By William Thomas Sherman
It was late summer for Durcy and so far high school vacation had been spent lying out on the lake with friends or sunning at local beaches or playing guitars with Graham. Now only a week was left before freedom would be all over. Today it was raining and he sat in his room reflecting on what a good time they’d had. Certainly it had gone by unusually fast, unlike many previous summers. Unfortunately that was now a problem since there was only a singe week now to do anything. That last week therefore must be utilized to the utter ecstasy that could be squeezed out of it. From somewhere in his mind popped an idea: a trip to the mountains in Graham’s beat up Volkswagen bus; adventure on the road, fresh green hills with lots of dirt, maybe even girls.
He sprang up from his bed to
give Graham a call.
“What’s up,” said Graham
answering.
“Not much, except I’ve got
an idea. There’s only a week left before school starts, so what do think about
taking your bus and going up to the mountains.”
“Sounds great! I heard that
Davis’ been gone the past few days and is going off to college real soon.”
Scooter Davis, a not
altogether peaceable or charitable person, was a pot dealer Graham was in debt
60 dollars to, and much of the last couple of weeks had been spent evading him.
Now Davis consequently had only a few days to get the money from him before he
was gong off to college, and after that he would be gone a good thee to four
months, giving Graham plenty of time to catch his breath while he was away.
“We’ll need some money,”
Graham suggested.
“Well, I have some money.
You owe me 20 bucks.”
Graham knew he was caught.
“I can get you money and
some money for this trip. But you have to do me a favor. Here’s the deal
There’s this old jewelry of my grandmother’s which I found in this little box
sitting tucked away in the attic, and I’m sure they’re at least worth a hundred
dollars for the gold in them. All we have to do is go down to the pawnshop and
you sign for me as being over twenty one.”
Durcy somewhat reluctantly agreed.
“When did you think of
leaving,” asked Graham?
“How about tomorrow,” said
Durcy?
“O.K. so we’d better go to
the pawnshop now then.”
“Yeah, I will have to go the
bank to to get the rest of my money.”
“Ok,” said Graham, “I’ll be
down there in ten minutes.’
Having removed the jewelry
from “the attic,” Graham went outside to his red Volkswagen bus parked outside
the house. Although little was of greater value to Graham than his bus it had
one major flaw, namely it needed be either jumped or rolled off some sort of
incline to get the ignition going. Sometimes it had been started by being
pushed till it reached up to 10 mph necessary to get it running. Even so the
bus was his pride and joy, a symbol of his freedom and independence, paid for
all by himself. Almost. Actually he’d gone through a lot of crazy schemes to
get money, like selling his tape deck or an antique Persian rug, which like the
jewels wasn’t really his to sell, though granted no one at home really noticed
their absence. He’d tried jobs but not being terribly responsible, they usually
didn’t last a week. At work he was a good worker. As well, he was good natured
and got along with people. But he had the unfortunate tendency to not show up
if he didn’t feel like it. He invariably meant what he promised. But his
sometimes careless and lackadaisical nature, not so much dishonesty, prevented
him always going by what he’d said.
As the bus came into the
driveway of Durcy’s home, Durcy jumped in.
“Let’s go to my bank first”
“OK,” said Graham.
They then drove into town.
After making the stop at Durcy’s bank, they drove over to a small shopping
plaza, and after parking the bus went into a shop which had a painted sign which read “Loans and Guns.”
The rather overweight,
middle aged woman behind the counter looked over the little trinkets of gold,
chains, bracelets, charms and odd items in the box Graham laid before her. The
stuff looked like brass to Durcy, but he knew he was no judge to tell. Graham
was giving the lady some story about the jewelry, and making her clearly
understand there was gold in those pieces she was handling.
“It says fourteen karat on
there somewhere,” he said.
The woman weighed it in her
hand as if it were a scale.
“Yeah, there’s definitely
some gold you go there,” she was saying. “But you see I can’t tell how much. I
don’t have the testing equipment.”
Durcy thought she seemed
sincerely helpful.
“You might try some of the
shops in Seattle. They could probably give you a correct estimate. But I
couldn’t.”
Graham picked up the jewels
fumbling. “O.K. I’ll guess we’ll try downtown.”
Leaving the pawnshop, the
two got in bus which started with a blasting cough as it rolled own the hill,
from where it had been parked. Graham said he knew a place in Seattle, but
Durcy said he didn’t want to go all the way into Seattle. So the former said
he’d go by himself, it being understood that it would be easier for Graham to
sell jewels in Seattle, since he could fake being over twenty-one there.
After dropping Durcy off at
his home, Graham with audacious aplomb left suburbia and rolled in the
direction of the freeway. In the matter of some minutes he soon found himself
in the city maze, with all its various and unusual lights and sounds, colors
and people.
