breathed out the hot air and spoke.

“Let’s get on with it then.”

The younger man slowly dug through an old pillowcase they used to store everything they owned.

“What’dya thinkin, we usin the watch?” The old man said.

“Sold it.”

“The wallet?” he asked again.

“Burned it to cook the rat.”

“The nudie mag?”

“Got ruined in the rain.”

For a few more minutes they sat in silence before the old man broke it again.

“The book?” he smiled. The words seemed to linger around in the air as if they had more weight than his other suggestions.

“What book?” responded the young man quickly without even looking up as he continued to rummage through their dirty bag.

The old man let out a loud rumbling laugh that echoed in between the buildings as he leaned over and put his hand on the young man's shoulder.

“The little black book” he said with a smile.

The young man turned around and pushed him off his shoulder nearly knocking the old man over. “Back up!” he cried.

“Black Book? I never heard of it! Now, I got a yellow book... that was the one we used to catch that pretty girl in the Daisy dress...you remember that! And I got a blue book...that was the one we used to get the stupid Sailor! But a black book, I ain’t ever had no black book in this Alley!” as he stayed hunched over headfirst in the bag, like a bird with its head in the sand.

The bony face man took a few steps back and from behind him, he pulled his fishing string tight. He spread open his arms and lifted them just high enough to slip the string over the young man's neck as he continued to look through their bag. By chance, two sewer Rats began fighting and a high piercing screech came from under the dumpster. The old man dropped his arms and jammed the string back into his pocket.

“Alright, let's try the yellow book then!” he said reenergized and with great spirit as if he couldn’t be happier. “Hand it over and I'll tie er’ up, and we’ll head down to the street and see if we can get a nibble.”

The old man had dared the young one to try and grab somebody. The young man responded by punching him so hard it caused him to crumble. “I’d eat you! But your barley got any more meat on your bones then the rats!” the young man said.

Eventually, it was the old man who came up with the idea of trying to fish someone in. Their bag was full of things that no longer had value to abandoned men like them. Watches, wallets, phones, any one of these things they knew a city slicker would grab and so it was with these items they would fish.

“Giver a good toss this time” said the bony man and from the shadows of the alley the yellow book came soaring out into the crowd of busy pedestrians. “Nice throw kid” said the old man and they sat behind two metal trash cans as their four glowing eyes waited for someone to take notice of their bait.

Morning passed, then lunch, and finally the sun began to move down, and the yellow book still sat there untouched. “I tell you what sonny, I may be old, but even I know, no one has a need for one of them ‘yellow-books’ anymore! Even we got cell phones!” he laughed as he slowly pushed himself up and turned deeper into the alley. The young man waited for a few more hours before he pulled the yellow book in by the string and went to sleep hungry.

That night, both of their stomachs grumbled worse than ever before. It was as if the hunger that ate at their stomachs- ate at their minds and all night long they tossed and turned. The young man who woke in a cold sweat had seen the eyes of the old man watching him from across the dark alley. Quickly once he seen he was awake the old man closed his eyes and pretended he was asleep.

“I see you staring at me you old creep! You get any ideas and I'll smash your head in! You hear me!” he cried in the dark. Quietly they both laid their head back down as they listened to the thunder of their guts.

The next morning the old man woke to see the little black book on the crumbled-up newspaper he slept with. The fishing string already tied to it. The old man looked up and could see the shadowy silhouette of the young man standing over him.

“We going fishing today?” said the young man.

Ten minutes later the old and young men were at the end of their alley, at the black spot, the black fishing hole and he tossed the little black book out only a few feet from the entrance of the alley. The rising sun shined on their four eyes as they watched the drowsy crowd stumble to their jobs.

“Funny innit?” said the old man.

“What’s that?”

“That they wouldn’t grab a yellow book with names they knew, but they would grab a little black book, with seemingly names and numbers they don’t know.” And at that moment an unfortunate man dressed in a black business suit who hadn’t had his morning coffee, noticed the little black book laying there on the ground. It was only a few feet from the alley and as he walked over towards it, the old man slowly wrapped the fishing string around his bony finger and began to reel the book in. Slowly the businessman who was half asleep bended over to grab it and each time, the book moved just enough to be out of his reach. It only had to happen a few times to move him a few feet in the shade of the alley, when finally, the man in the suit reached over and had it in his hands. When he stood back up, there was the old man looking him in the eyes licking his teeth. Without a second to turn, the businessman felt the string around his next and slowly he left this world at the hands of two hungry savages.

They dragged his body to the back of the alley behind the dumpster and cleaned the body like they did with all their other catches. The old man first started off by going through his pockets and taking off his shoes. Once again, they had a new watch, a new wallet. New clothes and enough food to last them for a month.

“I usually like catching the ladies, but I needed a new coat!” laughed the young man.

“I told you we needed to use the little black book” smiled the old man.

“I know, I know.” said the young man, almost ashamed for having punched him for saying it before. “It’s just that last time we used the black book, well you know what happened. It's bad luck.” And at that moment, as the old man continued to clean the businessman, he found a checkbook in his coat pocket, full of blank checks.

“What’s that?” said the young man as he grabbed his wrist and began to laugh. “More things we can’t use?” The old man laughed with him and continued to throw everything they found into their bag. “Woulda been a good time to have a bank account” said the young man with a heavy heart.

That night the young man got drunk on whatever liquor he had, and his belly was fuller than it had been in years. All night long the old man drank with him, served him up, and made sure they ate well. He may have slept all night and day when he was awoken by a familiar sound. A grumbling stomach. Not his, but the old mans.

He must have not eaten thought the young man and with one eye half open he seen the old man coming from the back of the alley. When he got over to his newspaper, he laid back down and pretended he were sleeping.

The next morning the old man got up unusually early. He seen that the young man was sleeping, must have been hung over too, he thought. Slowly he stepped off his newspaper and began to make his way towards the light of the street. Passed the sidewalk trash cans and passed the sleepy drunk, he made his way out of the dark alley.

It was his second step into the light when he felt the fishing line wrap around his bony neck and quickly reel him back into the dark. The fishing line tighten around his neck as he was dragged deeper and deeper into the alley, all the way behind the dumpster.

As the young man cleaned his body, like he did all his catches, there he found the businessman's checkbook, the book they had found the day before. He opened it and slowly began to flip through each check. One by one he went through all of them. Each one was signed, front and back.

The name, Benbow. BENBOW, BENBOW, over and over, on each check front and back, the old man had signed every single one. Each check was signed differently, but all with a 2 and a random number of zeros behind it.

One was twenty dollars, and another was twenty thousand dollars. One check had two hundred dollars, and another had two hundred thousand dollars. The young man thought for some time if the old man really had a name or even a bank account. When he went through his pockets he smiled when he saw a fresh new coil of fishing line. He put the little black book and the check book back in his bag and went and sat by himself now in the dark.

“I told him it was bad luck” he mumbled to a rat as it scattered by.