The Handyman

Any other day I would have been looking up. I would have missed it. Head high Nik says. Head high. Not today though. Not after last night.

Today my head was cast down. There it was, a small black notebook, in the snow beside the trail, brought to my attention by my own misery.

I halted. There was always trash on this trail, only a sliver of forest that the bylaws demanded exist between two housing developments. But this did not look like something that would be casually thrown away. I picked it up - firm paper cover, felt like fabric. Sewn binding, rounded corners. It was made better than it needed to be. It was a keeper.

So why wasn’t it kept? No clues nearby. Back to the little black notebook: paper edges slightly damp from the snow, but the deep cold had preserved it from being soaked. It fanned ever so slightly open from use. Temptation.

I hesitated. It felt so special, like part of another soul. Like peering through the tinted windows of a parked car; an invasion. Reason gave me an out - surely the owner would miss this, how would they be found unless I peered inside?

Inside the mystery deepened. Gibberish. The first four pages, front and back, contained first a line of mixed numbers, letters and symbols. Then a blank line. Then another line of that series of mixed nonsense. Another blank line. And so on for four pages. So, gibberish, double-spaced.

The rest of the pages were empty. Square one. Except those odd symbols and numbers had a familiarity to them. I search the foggy wetware behind my eyes. A memory emerged, just last week on the phone with a customer “help” line trying to find the right burner for an ancient Amana range... Serial numbers, that was it, I had to keep repeating the long serial number to different reps, but no luck. Finally gave up. So our suppers would be half baked. Nik and I had a good laugh.

So, serial numbers. Mental high-five!

Or not...those symbols, @’s, #’s, &’s, various punctuation marks, and so on, ruined everything. You don’t see those in a serial number. My mood darkened.

There had to be something. Each line looked about the same length. I start counting. Sixteen, every line had exactly sixteen characters, although completely random, and no obvious repeats. Not much but a start. I had a foothold, El Capitan loomed but I was off the ground.

That was as far as I got, my pocket buzzed. Text. My wife: check the bank plz internet down. After last night I interpreted an urgent tone to the request. Also no smiley face.

Phone in hand, load app, face ID. Love that face ID... They got that one right at least, I hated having to remember those long passwords... password... password... Of course that was it! The sixteen digits must be some type of password. That I'd seen before, especially if a site automatically generated a password, then you got the letters, numbers, symbols. Thank you brain, nice one.

Again I crash. This time it's because of what appears next on the screen - Quick Balance: Checking $274.87. This morning it was $5274.87. Mind you, that was a pending balance - pending the clearing of the Penfield's check. Did not clear, I conclude.

Breath shallow, chest tight, little panic attack. Not good, not good. Not after last night. We had found out we didn't get the basement reno at Kendrick's, that would have kept us busy with some inside work until the cold weather broke. Maybe next year, they said. Now this, we finally had gotten payment from the Penfield's for a big job completed weeks ago. Proverbial “check in the mail” situation. When we finally got I should have taken it to their bank and cashed it. Nik was right on that. Just seems so...untrusting. Well, duh.

Now I just want to be home, to have the conversation. I already know how it will go, my voice will be high pitched, speech rapid. I will speak in absolutes, finalities. The word failure will come up. Nik will counter with “set-back”. With “we will get through this, we always have”, and a steady gaze, locking my twitching eyes on hers. We will hug it out, my blood pressure will fall to near normal again.

She's my Rock. I teasingly call her Dwayne. She feigns offence but her eyes are bright.

So it unfolded, a rollercoaster of a Tuesday. The little black mystery was forgotten like a passing thought, but such things have an advantage, a physical presence that will resurface.

Wednesday awoke bitter cold, but bright. Late January sun has a promise in it. Should be at Home Depot buying materials, eyeing tool upgrades, checking off a penciled list on the back of an envelope. The envelope that the deposit check would have been in.

Instead we are at the kitchen table with names and numbers of past clients. Crunch time. We needed work fast. Or more precisely, a deposit on work...fast.

The longshots get an email. The more-likely I'll phone. Emails first, to build courage up for the phone calls. I rehearse with Nik. Can't sound desperate. Make it sound like an opportunity for them. “I just had some time open up, and I remember you mentioning you may need (fill in the blank) done... I could possibly fit that in before my next commitment...” That's funny, my next commitment, debtors prison!

This earns me a wordless rebuke from Nik’s eyes. We are not going to think that way. Head high. They are lucky you are available and you should tell them so. She says it like she believes it, and I start to believe it too, enough to start dialing.

Three hours later I had a solid lead...not fantastic but it would keep us going while we kept searching. The appointment was tomorrow so that left the rest of the day for recovery. Some fresh air would do me good, and the drive needed shoveled anyway.

