The Doughboy

The pungent odor of urine found a way to breach the barrier of dried blood in Nathan’s nose. His head was throbbing and a man in the next cell over was ranting nonstop in Russian. The icepack he received for his swollen lip was lukewarm and he was trying to use it as a pillow, unsuccessfully. There was no way he was getting any rest in this dump. Where the hell was his mother?

“Hey!” he yelled, for any officer in the vicinity. “I can’t stay in a cell! I’ve got a disability!”

No officer responded to his statement but another prisoner laughed.

“It’s not funny!” yelled Nathan, now to this unseen stranger. “Anxiety is a legitimate disability!”

“Whatever you say there, Doughboy!” said the laughing voice.

Doughboy? Nathan was outraged. Who was he to call him ‘Doughboy’? And why did so many people call him that?

“You’re a big tough guy all the way over there, aren’t you?” Nathan yelled. “I ought to…”

“Now, now,” said one of the officers. Nathan heard the rattling of keys and the clank of an iron door opening. “You’re free to go, Slim.”

“Enjoy your stay, Doughboy!” yelled the laughing voice.

During this entire exchange, the Russian man hadn’t stopped talking loudly to himself. Nathan couldn’t take all this abuse. His blood pressure must have been sky-high. He needed his pills.

“Why don’t you SHUT THE FUCK UP!” yelled Nathan. “And how about learning to speak American!”

“Calm down there, Slushie!” yelled the officer. “It doesn’t look like Mom is coming to get you any time soon.”

Nathan was furious. Where was his mother?

A week earlier, Nathan was doing what he often did to earn a few extra dollars; he stole packages and sold their contents online. His more lucrative days involved following residents into big buildings in high-end neighborhoods and finding ways to make off with the packages left in the mailroom.

There were several dependable locations that he rotated. Most of them had laundry rooms near their mailrooms so he could pretend to do laundry and fill up a large laundry bag with parcels.

On that day, he did the usual routine, taking a few packages, one by one into his laundry bag. A man interrupted him to retrieve his own mail, so Nathan went up a flight on the adjacent stairs, pretending to return to his apartment. As he was going up, he noticed other packages, left by apartment doors. He took them as well. It was going to be a bonanza of a day.

Nathan visited several addresses and loaded up the trunk of the old car his mom had given him. When he returned home, he let the packages sit while he went online to his chat rooms and message boards. He was fired up about something he’d seen on his phone and wanted a real keyboard in order to respond to it. He scratched his ample belly which protruded from his stained t-shirt and unleashed his opinions. It was a long evening of clicking and typing.

The next morning, he had almost forgotten about his package haul. He went outside to bring them into the apartment he lived in. It was technically his mom’s basement, but his mother spent most of her time at her boyfriend’s home a few towns over.

Disappointment set in as Nathan began to open the many boxes he had pilfered. Several items were personalized and there were other items that would also be difficult to find a market for. Nathan cursed the wasted day.

But there was another package. It had no address on it, not even a name. The parcel was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. When he removed the string and the paper, he found the box to be nondescript also.

Inside the box was a cell phone wrapped in wires connected to a small electronic box. There was also a gas mask and iodine tablets. Thanks to the militia websites Nathan liked to log into, he knew exactly what this box represented: someone was planning a terrorist attack!

Nathan’s first thought was to go to the police. But how would he explain how he came into possession of the package? Technically it wasn’t “mail”, there was no address, no name. But he couldn’t dream up any scenario that made him seem like an innocent party. He was torn.

Perhaps he could thwart the plan himself! The only problem was, he could not remember where he had stolen the box from. He decided to retrace his steps to help him remember. Maybe he could also pick up a few packages with items worth selling, while he was at it.

One building, in particular, seemed to harbor a large number of foreigners. (They looked like foreigners anyway.) Nathan was sure this must be the place. He let himself in and pretended to do laundry. He stayed in the building longer than he had the previous day, so he could study the residents as they came and went. He had a good feeling for suspicious characters, he would know.

