Whew. It’s been a looooong and not always pleasant couple of weeks– which had nothing to do with this little project. Anyhoo, hope the last entry was a nice stopgap, diverson, whatever it was. It’ll be back, and shortly, in a much modified form. I’ll save any further blabber for the end of this.
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Once Will crossed the railroad tracks, he entered Venlo at an idle. The town was in full Spring mode. The trees were leafed fully, the flower baskets hung from the lampposts, the fountain was flowing. As it had been for three generations, and as it would be for generations to come. A quiet representation of hometown pride combined with solid values passed on and adhered to in small town America. It was a sight Will hadn’t seen in over twenty years, and he didn’t give a shit. The gnawing in his abdomen had something to do with it, he told himself, but the events of the last twenty-four-hours was the more likely culprit. He parked at the café right in front of the windows.
Inviting stares, speculation, idle chatter and—he hoped at the very least—suspicion and –even better—consternation, he took a rag from his glovebox before exiting the cab. As his feet hit the street, he kept his fatuous sunglasses aimed at the windows. After snapping the rag in the air a few times, he stopped at the fender, leaned in, blew a heavy breath on the paint, and made several circular wipes with the rag. After another snap, he tucked it into his back pocket. Before he proceeded into the diner, he raised his shades and checked his reflection in the fender.
Will entered with a jaunty swagger and took a seat at the counter, square in the middle. The obvious lack of attention he was getting as he took his seat assured him it was a satisfactory performance. When the coffee cup was placed in front of him, he was once again face-to-face with Wendy.
“Long time, no see,” she said. As she filled the cup, she added. “Did you win the lottery, or just get released from the looney bin?” The smile she offered wasn’t one that could be interpreted as enjoyment of a shared joke. “Or are you just happy you’ve got dry feet?”
Will couldn’t conjure a response.
“’Number one’, again?”
Will just nodded. The rag in his back pocket felt like a lump of coal.
“Over easy, bacon, pumpernickel?”
Will uttered a barely audible, “Yes, please.” He then went to work at pretending there was something fascinating about his coffee.
Will fended off his creeping embarrassment by ploughing through his meal. He assented to every coffee refill with a thumbs up, but otherwise kept his fork moving and his jaws chewing. Finishing, he tucked at ten under the edge of the plate, and escaped with a wave and a trot to his vehicle. He drove around the block, and parked after crossing Main Street in the lot behind the bank.
Parked, and well out of sight from the diner, Will sat behind the steering wheel. The bank wouldn’t be open for a good half hour. There was no goof-balling his way out of anything in this place. There was no flying under the radar, either. Old habits, as reliable as they may have been, were nothing to fall back on. Not here. He sat, looking through the windshield into the backyards abutting the end of the parking lot. Seen once, then out of sight for two months, and his feet were still wet. Hollywood had it all wrong. Disappearing in a small town in fly-over country was always a bad plan. Going unnoticed was a choice made by other people. Trying to behave in a manner that would discourage attention was a surefire way of getting it. He took another quick glance at his watch. His choice, now, was to be the weirdo who sits in parking lots, the oddball that drives aimlessly around, or the creepy fellow who wanders through town. He sighed and looked in the direction of the park. This wasn’t the day to be the strange guy who hangs around on the bench. He sighed again before opening the door. Creepy fellow it would be. A walk might just clear his head.
Will wandered away from the truck, heading toward the east side of town, avoiding crossing Main Street and the diner. He slowed his pace when he hit the cross street and turned north. A curious thought crossed his mind: as many times he’d been in this town, he’d never actually strolled through it. The extent of his visits had been limited exclusively to Blom’s and Main Street. His grandparents had not been social animals. By the time Will was around, they were the only Rijsbergen’s left in the county. The others, grandaunts and uncles, had moved on to other parts of the country, Oregon or California. Their departures had also exponentially reduced the power and influence of the name as well. Will’s mother was their only child, and the last Rijsbergen born in Limburg County, which effectively ended the name and the legacy as well. The thought grew sour. She had left as well, but had managed to stay perched on her rocker until she was out of the childhood home. Or so he’d been allowed to believe… and now that thought took over. Jesus Christ…
Will stopped walking and found himself standing in front of a beautifully painted and immaculately preserved Queen Anne. Ken Maartens? popped into his skull, immediately joined by and what’s hiding in your closets? “Or attic…” Will turned back toward the bank. If the doors were still locked when he got there, he couldn’t see how he’d be perceived as any more odd or “different” than he probably already was if he waited out the minutes before it opened by curling up in the entryway.
Will didn’t have to wait at the doors long. His dash in, dash out plan was foiled once inside, of course. He’d just come in to get his new checkbook, but he wasn’t allowed to depart with just that. The manager had some information for him. Will didn’t set foot outside until he had a new stack of paperwork and knowledge of his latest balance. Will didn’t commit the new figure to memory, but his stint at the casino had been well covered, apparently by the stock market and, with some very rough mental math, he could have have built a second house of similar dimensions and material to have cut into what he’d already had in the bank.
There had been other “business” discussed, but Will’s brain couldn’t keep up with the banker’s spiel. Other accounts had been added at the bank, over and above his personal savings and checking. These accounts were apparently those that his father’s accountant had told him it would take an act of God to access. Nevertheless, they were still his and his alone. However—and also apparently– he’d signed at least a modicum of supervision and even a smaller degree of control of these accounts to the First Farmer’s Bank of Venlo. All he could remember doing was handing over a packet provided by his father’s accountant to the manager of the Venlo bank. That accountant had recommended he read over this wad of information. Will had been assured him it was all very simple, that the portfolio was still being managed by his firm—unless Will had other plans. Will hadn’t, not at that moment, anyway. However, the accountant went on, if Will had no objections to a small fee, a local bank of his choosing could be involved. The would serve as his primary contact and be immediately available to Will should such an occasion arise that compelled Will to drop everything and go have a look at his money—which was pretty much the way Will had interpreted it. That paperwork hadn’t come out of the envelope between the office in Minneapolis and the first visit he’d made to First Farmer’s of Venlo. Once on the manager’s desk, he’d signed everything provided by his father’s—and now presumably his, as he’d decided to not make any changes – money manager, comfortably assured he was making the right decision by not having to make any decision at all. In his absence all of his account information and a good portion of its liquid worth had found its way into the boonies.