Past that clock tower he
knew of the shop he could try. As he arrived on the street he had in mind,
across from the pawnshop was an open parking space. Not only was it located at
the top of an incline, but it was free. He went round the block, so as to bring
himself in at a proper angle, and subsequently turn off his bus there.
The shop was filled with
numerous and sundry odds and ends: typewriters, watches, knives, boots, guns,
VCRs, toasters – to name some of them. The place was a store house of a million
pieces of junk, but their sheer number gave the place an air of a meticulous
collection of pieces put together after much time and consideration.
An old man with hairy arms
was at the counter selling a harmonica to some kid, when Graham walked in,
bells ringing at the door as he did so. The boy with the just purchased
harmonica went out, and once more the bells on the door.
“What can I do for you,” the
old man asked.
“I wonder if you could check
this old jewelry of my grandmother’s.”
The man opened the box
Graham laid before him, taking out the different jewelry bracelets, rings and
broaches.
After browsing them over
piece by piece, he stopped and asked “where’d you get these son?”
“They’re old jewels my
grandmother gave me to sell to get money to pay off my car.”
The old man stepped back.
“Excuse me a moment will you,” he said to
Graham, and then walked into a nearby back room where he apparently spoke a few
words with someone there. He then returned and once more started looking over
the pieces more closely.
The bells on the door rang
again, and in a few seconds a serious looking, middle age man in a casual dress
suit was standing next to Graham.
“Can you verify that is your
jewelry,” the man suddenly asked?
Graham didn’t know what to
make of the question or the man.
“I’m detective Silverman of
the SPD. Would you come with me please?’
Graham felt like someone
slapped on the head, and tried without success to think of something to say.
The detective pulled out his badge for him and led Graham outside to his car.
The man behind the counter stood back quietly and watched them leave with the
bells on the door ringing as they did so.
Hours had past since Graham
dropped him off, and Durcy was itching to know what had become of him. He knew
Graham couldn’t be depended on, and meanwhile had been planning and arranging
his things for the trip. At this time, but for Graham, he was pretty well set
to go.
But where was Graham?
Durcy sister shouted from downstairs
there was a phone call for him. He came from his room to go take it.
“Hello,” Durcy began.
“It’s me.”
“Where have you been? It’s almost seven
o’clock.”
“Well I can’t get into it all right now,
but I’m in the King County Jail.”
Durcy sighed.
“Do you think,” Graham
asked, “you could get a hundred dollars for my bail. I could pay you back for
sure on this one -- obviously.”
“I haven’t got that much
money.”
“Ok, well I’ve got to get off
now. I’ll probably call you back in a little bit.”
“Ok,”
said Durcy and hung up.
“So much for our great
escape to the mountains,” he thought.
As he did so, Durcy happened
to notice today’s paper. One of headlines read:
“$100,000 in Jewels Taken in
Robbery”
“An unidentified youth broke
into the Monarch Brothers jewelry store robbing it at gun point, making off
with an $ 00,000 in gems and other jewelry…
“The thief Mr. Simmons said
drove away in a red Volkswagen bus. The youth was described as in his late
teens, blond hair…”
The description could fit
Graham, Durcy considered, except Graham had brown hair. He wouldn’t be so
stupid as to do something like that, would he?
The officer at the desk had
told Graham they didn’t have any evidence of his being the youth involved in
the Monarch hold up. But his speeding tickets amounted to a hundred dollars,
and which hadn’t been paid. Graham now sat in his small detention cell trying
to think of how he could come up with the necessary bail. Suddenly he saw through
the glass doors he saw Max, a cop from his hometown whom he knew in a friendly
way, coming in. Somebody must have got word to Max about his being in jail.
Perhaps he’d come to help smooth things over since Graham, after all, was not
the one responsible for the Monarch Brothers robbery.
An officer came into
Graham’s cell ten minutes later telling him his bail was now up to 175.00, Max
having brought in additional tickets Graham owed for.
“A------,” said Graham to
himself as he rubbed his chin.
The police had contacted his parents, as
Graham having told them he’d taken the jewelry from home. Not long after this,
his mother found out the antique Persian rug was missing.
Graham observed the trouble
growing around him with same casual heedlessness as he did almost everything.
His parents said they wouldn’t pay his fine unless he agreed to sell his pride
and joy. He needed time to think about it, and decided to spend some time in
the Jail.
The same officer who’d told
Graham about the extra fines was leading him down the hall to the main jail
cells. Graham was not much afraid of what type of characters he’d face, all
sorts of criminals, no doubt. But he was street smart and could handle himself
just fine. Another policeman, a big, tall black guy, unlocked the cell.
“Well,” Graham thought, “at
least I’ll be away from money hassles and dealings of home.”
Just then, Scooter Davis,
sitting in the cell looked up to see the new arrival.