Chapter 23
At 6:26 AM Friday morning, June 29th, David was pulling out of his driveway in his 2011, white-suede Ford Focus. The forecast called for a very hot day – possible triple-digit heat. It was already feeling balmy. It’s going to be a scorcher. Hope the A/C can keep up.
Soon he was on the I-440 beltway. Traffic was still light. Great, I beat the congestion. I should be able to make good time.
He took the exit for I-40 East, which really dives south-southeast, as he thought about the weekend. After I snag that trunk door, the weekend is free. I’ll get a hotel room in downtown Wilmington. It’s a nice scene down there. Yeah, one with a view of the river. It would be convenient. Yeah, that way I can just walk if I decide to hit some bars. The car can just stay parked. Or, should I rent a room at a beach? That’ll be mega-expensive, though. I’ll just see how it goes.
Once on I-40 East, the trip to Wilmington was a pleasantly uneventful two-hour trek. Nobody from work was zapping his cell phone. His hyper-dramatic ex-girlfriend had now gone a whole two weeks without trying to bait him into a text war. Maybe she’s found someone else by now. God, I hope so. Pity the poor fellow.
David wheeled into Shipyard Boulevard Auto Salvage at 8:42 AM. The gates to the wrecked automobile yard were locked. Two full-grown German Shepherds were barking vociferously at him as he stepped from his car. He walked towards a small house that appeared to be the office. He knocked on the door.
The bone-white, wooden door creaked opened. A gaunt Caucasian man in his early 40s with sallow skin and a thick brown mustache greeted him. “Hello, and what can I do for you today?”
“Hello. My name is David Scrapalski. I believe that you are holding a 2011 white Ford Focus trunk door for me. I need it for that car.” David pointed to the damaged trunk of his Ford Focus. “Are you Gerald?”
“No, Gerald is not here right now.” Well, he really didn’t sound like Gerald.
“Oh, ok.”
“Gerald took the morning off, but he mentioned to me that you would be coming by.” Oh yeah, Gerald said that his assistant would be here. Where’s my memory chip today?
“Yes, now I remember him telling me that someone else would be here.”
“That someone else is me; I’m Dale, his assistant. And, yes, that car is still on the lot. Let me secure the dogs. Give me just a minute.”
Dale walked out the back door of the office-house and called the dogs over to a chain-link-fenced pen.
Three minutes later, he returned and told David where the car was located. He sketched a simple map of the lot on the back of a Krispy Kreme doughnut napkin. Dale then handed David the car keys.
“Thanks,” David said. “And don’t worry, I won’t drive away with it.”
“You won’t be able to drive that car one foot. It’s totaled. It got smashed on the left side really bad. Then it sank in the Intracoastal Waterway.”
“Well, all I need is a good trunk.”
“Ok, good luck. I’ll be here.”
David walked out of the office and located the wrecked 2011 white Ford Focus next to a sideswiped 2005 green Honda Civic and an overgrown blackberry bush. He looked at the driver-side body of the car first. Wow, this baby got creamed alright. I wonder if anyone died.
He then proceeded to the passenger side of the white, four-door sedan. The right side was in great shape except for the mirror; it was cracked. He kept walking to the rear and turned the corner. And right there was the much-sought-after trunk door. Yes! It looks ok.
Surprisingly, it was in great shape. There wasn’t a scratch on it. Amazingly, it had been unscathed by the accident. Yes! This should work just fine. Well worth the drive.
David then inserted the trunk key and turned it. The trunk door opened cleanly. Score! We got a winner.
He peered inside. The brackish-water-permeated-carpet odor was strong. The trunk light didn’t come on; the battery had been removed.
The sun was almost directly overhead, so light was not really an issue. The soggy piece of carpet and plastic enclosure that usually covered the spare tire had been dislodged. Half of the spare tire was showing. He remembered that a shard of metal had destroyed the sidewall on his spare. Wow, I could use that doughnut spare, too.
David began to undo the wing nut with his left hand. When he pulled up the spare tire with a slightly rusted rim, he saw the start-up capital for his next venture: thirty-eight pounds of solid gold in two semicircular fillets. Holy cow! That looks like gold!
Just over six days later, Mark’s golden motherlode had finally been seen by another human being.