Boots, hat, mitts, coat. A mitted hand into the pocket of a thick coat does not have a very discerning touch, so I did not immediately identify the object nestled inside.

I pulled it out - the small black notebook. Yesterday’s forgotten mystery. Some type of password I believe was where I left off. Computers were involved - not my strong suit. Jason would be the way to go here. Quick text: “little mystery needs solved” - that ought to get him. Immediate response: “bring it on” - that’s my cue.

The driveway could wait. 15 minutes later I was with Jason in his basement office, which looked to me like a mini NASA control room, multiple screens, blinking lights.

I had a hunch: “Something to do with Bitcoin?”

Jason had already assessed the possibility. “Maybe...but the keys are generally much longer and they don’t have any of those symbols in them, just letters and numbers”. The gears were turning, though. He was hooked.

He swiveled to his keyboard. He handed the notebook to me. “Start dictating”. I dictated, he typed. Once he had everything in a text file, his fingers and mouse became a blur. Web sites opened. Copy and paste. “I’m checking for patterns, repeats of any series of characters, anything like that”.

No luck. Then: he tensed, leaned forward, and started deleting the spaces. He ran the magic again. Bingo, a pattern: now exactly every 100 characters there was a dollar sign. A very good sign I thought! Jason again modified the text file, adding a space just before each dollar sign. Now it was re-divided but into much longer sections than the original 16 characters. Still not right. Then he started furiously deleting all the symbols leaving only numbers and letters. He looked triumphant.

I looked confused. Gloating, he explained “now those look like Bitcoin keys”. Quickly he counted the characters in the newly formed series. Excitedly: “Too long for public keys - these are the private keys” I still wasn’t cluing in, so he explained:. “It’s like you found the combination to someone else’s vault. Now you just need to find out if the vault is empty or full.”

Still not getting it. “OK, I’ll put it this way. If they have another copy of these keys, and they know they lost the notebook, they will already have moved anything of value to another vault, which is called a wallet. But if they don’t have a copy, then this is the only key. By importing the key into your wallet - vault - you could get whatever value is there and...it’s completely untraceable.”

Silence, then I responded “Sooo...I could steal it.”

“You could look at it that way, I guess.” He was giving me room.

“Could we see what’s inside the vault without stealing it?” It was killing me, the curiosity. Besides, none of this helped us find who actually owned the notebook.

Jason responded: “Technically, yes, I can import the private key into a wallet, that won’t change the key. Only if I move it will the key change and then it is ours.”

I was starting to get it. ‘Let’s do it”

Jason worked his magic. Ten minutes later there was a figure: 54.03445 Bitcoin. “Doesn’t seem like a lot for all that trouble” I noted. Without saying a word Jason googled: “convert 54.03445 bitcoin to USD”. Google responded: $2,497,818.10.

And that was just one of the keys. Silence again. After a heavy moment: “Should we...?” Jason’s voice trailed off, neither of us wanted to hear it spoken aloud. “No, no, I have to think”.

Suddenly: “Hey I should get back. Supposed to be shoveling the laneway.” Jason smiled. He knew I needed space. I knew I didn’t have to ask him to keep it under his hat.

Back home I just started working. Mindless physical labor helps me process. I fixated on the money, paying off the mortgage, a nest egg, new car, what a difference it would make in our lives.

We were good people. We deserved this! Others amassed millions while we slave. Where is the fairness? I was ranting now, full old-man-front-porch-cane-waving indignation. So intense was my silent sermon I had stopped work and was leaning on the shovel like a pulpit.

Nik came out with a steaming cup. Her lips said “C’mon pal get to work” but her eyes said “You’re a good man”.

Good people. A good man. Were we? Was I?

Another long sigh. Yes. Yes we were. Damn it.

Two days later, an ad in the classifieds - “Lost: small black notebook, sentimental value.”

We met at the local coffee shop. I didn’t recognize him as a local. I asked him to identify what was inside the notebook, just to be sure.

A rehearsed answer: “Oh, I used to sell appliances. It’s just old serial numbers. No value, but my mother gave me that notebook when I first started out.”

Baloney. His eyes had shifted from mine so he missed my incredulous look. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I handed him the notebook which he snatched too quickly.

“I am grateful” he said. “I want you to have this”. He thrust some bills towards my chest. Twenties. I took them. If it made him feel better.

Then he was out the door. I heard a finely tuned exhaust dissolve into the past.

On the walk home, I took off my hat and let the sun warm my forehead. I angled my face up to absorb the rays. Against my will my mood improved. Close to home, I stumbled on a heave in the sidewalk. Caught myself though. I stopped and turned around, looking at the hazard. Must be careful when walking with your head high. Later would I find, between the twenties, made out to cash, a bank draft for $20,000.