A Once-in-a-Lifetime Opportunity

I.

At some point it wasn’t clear whether my eyesight had begun to blur or the writing had become illegible. I squinted, pulled my glasses low on my nose, squinted harder, and pushed them back up. A bead of sweat dripped off the tip of my chin onto the page, obfuscating it further.

I can’t say exactly how long I’d been out there. The moon was almost full overhead. It must have been well past midnight but it was still hot as hell. The crickets and frogs were deafening and ants crawled onto my legs where I sat under the tree not far from the side of the road. About a football field away was a singular street lamp whose yellow-y light was obscured by a cloud of mosquitoes, hovering. The power-line buzzed above me. Some heat lightning flashed through the heavy cloud cover; no thunder followed.

I closed the notebook and looked down at it on my lap. It didn’t lend many clues. Black moleskine, clean, almost new-looking. The pages, filled with careful, detailed writing, seemed almost innocuous until they didn’t. Here and there a broken heart, a bad date, a new friend, and bad day at work, and then without warning a cold-blooded murder.

I got up from the grass and brushed myself off. Damp ass, bug-bitten, stinking after a long night working in the kitchen. I thought about dropping it there under the three by the side of the road where I’d found it. Clutching it, white-knuckled, I began to walk toward home. I was going to have to sleep on it.

But when I got to the house I couldn’t go in. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to bring it inside. So I sat on the stoop and opened the notebook back up to the first page again. “Reward: $20,000.” No name, no address, just a phone number and down at the bottom: “No Cops. Cash.”

I rubbed my face and my eyes until I could see psychedelic patterns on the inside of my eyelids. For a moment I forgot where I was. The sun was coming up and there was a decision to be made: call the number or call the cops.

For the first time I allowed my mind to wander toward the possibilities. I could just leave. No one would know except me and the owner of the notebook. Nobody would look for me. The restaurant probably wouldn't even bother to call more than once. So I called.

II.

The next couple of days it rained constantly. I hardly got out of bed. I almost talked myself into backing out, but I couldn’t have, really. I was picturing a big house on the beach. Every once in a while I’d hear a siren or even just a car driving by and I’d look over to the top dresser drawer where the black notebook was hidden under socks and underwear.

Three days later we made the exchange. It was the middle of the day on a Saturday, muggy. And it was exactly $20k in cash, like he’d said. I didn’t really know what to do. I took the bag up to my room and zipped it open. I laid it all out and counted it. I heard a car go by and leaned over to the side of my bed by the window and peered out. It was a grey dodge, all rusted out on the bottom, driving slow with the window rolled down. I watched it until it was out of sight. Then I craned my head to look down the road the other way. I could see the streetlight down the block, and way down past it was the tree.

III.

I rent this place, it’s kind of a shithole. It’s alright. It has central air. The TV is mine. I’ve been here for seven years. I work as a line cook in the restaurant up the block. It’s not a bad place. Nobody knows. You’re the first ones I’m telling. The money’s been gone for a long time. For a while I didn’t work but I had nothing to do and I didn’t know anybody. I’d mess around on the keno machines and drink at the bar down at the station. I met a couple of guys but they all turned out to be dicks. This one guy stole money from me. He took a thousand bucks and I never saw him again. I did get my eyes fixed though; I have perfect vision now, so that’s good.

I think about it sometimes, how he described it in the moleskine. It was pretty sick. Sometimes I was sure it must have been an accident. I thought maybe he was exaggerating it in the notebook, but that it had actually been a mistake. Then I heard about it on the news, so I guess I was kidding myself. It used to be hard to sleep in the beginning, but not anymore.

I had a friend at the restaurant that was going to drive me home from work that night. But she got off early and ditched to go get drunk with one of the bartenders so I just walked my ass home. At this point it doesn’t really matter, it’s the same shit no matter what. All I did was sell my soul for the same old shit. Sometimes I think if it hadn’t been so bright out that night I wouldn’t have seen it, but it doesn’t matter.

IV.

Here’s the number. I don’t know if it’ll help you. I’m sure it was a burner anyway. I never saw him, I don’t know how else to help, but I can show you where the tree was. Yeah I know. You can read me my rights, I’m ready to go.