After welcoming him in, the manager had personally presented Will with his new checkbook, sheathed in a new leather wallet– “Our gift for doing business with us!”—a copy of his latest statement, offered a cup of coffee and then he was led into the manager’s office.
Will allowed himself to be steered in. He was clutching his new checkbook and trying to balance his coffee in one hand and preoccupied with the statement in his other. It wasn’t the numbers he was looking at that dropped him into a fog of passive pre-occupation. He saw them well enough, but they didn’t represent anything Will could translate into dollars and cents. Tahiti, he thought. Why dump money into a wreck filled with wretched memories? Barbados. Some puny island. A place surrounded by nothing but seawater and coral, ground not even a coconut could stab a root into… Let some fucker sneak a corn crop outa that . . .
“Mister Holliday?”
Will was jolted out of sea air and back into a stuffy, Midwestern office. He looked at the manager and blinked.
“I’m sorry, Mister Holliday. I’m probably boring you with banker’s chatter. I just wanted to assure you that I’m familiar with the firm you’ve put in charge of your estate. While we by no means can boast the same degree of reputation, I can promise you we work just as hard here, and we’re eager to prove it to you.”
“Sure,” answered Will. He nodded dumbly, then found his voice again. “You don’t have to throw a sales pitch my way. I had all the faith in the world in you before I ever stepped through the door.” That triggered a smile from the manager. Will had hoped to bolster it by adding, “From everything I’d ever heard from my grandmother, I knew my assets were in great hands.” Will, despite his dull witted state, couldn’t miss the tightening at the edges of the smile, or the fleeting, downward glance. The manager managed to push a quick “Thank you” through what had now threatened to turn into a grimace.
Rather than attempt to figure this new twist, Will took it as a great cue for his departure. “I’ll be seein’ you,” he said, practically leaping to his feet. “Been a great pleasure and keep up the great work. I’ll be seeing you.” He pushed the checkbook into his back pocket and took up his statement and slipped his papers into his latest manila envelope. He made for the door without waiting for the manager to get it for him.
The man had recovered from whatever bomb Will had dropped on him enough to get out of his chair and circle the desk. He caught the doorknob before Will could grab it. “Allow me…”
Will pushed through the door before the man could fully open it. “We’ll have to get together soon,” he heard behind him. He could hear the heals clicking behind him has he strode to the main door. “Go over some of the finer details…”
“I’ll get back to you in a day or so. Have a lot going on today,” Will answered over his shoulder. He wanted out of town. Pay Blom, find out what he could about the goings on in the west field, and spend the rest of the day fretting over when Maartens was going to make it possible for him to pee indoors.
The clicking caught up to him as Will pulled the big brass main door open. The manager was right in step with him as Will walked into sunshine. Will fell he had no choice but to stop.
“I won’t hold you up but another minute, Mister Holliday.”
Will found himself looking at the windows of the diner, just kitty corner from where they both stood.
“We’ve just a few details we shouldn’t leave undiscussed.
Will turned to look the banker directly eye to eye. He suddenly missed his sunglasses.
“Sure,” he agreed. Whatever he’d said to crimp the man’d disposition moments ago showed no residual effect. Will wondered it that was indication enough he might better move his affairs into Maastricht. He let the thought pass, but promised himself he wouldn’t let it fade completely out. “Like I said, a day or two. I’m kind of swamped right now.”
Will was surprised when he felt his hand being gripped. When the banker shook it, he looked away, and found they were being watched by several people who were just stepping out of the diner. Christ. He’d certainly had the microscope centered over his head now.
“Day or two,” he repeated, twisting his hand free. He trotted the three steps to the sidewalk and turned toward his truck. He left, unable not to think of the man’s reaction to Will’s mention of his grandmother. Now he had two answers he’d have to sneak out of Blom somehow.
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Probably a whopping great number of typos above. Sorta spewed it out. So… Strange things happening on this site. Views went through the roof over the last two weeks, and two weeks while I was mostly gummed up with “life” crap. Time at the keyboard was pretty grim as well, as I’ve previously mentioned over the last couple of posts. Anyway, I’m grateful, but no less confused. Also confusing: Damn near a record for views in a two-week stretch (maybe because I haven’t put up anything that could be considered “new”) and not a single comment. Not even a “you suck” or “better not quit the day job.” Not that such sentiments would be motivational, but hearing nothing after so much unexpected (BUT WELCOME!) attention leaves me a bit bewildered. Guess it’s best not to gripe.
HOWEVER. For those new to this page/blog/dingy corner of the interwebs, — God knows there has to be a few who’ve not been here before, just by the numbers, I fell compelled to say this has not always been the focus of this blog. There’s some holdovers from before May of this years, but the main focus of it is no longer in public view. This was a choice made for me, if I wanted the book that was a result of those previous two years to be sold on Amazon. If you really felt you’ve missed out, it’s for sale there– and it’s CHEAP: https://www.amazon.com/Lunacy-Death-perspective-developed-investigation-ebook/dp/B079DWFH9T/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1533015822&sr=8-1&keywords=lunacy+and+death+book
Catch you all in a few days…. it just gets weirder…
Love it, can’t hardly wait to hear more about grandma and the banker.