It was more cash than he’d
ever seen in his life, at least to date. It was also more than he could abscond
with and remain inconspicuous. He was presently equipped with only a pair of
pockets and a backpack. It was imperative that he decide quickly and correctly.
He’d been hiking with one
other in the nearby mountains, foothills as they were so referred by the
locals. Trailhead was an hour’s drive from his current residence, a studio
apartment, give or take the traffic variable. They had been off the main trail
following an obscure path when he excused himself for a nature break. The
morning Slurpee on the drive seemed to have unfavorably comingled with his
breakfast bowl of Grape Nuts cereal. It was there, behind and partially covered
by low-lying bushes and heavy tree canopy, that he saw it. A duffle bag, black,
caked with dirt and signs of having absorbed a good deal of weather in its
stint at this locale. What gives? There was no lock, the zipper, though rusty, remained
intact sealing the contents. An irresistibly curious find. Of course he’d open
it.
Bundles of cash! Twenty-dollar
bills all banded together as if withdrawn from the bank in an orderly fashion.
It was a medium sized duffle, not over stuffed, but absolutely more than he and
his pal could handle. What now? Take what he could carry? Tell his cohort? Or
just keep this secret and reduce the chance of anybody else finding out about
the stash?
He decided to take a little
taste for himself. Two bands of bills were removed from the duffle and placed
in his backpack. If he was going to keep this secret he couldn’t and wouldn’t
tell his pal. They weren’t really friends anyway, he justified in the moment, work
acquaintances that liked talking football Monday mornings before the team meeting.
These two ended up on today’s hike together merely because the third person,
the mutual close friend who bound them together, was a last minute
cancellation. He would not share the wealth he decided. ‘Keep it to myself and there’ll be no awkward questions at work. No
rumors about the source of the money every time I pull out a $20 to pay for
lunch,’ he thought to himself.
Before walking away he also decided
he’d never return for the balance of the cash, that’d be too risky. He didn’t know
from whence the duffle came, if the bills were marked or if someone would be looking
for it. Maybe there’d be a transponder indicating the location of this stash
and he wouldn’t want the transponder to lead to his apartment. Heck, ‘marked bills,’
he didn’t even know what that meant, just a term he heard in some movie. He was
an office wonk, a guy who rocked a desk 40 hours per week. He wanted nothing to
do with anyone who had anything to do with this bag ending up here.
He opened the duffle bag,
removed another 16-20 bands and stuffed them deep into his backpack, closed the
duffle, rubbed dirt on the zipper thinking it may jumble his fingerprints. He hastily
returned to his hiking partner, having forgotten to take his ‘break,’ they hiked
on. No mention of the find.
He had been feeling tired and
worn-out, his knees and thighs aching for a rest. Understandable since this was
a 12-mile hike with a 4,000-foot incline and 9,300-foot peak. He felt now only
rejuvenation, plus a sense of being watched. The cash added only four pounds,
but the increased volume made it an awkward load that now dug savagely into his
shoulders. He liked the pain, though, and stubbornly showed no outward signs of
physical discomfort.
They peaked, enjoyed the
view, he ate a leisurely lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwich, soda pop,
apple, and several fistfuls of candy. The sugar would fuel his downhill and
distract him from the anticipated painful knees, feet and ankles.
They hiked back to the parking
lot and drove down the hill. He offered to pay for fuel and lunch including
milk shakes! “Thanks for driving today, my treat as a show of appreciation.” At
inception he had peeled off a few bills and put them into his pocket for easy
access. The two parted ways until Monday morning’s meeting at work.
He was delivered to his car
in the public lot. Without taking another look inside his backpack he simply
loaded it into the trunk of his car, changed shoes, pulled an unopened cold
bottled water from the cooler and drove home. It had been a five-hour hike, a
very profitable way to spend a sunny Saturday morning. He didn’t know where he
was going to put this load of cash. He didn’t know what he was going to do with
it. He knew only that he couldn’t simply roll into the bank for a deposit of
$40,000 in cash. He’d have an hour’s drive home to come up with answers and an
action plan by which the bills would be concealed and employed.
[to be continued . . .]
-klem
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