Extremely Average

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.

The night before had brought a storm down on the neighborhood with an unforgiving wrath.  There were trees down, his power was out, and the phone lines were dead.  He took a cold shower.  Henry didn’t feel much like eating, so he fumbled around in the early morning dark, found his keys, and stood at the door looking out into the bleak winter day.

Luna was expecting him at 8 am.  Normally he wouldn’t have left for another hour, but the mayhem of the previous night’s storm added some uncertainty to his travel time.  He pulled on his overcoat, grabbed his hat and gloves, and opened the front door, hoping this would be the day he could put all the pieces together.

Several downed trees forced a circuitous route out of the neighborhood.  Henry wondered what would happen to the trees.  He hadn’t had much time for woodworking of late, and the fallen lumber reminded him of that fact.  He hoped they would be sawed up and turned into something useful.  He drove on.  Thirty minutes later the sun decided to join him on the drive, the sky looked to be clearing up, and road crews seemed to have a good handle on clearing the mess.

He arrived at Luna’s place with two minutes to spare.  Promptness made Henry happy, especially when he did so under such circumstances, with so many unknown variables.  Luna hopped in the car, her hands wrapped around a basket with a gingham cloth wrapped around it.

“I didn’t know if you would bother with breakfast, so I brought these.”  Luna said, as she lifted the red checked cloth.  A wave of blueberry muffin goodness immediately filled the car.  Henry smiled, with his usually calm demeanor, while his mind was signing “yippee”.

He took the proffered muffin and took a bite, chewed it slowly, took another, and forgot about projecting his normal ‘tough guy image’, as he made what could only be described as a purring noise.

“Do you like them?”  Luna asked knowingly.

More purring with a hint of deep guttural grunting of approval.  Henry could take a punch and keep his cool, but he was powerless against baked goods.  He was sure that this day was on the right track.

The drove along in silence for a while, as both of them enjoyed the muffins.  Before Henry asked for thirds, he thought it best to discuss their plan.  “I have been thinking about what we should keep our eyes open for.  It could be anything.  If nothing jumps out at me, and I am sure it won’t, I may need to poke around more than the shop keeper would like.”

“It could be anywhere, in a drawer, under something….”  Luna said while staring off at the road ahead.

“Yes.  I may need you to distract him with your feminine charms.”  Henry said with an air of authority, as if he were talking to the troops before they stormed the castle.

“My feminine charms you say?  I didn’t think you noticed.”  Luna said, looking at him as she offered him another muffin.

Henry felt like a blush might be coming on, so he took a muffin, in part to hide from Luna, the fact that she had knocked him off his game.  Luna wasn’t fooled.

Henry ate the muffin and seemed to focus more intently than ever on the road ahead.  Luna wrapped up the basket and folded her arms across it.   She decided to have mercy on him and changed to a more serious tone.

“Do you think we will solve the code….and be able to put an end to all of this….I miss my father.”  she said in a low, now sad voice.

“I know we will!”  Henry said with confidence, though he had his doubts.  He had a nagging fear that they might not find the next clue, that this trip was just a snipe hunt.  That without the code to the journal, which ‘Tommy the Knife’ was under the impression had been destroyed, they would be out of luck.  As in chess, today’s move would be pivotal, one wrong misstep and all would be lost.

They drove past ‘Stowe It Forever’ gift shop, the one from the ad, and Henry checked his mirror.  Nobody had been following him, and everything had calmed down since the DA’s visit and the subsequent ‘journal’ incident, but he still favored caution.  Once more around the block, just to make sure, and he parked the car.  They walked slowly to the shop.  Luna took his arm to help steady herself on the icy sidewalk.  Herny reminded her, “Now it is going to be tough.  I don’t know what we are looking for, and I have no idea how we will find it.

A little bell over the door announced their presence, and a tiny man with a monocle, scurried from behind a curtain leading to the back room.  The shop was filled to the brims with boxes, cases, clocks, furniture, steamer trunks, lamps and possibly lost pirate treasure.  Henry whispered, “Oh god, this might take a while.”  Luna squeezed his arm in agreement, as she greeted the tiny man  behind the counter.