The C-shaped golden pair was still intact. Yes, right where Mark had secured them on the night of the phantom. The golden duo had waited patiently for rediscovery. Wow! Look at this! This is amazing! Un-freaking believable! What luck!
He grabbed the smaller one and felt it. He ran his right thumbnail along its surface. Damn, that’s gold! Pure fucking gold! And quite a bit of it. Obviously no one knows that it’s in here. This feels like I’m entering some bizarre Twilight-Zone-like story. Is Rod Serling’s ghost around the corner? Somebody placed this gold here; molten gold doesn’t just solidify in wrecked car trunks. Was the owner killed? Foul play of some sort? A mafia-esque hit made to look like a collision? I need to find out more about this car later. The gold pieces are too heavy and a little too big to stuff in my pants or under my shirt. It’s just too risky to move it right now with Dale up in the office. He may be watching me.
A colorful dragonfly alighted on the larger golden boomerang. David began to appreciate his golden dilemma. Now, how do we do this? How do we extricate this gold without detection? Should I try to distract Dale? Wait, maybe we just extricate the whole car from this junkyard by buying it. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll just purchase the whole car. Genius! And to think my ex said I was stupid because I only got a 960 on the SAT. Ha-ha. I’ll mail her a postcard from Tahiti. ‘Wish you were here – Not!’
David looked back at the house-office, about fifty yards away. Dale was on the front porch looking at him. Oh, shit!
David carefully placed the gold fillets back under the spare tire. He screwed the wing nut down tightly and placed the plastic piece and carpet back over it. He closed the trunk and began walking back towards Dale. I wonder how long he was watching me. Damn. Not good.
When David arrived at the front porch, Dale had already gone back inside the house-office. David opened the door and went inside.
Dale looked up from the desk when David entered. “Will that trunk door do the trick, sir?” he asked in a business-as-usual manner.
“I think it will, Dale. In fact, there are many parts on that car that I could use in the future.” David hoped he seemed believable and not too excited about a horribly damaged automobile.
“Your car looks like it only needs a trunk, but if you want to buy right door panels, I certainly won’t stop you.” Good. Great answer, pal. This confirms that Dale has no idea what’s in that car’s trunk.
“Listen, I’d like to make you an offer for the whole car. I can use it for future repairs.”
“Sir, there’s something I must disclose to you about that particular Ford Focus ...”
“Ok.” Here comes the catch: It’s not for sale for sentimental reasons. Or, you can’t take the whole car because the left front-end is part of a post-accident investigation. Or, we don’t hold clear and marketable title to the car; thus, we can’t sell it to you as one whole vehicle. No, no. Please, dear God, no.
Dale continued. “That car was underwater for a couple of hours. All of the electrical parts are totally shot. Worthless. Kaputski. And since the water was brackish, most of the mechanical linkages and small mechanisms – especially those with thin-gauge metal springs – will fail in the near future from corrosion, if they haven’t already.”
“I hear you loud and clear,” David calmly stated. “And, I truly appreciate your honesty by making that disclosure, Dale. But, I’m still interested in making an offer for the whole car. I plan on driving my little Focus until the sheet-metal welds become unfocused.” Whack-job.
“Ok, what kind of figure did you have in mind?”
“Would you guys take twelve hundred dollars for it?” David hoped that this number and his facial expression found the right balance. He didn’t want to look too eager to buy at any price – and set off alarm bells – possibly leading to a thorough inspection of the car, nor too disinterested to appear not willing to offer a higher amount. He wanted to let Dale know that he was legitimately – yet reasonably – interested.
“I’ll forward that offer to Gerald. He has to approve and write up any whole-vehicle purchase. He should be in between one and one-thirty.”
“Ok, thanks. Here’s my card.” Dale studied it as David walked out. Scrapalski? Doesn’t a Scrapalski play for some NHL team? Is it the Hurricanes? No. The Sabres? No. The Penguins? …
Dale walked out of the office/living room as David got into his car. “I’ll make sure that Gerald calls you,” he pledged just before David closed his door. I certainly hope so. But, if not …
David gave him a cursory wave as he pulled out of the visitor lot. Dale’s expression was hard to read. If Gerald doesn’t call me by two, I’ll call him. I’ll be coming back here alright. / David saw something in that car’s trunk. I just know that he did.
David headed for downtown Wilmington.