Play Dead (Part 20)
I’m Fixing To Play Dead (Part 20 of Unpublished Novel)
It was well after dark and after I crossed the street from the Waffle House where it was only approximately a hundred yards or so to the front gate of the Veg-X Building, the place where I intended to steal $22,000 from myself which would enable me to track down Leon Martin, my so-called new friend who had made off with my antique suitcase containing my $600,000 in cash, which I had saved up over the years in order to disappear and begin my new life after the fatal crash of Flight Number 666 at the Birmingham Airport two days ago.
Everyone on the flight had been declared dead, including myself, but thanks to fate and Leon, I was still walking around, and nobody knew it, except Leon.
After Leon had transported me from Birmingham to Atlanta and assisted me in avoiding detection while recovering my stash, he had absconded with it from our motel room sometime in the wee hours, leaving me stranded in the motel room all day Sunday with only a few dollars in my pocket, no ID and no credit cards. All I had left was desperation and resourcefulness.
It was the inspiration provided by these that had enabled me to proceed with the plan of robbing myself. And after I had hired a taxi to transport me from the motel to the Waffle House near my actual destination, I now lurked in the shadows of the front gate of the Veg-X Building.
It was Sunday night and traffic was light, still, I eased behind a small decorative tree next to the gate until there was a complete break in the flow of headlights. At that precise moment I dashed to the gate and quickly keyed in the necessary numbers on the electronic pad. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the clicking sounds as it unlocked.
After I slipped inside and re-locked the gate, instead of going to the front door of the building, I kept walking until I reached the corner and that’s where I stopped and surveyed my surroundings in all directions. I was in the shadow of the building and knew that I couldn’t be seen from the street, but I also knew that a private security vehicle cruised by several times a night and I didn’t want to be caught like a deer in his headlights.
I hugged the building just long enough to catch my breath and make sure no one had seem me enter the area. Then I silently glided around the corner toward the rear of the building. Once I was there I saw all the VegX delivery vans lined up next to the shipping dock. They were all pretty well used and with high mileage. It occurred to me that if I had not gone to Dallas last Thursday to make a bid on new vans, then I probably wouldn’t be here now.
“No,” I told myself, “I would most likely be lying alone in my bed, tossing and turning while wondering what my ex-wife was doing and what drastic actions Miss Tally Vinegate, Director of the Government Office of Circumlocution, had in mind towards wrecking my business.”
The way things were now, I didn’t have to concerned by either of the above. On the contrary, I suddenly got an exhilarating feeling of being wild and free and of being in the dedicated hands of fate!
With a renewed energy toward my purpose I walked past the vehicles, up the steps and across the loading docks to the back door. It was dark but I had taken those steps so many times that I could have maneuvered with my eyes closed. I deactivated the back door alarm and keyed in the code to open it. My fingers flew over the keys with ease from the years of practice and the door clicked open.
A familiar and welcome smell welcomed me once I was inside. It was the fragrance of earthy freshness and sweetness given off by the vegetables and the fruits. It’s funny how a odor can remind you of a particular place, person or time, and I knew this one would stay with me forever.
But then I reminded myself that it wasn’t going to by my business any longer, and this thought prompted me on toward my mission.
Once I was in my office, I realized that I couldn’t see the numbers on the wheel of my safe without some type of light, so I fumbled around in one of my desk drawers until I found a book of matches. I struck one and held it close with my left hand while I worked the safe dial with my right—12 right, 42 left, 30 right, 18 left and the door swung open. There it was, neatly stacked in denominations of twenties, fifties and hundreds, just the way I had left it.
The match was burning my finger. I shook it out and lit a fresh one. From the light of it I extracted all the money except two thousand, which I left to cover myself. No one, except myself, ever knew exactly how much money I kept in the safe.
For a moment I felt a twinge of guilt while I was stuffing the cash into an old antique money belt which had belonged to my Uncle Virgil, but I instantly squelched it my saying to myself, “No way, this is fixing to be my severance pay.”
“Now,” I told myself, “I’m ready to go.” But just before the light of the second match went out I noticed there was one more item inside the safe, and I knew right away that I was fixing to take it too.