He stole a package or two and then took a walk upstairs to see about any boxes left at the individual apartment doors. He found a few, including another with no name and no address wrapped up exactly like the other. Nathan knew he had good instincts. He would have been a great fit for the CIA. It’s too bad they didn’t see it that way.

Since he was already having a good morning, he took a short ride over to another one of his dependable package locations. He also went up to the floors there and grabbed a box or two. It stood to reason that the more expensive items probably made the longer journey upstairs. He was surprised to find another box, similar to the one at the other building. It was wrapped in brown paper, tied with a string, and had nothing written on it.

Nathan couldn’t believe his amazing intuition! Not only had he uncovered a terrorist plot, but he had also gotten a line on the network! The NSA would surely be seeking him out now. Maybe they should have given his application more consideration, back in the day. Nathan would have the last laugh now. He would only be entertaining opportunities in high-salaried, private company consulting from here on out.

As he loaded up his car, Nathan failed to see the man watching him. The person, wearing dark clothing and with most of his face hidden under his zipped-up hoodie, radioed someone else. It seemed Nathan’s espionage skills were somewhat lacking.

A day later the police were knocking at Nathan’s door, having received a ‘tip’ about terrorist activity. Nathan answered the door holding his blue slushie drink, earning him the moniker, ‘Slushie’. It was better than Doughboy, he had to admit.

The police violated his rights by entering his home without a warrant. He had, however, invited them in to tell them about the packages he uncovered. He thought they’d appreciate the groundwork he was laying for their investigation of an impending threat. But Nathan never told them they could go through his stuff.

Nathan had neglected to get rid of the boxes and the police arrested him for mail theft, trespassing, possession of stolen property, and a variety of other trumped-up charges. They also implied that he was under suspicion for the terrorism contraband! He was outraged, they didn’t even listen to him! Well, they would have to listen to the lawyer his mother got him if only she’d answer the phone.

Now he was sitting in a filthy jail cell with a fat lip, listening to a ranting Russian guy in the next cell over and being called names by unknown strangers.

“Can I call my mom again?” asked Nathan, to anyone who would answer him.

“We’ll call her for you,” came the reply.

A few hours later, too many hours later, honestly, Nathan was released and found his mother and her boyfriend standing in the waiting area of the stationhouse.

“What happened to your face?” his mother asked.

“That’s what you’re worried about? My lip? My nose?” Nathan was very angry. “I hit it getting into the police car. They manhandled me! I never should have been arrested! They think I’m a terrorist! Me!”

“Calm down, Nathan,” said Doug, his mother’s boyfriend. “No one thinks you’re a terrorist. There was nothing incriminating in any of the boxes. Theft of mail, however…”

“Not terrorism?” yelled Nathan. “I discovered a network! They had detonators and iodine…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said his mother. The look of embarrassment on her face was very evident.

“Nathan, it was just an old cell phone with some wires," said Doug. "It wasn’t even charged. Those tablets labeled ‘iodine’ were antacids. The gas mask was from a Halloween costume. Where did you find all this stuff?”

“Nathan,” said his mother in an exasperated voice. “You’re 35 years old. You need to grow up and start taking responsibility. Really, I know I let this go on too long, I guess I have to accept some of the blame here but I just can’t keep doing this.”

“No, Vera,” said Doug. “You’re just a concerned parent.” He turned to Nathan and shook his head.

“I know I uncovered a plot!” said Nathan. “It has to be! Why would they send out all these things to random people?”

“Maybe they’re sick of you stealing their packages,” offered a random police officer walking by.

Nathan thought about it. Had he really been tricked? No, of course not, he’d been careful. Maybe, though.

“Those buildings have cameras everywhere,” offered Doug.

Nathan shook his head. Surveillance was destroying America. It was like that book about the future, where the government keeps watch on its citizens. He would need to discuss this with his online friends.

He was dropped off at home with a court date and a number for a public defender. His mother refused to pay for a real lawyer. Nathan, feeling defeat, didn’t argue then and there but he would later.

The man in the dark hoodie watched from a car across the street as Nathan walked to his door. He radioed his contact with a smile. The plan was a go. The lucky patsy they had stumbled upon was working out well. They would keep their eye on him in the meantime.