“Hello there, my name is Luna and this is my…friend…Henry…”  She said

“Excellent…good to meet you…I am Wolfgang the manager.”  He said with a slight German accent and a slight familiarity that struck them both as odd.  He spoke in short fast bursts with gaps too small to allow Henry or Luna to sneak a comment in.  “Wait right here…”  And off he went, though he continued to talk, “quite a storm last night….power just came back on…”  There was a rustling sound, then a loud wooden sound of a drawer being opened and closed, then another.  This went on for a couple of minutes, as did his ramblings.

Wolfgang reappeared behind the counter with a tiny box. There was a tiny red mat on the counter and he placed it in the center. “This is what you have come for.  I have, as instructed, not opened it.  It is paid for.  I hope you enjoy it for many years to come.  Good day.”  And he disappeared behind the curtain.

Henry and Luna looked at each other blankly.  Henry looked at the tiny box, then at Luna.  There wasn’t anyone else in the shop.  Luna reached over and took off the lid.  Inside there was a tiny folded piece of white paper.

Henry pulled out of the drive, the book resting on the passenger seat, and the Four Knights, ‘I Get So Lonely’, playing on the radio.  The steering wheel was cold, really cold, and Henry didn’t even notice.  His gloves in his pocket, all warm and napping, just waiting to get in the game were quite content where they were.  In his mind, he was laying out the cards which had been dealt him, looking them over, and searching for patterns.  It was obvious, that at this point, his hand was weak.

Henry reached down and changed the radio station, Frankie Laine & Jimmy Boyd, ‘Tell Me A Story’, seemed appropriate, so he stopped searching.  Snow began to fall again.  The wiper blades seemed to be keeping time.  It is one thing to know that one is on the right path; it is an entirely different thing to know where that path is heading.  Henry stood on the metaphorical path.  It was a maze and though he knew that the ‘Goal’ was to end up in the DA’s office with the journal and the key in hand, he wasn’t sure where to turn next.  Henry was sure of one thing, if he wasn’t careful, and he should get lost in the maze, it could be deadly.

The cityscape changed, he crossed the bridge, the buildings grew and the traffic thickened.  Whether it was paranoia, or his aching ribs, Henry kept checking his mirrors.  He had a feeling that he was being watched, the moment he left the bridge and arrived on the island.  Left, right, left, right, right and left, put him back on course, and he didn’t see anyone, but the feeling persisted.

Henry pulled up to the address on the back of Bobby’s card.  Henry couldn’t believe it.  He stood looking up at the Flatiron Building at twenty-third street, famous for being triangular in shape and from being responsible for the phrase, ’twenty-three skidoo’.  The draft from the height and shape of the building had, after the completion in 1902, caused women’s skirts to fly up, which meant that the local constables had to “skidoo” the men who hung out for a peak.  Henry had always hated right angles.  He loved a room with character and he had been curious to see the inside of this famous address.  For a moment, Henry forgot about his sore ribs, the business card from the future, and the general feeling of being watched.

He walked into the building, climbed the stairs to the third floor and started down the hall.  The numbers got larger until he got to the end; there it was, at the end of the hall, the office which would have the window looking out from the point of the triangle.  He hadn’t called Bobby, as he wanted to check the place out, without Bobby yammering on.  He reached down and found the door to be unlocked.  He opened it slowly and walked in.

“Hey, Mr. Wood, I am so glad you decided to check the place out.  It really suits you.  Don’t you love the building?  You know, the phrase, ’23 skidoo’ is because of the Flatiron building?”

“Bobby” Henry said, momentarily startled, “Yes, I did know that.  What are you…”

“I had a feeling you would be coming over today.  I mean, you can’t work for too long without an office, can you?  You need to find a place fast, and this place is perfect for you.  Here look around.  There is plenty of space out here in the waiting room, for a secretary and a desk, and the office is fantastic, here take a look.  I know you will love it.”  Bobby opened the door, and held it for Henry.  Henry walked through and it was indeed perfect for him.  He couldn’t let Bobby know, he dreaded the response it would yield.

