My Journey in Writing, Ranting, and Woodworking

Henry sat and nibbled at his breakfast.  He was hungry, but distracted.  He felt heart sick at Mickey’s untimely death.  The internal motor that lays doormat, most of the time, started up and his instincts began to crowd out the pain.  He would focus on finding Mickey’s killer.  He could grieve later.

The notebook he lifted from Mickey would take time.  He looked at the chicken scratches, which sometimes resembled words, and gave a smile as he remembered an afternoon soon after he had been taken under Mickey’s wing.  Traffic was horrible in midtown that day.  Mickey was trying to get to a building adjacent to central park.  He had a client who lived there and would let him park in the building, when he had business in the neighborhood.  As it turned out, there was a long legged, 20 something blond, who had been promoted from secretary to the wife of an elderly oil tycoon, who might be showing up at the same building.  The oil tycoon suspected, or more aptly, assumed it was likely, she was having an affair.  They had been married for two years and though she still looked good on his arm, her youth and general stupidity had taken their toll on his affection for her.  Two years older, wiser, and closer to his final carriage ride, the gentleman had started to think about his legacy.  He hired Mickey to get proof that she was stepping out on him.

“Everything alright honey?” Becky asked as she filled up his cup of coffee.

Henry smiled, “Just thinking about a friend.”

“I noticed the smile on your face.  First one of the morning I’ve seen.”  She gave him a wink and went to take the order of a young couple who were holding hands, in the booth, in the corner.

Henry looked back at the notebook and fell back into his interrupted memory.  “Hey kid, you payin attention?!  The devil is in the details”  Mickey hollered at him as they parked the car.   Henry remembered him always asking if he was listening.  Henry hung on every word.  They walked across the street to the park.  Mickey handed Henry the notebook and said, “Read me what I have written there?”  Henry couldn’t make out a single coherent sentence.  It seemed to be all gibberish.  “The reason you can’t read it, is I have my own sort of short hand.  It is like a code.  Do you know why I do that?”

Henry chuckled to himself, when he remembered his answer, “Because you are nuts?!”  He had said it sort of sheepishly, with a hint of confusion, and a smidgeon of annoyance.  Mickey had laughed hard and long.  But then he said that it was because he had a reputation for keeping secrets.  Clients like to know their business, stays their business.  He went on to explain how he had developed it over the years.  Sometimes using code words, other times a substitution cipher, and on occasion drawing a tiny picture which would remind him of something.

Henry looked back at the notebook and flipped through the last 3 pages.  He could tell the previous case had ended four pages before, as the writing stopped half way, had two bold lines drawn across it, and then a lengthy number below them.  Those numbers, actually just the middle 5, could be found on a file folder, in a locked cabinet, in Mickey’s office.  Mickey always wrote a detailed report, mostly for himself, and filed it, after the case was done.  Those reports were in plain English.  Mickey was not eloquent in his writing, but he was thorough.  The problem, as Henry saw it, was that Mickey never updated the files until after the case was closed.  Henry hadn’t seen him in a while, so it was possible he had change his ways, but Henry suspect that the adage about ‘old dogs and new tricks’, made it unlikely.  Still, he would check the office later today, just to be sure.

The persistent memory returned, as Henry was fishing out some bills, to pay the bill Becky had set by his plate.  Mickey and Henry had bought a newspaper.  They were sitting on a bench.  It gave them a view of the building where the suspected wayward blonde might be stopping off to meet a roguishly good looking janitor from Cuba.  Mickey scribbled a hand palm, a rectangle 217, and a football followed by 10 J 14 15 4 20 Over/Under 84  and chain.  After Mickey had asked Henry what it meant, and then made him go buy two hot dogs from the vendor, he explained each part.

“The palm reminds me of a cop directing traffic.  So it means ‘stop’.  The rectangle is a building and 217 the number.  I usually remember the street, so I don’t include it.  The point is to take enough notes so I am able to recreate a mental picture.   the football is not really a football, but it looks like one, so it might fool people.  To me, it looks like an eyeball, so it means ‘watch’.  Next is the client’s name.  Jones, is coded as the alphabet 1 – 26 as a substitution cipher.  But I get clever.  The first letter is J, and is a 10.  That is how I know where I started.  Then the next number is a 14 which is one number above the letter I really want.  If someone tries to just do the substitution, they get the letter n, not the letter o.  The next number will be one below the letter I really want.  It goes back and forth until I finish the name.  The over/under serves two purposes.  It tells me which substitution cipher I used on the word before and it reminds me of a basketball, or more accurately a ball.  the words ‘and chain’ is just ‘and chain’.  So what did I write?”

Henry answered his quirky teacher with, “Stopped at building 317 to watch Jone’s ball and chain.” 

Mickey answered, “That is right!  But you didn’t get me any relish.”  And handed the hotdog back to Henry.

Henry closed the notebook and the memory.  He said goodbye to Becky and started to walk towards Mickey’s old office.