E 14th St. Off of Avenue A. Lower East Side. My apartment, was on the twelfth floor. Number 23. 6:43 at night. A medium sized one bedroom apt: one kitchen, one bathroom, living room, and one scenic view of the adjacent building. Not the Rockefeller Plaza but it's comfy. At $25 a month, it wasn’t bad for a single man in his mid-thirties. While in college I took up bettin' the ponies and found out that I wasn't any good at it. So I took a class on the law of probability. Whether something might or might not happen and how many times. Like flippin' a coin 'n figuring the ratio between heads and tails. I was doin' it with a single dice on my coffee table. I found it relaxing and it also kept my thoughts in order. The radio played in the background. Waiting for her call, I'm glad that I did. The weather outside made for reading impossible. Lightening struck like an audience screaming for an encore at the Carnegie. Rain tapped at my window like the cat at the back door. Her call came earlier than expected. I turned the radio down and picked up the receiver.

Her voice had a fearful and jittery sound to it. The background rumbled of thunder claps and a torrential rainfall.
"Hello!........Mr. Mason?"
"Yes, this is Xavier Mason. Ms. Carlial? I can...I can hardly hear you. Can you do somethin’ about the noise. Can you speak up?"
"Oh.....yes. Hold on, please."
The background noise became muffled.
"Is this better?"
"Yes, it is. Your call is earlier than expected. Are you in trouble?"

Her voice could shatter glass.
"No, no. Not at all. It's just.......if you could....come out here now....I would appreciate it greatly."
She was in trouble.
"Ok, Ok, just tell me where you are and I'll come there as fast as possible." I picked up the pad and pen next to the phone.
Her voice jumped, "No! no!, not here, go to the Amagansett Inn on Main Street and wait there for me to call. Ask for the key to 7b. I’ve rented that room under the name Caroline Schmitt. Don’t worry about them wondering who you are, I’ll make up something. I'll let them know to expect you. Do you know how to get there?"

I said, "I have a map. I can find it but I think you should call the police. You sound as if there’s trouble. No amount of money can be worth the trouble. Meet me at that Inn and...."

"No! no, I can't. Just be there. Please!"

"Okay, all right, but," putting on my hat and coat, "I'll be there when I can but you have to promise to tell me the real reason you hired me right now."

With a sudden gasp, she began to stutter, "Wha-what do y-you mean-I-I d-did?"

"Look, Sandra, this is not the time to play games. Your story just has too many holes in it to believe, and if you really are in serious trouble, you should level with me." Nothing but silence. In that silence, imaginary rain from my thoughts began to hit harder against the phone booth she must have been calling from.

A long tired sigh drifted into my ear, "All right, you win. I don't have time to go into the whole story but bring that locket with you. It's the key to millions in jewels somewhere in The Montauk Lighthouse. Please, hurry."
"Okay."
We hung up at the same time. I grabbed my keys to my Packard, my Army Colt, and two extra clips.
The drive would be long. Even taking the Southern State, the weather was two steps below a rainstorm here, no telling what it would be out there.

No telling.

 

 

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