Bobby was a seasoned Realtor and was better at reading poker faces than Henry was at wearing one.  “I knew it!  You do love it!  It is perfect for you.  You don’t have a secretary do you?  I know a woman who would be fantastic, she is blonde, types 85 words a minute, and has legs that go on for miles.  I can get you her number if you like?  So should I get the rental contract?”  He asked, and presumably took a breath, but Henry thought it was possible that Bobby could talk for hours without stopping or breathing.   Henry didn’t answer.

He walked around the room, stopping at the window and looking down on the street.  The room felt like a fortress, it was comforting.  He turned around and looked at Bobby, who stood silently; a feat that Henry would have guessed was beyond his abilities.  Short, Henry guessed about 5’ zero, stout, wearing an old overcoat and a somewhat worn hat, he had a notebook in one pocket, and a racing form was peeking out of the other.  His round face seemed honest, even kind, but his constant chatter, made him annoying.   Henry stared at Bobby, sizing him up, looking for a clue.  Who was this guy?  Where did he come from?  Why did Sylvia have one of Henry’s cards with this address on it?  Why was he wearing a coat indoors?

The room was silent, the flow of chatter out of Bobby had completely ceased, and neither one of them was talking.  After 30 seconds, it was becoming uncomfortable for Henry, he expected that Bobby would start blathering on at any moment, but he didn’t.  He was mute.  Finally Henry decided he wanted to try something and said, “It is ok, but I was wondering if you have anything else in the building, maybe on a different floor?”

“Nope, the building is full; this is the only office available.  Shall I get the paperwork?”  He responded.  He was concise and to the point.  This also surprised Henry.  He couldn’t get a read on Bobby.

Henry said, “I think I would like to think about it for a while?”

Bobby, who was now a paragon of brevity, said “Why?”

Henry knew that he was outmatched.  He turned back and looked out the window, as he didn’t want Bobby to see him smiling.  He liked Bobby.  Henry thought it best to keep that from the strange little man.  He also liked the office and since taking the place seemed to already be in the cards, he decided not to fight it.  “I’ll take it.”

Bobby made a strange noise, which might have been laughter, Henry wasn’t sure.  “Great, I have the contract in my office.  I knew you would love the place, it is a great building.  Oh you know what?  I almost forgot to tell you the best part, aside from being next to the greatest deli in the world, the best part is that my office is right down the hall!  We will be neighbors!  I know you will love it here.  The other tenants are great, except for old man Conner, but don’t you worry about him, he keeps to himself.  I will get the paper work.  I will be right back.”  He scurried out of the room and silence seemed to hesitantly creep back in, not sure if it was ok.

Henry didn’t know how Sylvia had gotten his business cards, which he hadn’t had printed yet.  He didn’t know why it was so important that he have this office.  All he knew is that, like it or not, he had a new friend.   From down the hallway, the sound, of papers being shuffled, a door creaking as it closed, and someone’s radio playing Tony Bennett’s hit, “From Rags to Riches”, seemed to all indicate that Henry was still on the right path.

Henry walked briskly back through the house, towards the office. Sylvia had difficulty keeping up. The moment he crossed into the office, he stopped and scanned everything, hoping to let the room tell him where to go next. The room wasn’t at all talkative. He turned to his left, and started to carefully read the titles, one by one. Mr. Alexander’s methodology was to group his book by subject and then within each subject they were alphabetical. It was very much a library.

There was a massive section on chess and next to it was a section on puzzles. Henry stopped, sure that the puzzle he was unraveling, must have a clue within these volumes. He pulled each book off the shelf, flipped through it, and looked for anything out of the ordinary. Sylvia watched him for a while, until her curiosity finally got the best of her and she asked, “What are you looking for?” 

Henry had forgotten that he wasn’t alone, and realized she might be able to help. “I am not sure, but I think there may be a clue here, that will help…” He paused before he finished, as he hadn’t been entirely truthful with Miss Culberson. She had hired him and paid him well, to find the journal, which he had done, and now he needed to make a decision. He continued, “Sylvia, can I trust you?”

She thought the question was rather strange. “Yes. Why would you think you couldn’t?” She backed up, sensing that there was something going on, something she might not like. “Have you found the journal?!” Sylvia demanded.

Henry knew that he was walking a fine line. He knew that he needed Sylvia, he couldn’t let her fly off into a rage, and he must choose his words carefully. He started with, “I have learned something about your father. Please sit down.”

“Have you found the Journal? I have paid you well. I demand to know what you are up to! Can you trust me?! The nerve, can I trust you?” She was now in a rage.

It became apparent that he had done a poor job of choosing his first words. Henry was noting, if not quick on his feet, he took two steps towards her, tightened up his face, “Listen here sweetheart, I found your story to be thin, very thin, I have seen dames like you, and you are all alike. You can either park your cute little but in that chair and listen to what I have to say, or you can go to hell, and try to find your father, on your own!”

This change in approach hit the mark. She was stunned by the last bit and stammered, “Did you say find my father?” She seemed unsteady and Henry helped her to the couch. She was calmer now, so Henry lowered his voice.

“Yes. I don’t believe he was killed in the lab. I don’t have any proof, and I probably shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up, but I needed you to listen.” He said and then paused. She didn’t say anything, so he continued, “First of all, I don’t believe that Mr. Alexander was keeping the journal about your father’s business, but they were working together to code the journal, to keep it a secret.”

This was a bit of a relief, but it didn’t make any sense to Sylvia, so she asked, “They were working together, but why would an accountant need my father’s help? “

“The next bit may be hard to understand, perhaps impossible, but I believe that Mr. Alexander had discovered some information, some proof if you will, that would bring down one of the city’s most dangerous criminals. I believe that your father and Mr. Alexander were planning to turn the journal and its proof, over to the DA, when it was leaked what they were doing. It was then that they both realized the danger. I believe they staged the explosion. It was then…” Henry stopped when he heard the footsteps down the hall.

Sylvia was stunned, but immediately filled with hope. She didn’t understand why he had stopped talking, as she hadn’t heard the footsteps. “Yes, go on, it was the, what?”

“Winston is coming.” Henry said.

“Oh you can trust Winston; he has been with the family since we moved here.” She stood up, and ran out to Winston, “Henry thinks that father may still be alive!” she said with glee.

Winston remained unfazed and looked at Henry and said, “You are as clever as master Culberson had hoped.”

Sylvia looked shocked, “You knew! Winston!” She was angry, but also thrilled, “It is true then?” She was almost shouting.

“Madame, you must lower your voice. I will try to explain.”

Henry let Winston explain, as he went back to the stacks. He went through each of the puzzle books and then it occurred to him that perhaps Winston knew where the next clue was. “Winston, do you have a message for me?”

“Yes sir. Mr. Culberson told me to let you know that he was very interested in animals of late.”

“That is the message?” Henry said, hoping for more, but not surprised by its cryptic nature. Undaunted he continued through the stacks until he found a section on the animal kingdom. There were dozens of books. A few books into the section, Henry noticed that these weren’t in alphabetical order by author, but were ordered by species, starting with ‘Ethel the Aardvark goes quantity surveying’, and ending with a thick book about zebras. It seemed that the section contained all the books that had anything to do with animals, fiction and non-fiction combined. Next to the book on beavers, was a book on cows then a book about crows.

Henry paused, could that be the clue, as a group of crows are called a murder. He opened it and flipped through the pages. If the clue was there, he didn’t get it. Henry decided to continue looking. The Tage Frid clue was one that only he would understand, so he was expecting that the next clue would be similar, and suddenly there it was, a book entitled, ‘Fox Habits’, sitting to the right of a book ‘A Gaggle of Geese’. It was out of order, just by one book, but that, combined with the last present from the closet, meant this had to be the book.

Henry opened to the title page and read the inscription.

Sylvia looked at Henry, and cocked her head to the side.  It was obvious to her that he was deep in thought.  She didn’t understand why he suddenly felt like he had to sit down.

“Are you ok?  Would you like a drink?” she asked.

“I am fine, thank-you, and yes please.”  Henry said, still looking at the back of Bobby’s card and the business card that Sylvia had just handed him.  He knew he didn’t want to try and explain to her what he was thinking.  It would have struck him as impossible, were it not for his closet, which he had grown to accept.  He couldn’t imagine being able to explain it to Sylvia.

The distinctive sound of ice cubes landing in fine crystal went unnoticed by Henry.  Sylvia poured Henry a scotch rocks; she hadn’t asked what he wanted, because the look on his face was one of complete concentration.  She had seen it on her father’s face many times, and knew that it was best not to break his train of thought.  With the grace of a cat she set the drink on a coaster in front of Henry.

Henry was staring at the bookshelves behind the desk, but it looked like he was seeing past them, off to the horizon.  Off to the ends of the earth for all she knew.   A minute passed and slowly Henry reached out, slowly picked up the scotch, and took a sip.  He didn’t change his stare, but said, “Thanks, this is excellent.”

Sylvia whispered, “You’re welcome.”  She had returned to the desk and was watching him, completely intrigued by his motionlessness.  It was as if she stared into his eyes hard enough, she might see what he was thinking.

The deafening silence was shattered when Henry asked, “May I see your father’s lab?”

“Sure.”  Sylvia said, startled at the suddenness of his question.  She stood up, grabbed her drink, and headed into the hall.  Henry followed, taking sips of his drink as he walked.   They crossed the entryway; headed down a hall that was the mirror image of the one they had just left.  Henry was no longer paying attention to the art.  Before they got to the end, Sylvia opened the last door on the left, and Henry followed her through.

The room was long and rectangular; they passed through it, to a door at the far end.  This door led to a spiral staircase, which headed down.  Though Henry was still deep in thought, he did notice that they seemed to be going down more than just one story.  It felt like two or three.  They had passed a small door and continued on until they arrived at a heavy wooden door.  Sylvia lifted the latch and pushed the door open.  The hallway was entirely made of stone and felt like a dungeon, though it was lit with modern lighting.  Henry felt he should be carrying a torch.

Sylvia paused at the door at the end of the hall.  “I haven’t been down here since the explosion.  If you don’t mind, I will stay outside.”  She leaned down and pulled a flashlight out of a little wooden box sitting by the door.  She handed it to Henry.

“I understand.” He said, clicking on the light.  He opened the door and walked into the lab.  There was a burnt smell, but it wasn’t the same as his office, it was more of a sulfur smell.  The room was a large and circular in shape, with a very high domed ceiling.  It looked like there had been three workstations around a center area where there must have been something massive.  All that remained now was a crater.  The edges of the room had piles of equipment, glass and wood, which had been blasted out from the center.  There were large bits of the ceiling on the floor.  The basic structure still seemed sound, but the lab and its contents had been turned to a pile of rubble.

Henry walked all the way around the room.  He didn’t see anything helpful, so he turned off the flashlight and put it back in the box by the door.  He had something he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.  He already knew that Sylvia wasn’t tuned into her father’s work, but he had a theory, a crazy theory, so he decided to ease into the question.

“Was your father alone when the accident happened?”

Sylvia said, “Yes, he always worked alone.”

“Were you home when it happened?”  Henry asked, lowering his voice slightly.

“I was shopping at Macy’s, when Winston called and told me what had happened.”

“Winston?” Henry asked.

“He manages the house, you met him earlier.”  She said, giving a heavy sigh, as she remembered getting the call.

“Winston found the body, I mean, er, your father?”  Henry asked, stumbling a bit with his words.  That was the question he wanted to ask, but had hoped to be able to do it more delicately.

“We never found a body.  Everything was destroyed in the explosion.  He was the first one down here, if that is what you mean.”  She said.

“And you don’t have any idea what he was working on?” Henry asked, though he knew the answer.

“No idea at all.”

Henry had his answer.  He was developing a theory, but was a long way from figuring out where he was going to find the next clue.  He needed to get the journal to the district attorney and to find the key that would unravel its contents.  He was sure that there was something in this house that would point him in the right direction.  He hoped he would be able to spot it.  He decided to head back to Mr. Alexander’s office and take a closer look at the books.  Every clue had been very subtle, he was sure that trend would continue.  He would need to talk to Winston.