Chapter 45
Chantelle’s memorial service was on Tuesday, July 17th at 2:00 PM. David got the day off and attended. It was a very small affair in a small chapel on South 14th Street in Wilmington with just her mother, brother, and about a dozen close friends.
At the conclusion, upon walking back to his car, Chantelle’s brother, Louis, stopped to talk to David.
“She told me about you, David. I know she would have wanted you to have this.” Louis handed David a green, plastic-covered, spiral notebook.
“Thanks. What is this?” David was too grief-stricken to make the connection.
“These are the notes for her first novel. She told me that she told you about it.”
“Oh, yes, yes ... on many occasions, Louis. You know, she was always taking notes.”
“Well, when you read through it, you will see your name often. She really loved you.” Another stab in the heart from the gods above.
“Thanks so much, Louis. Thanks so very much. I remember her talking about this many times. I will treasure this forever.”
“It’s no problem, mon ami.”
“I hope you and your mother can recover and move on with your lives. I’m not sure if I can.”
“We will in time, David. We Haitians are used to tragedy. We are used to people dying early.” Used to people dying early. Jeez, what a thing to be used to.
“She was an amazing lady with a generous heart and a great mind. I’ll never forget your sister, Louis. Never.”
“Thanks for being so nice to her. She said that no man ever treated her so kindly and respected her so much.”
“Gosh, Louis, you’re going to make me cry again.”
They hugged each other. Louis’ mother came over. David hugged her, too.
“I am so very sorry, Mrs. LaMer,” David said softly.
“My daughter is in perfect peace now, David. We will grieve, but we will be happy knowing that she has already safely arrived at her final heavenly destination.”
David looked at Louis. “Louis, could you give me your mailing address? I want to send you something.”
“Sure.” Louis wrote the address down on the back of one of Chantelle’s memorial-service pamphlets and handed it to David.
“Thanks. Keep an eye on your mailbox.” (David would soon be sending him and his mom six gold coins.)
They said their sad goodbyes. David looked at Louis and Mrs. LaMer as he drove off, raising his left hand, but we couldn’t even wave. I hope they’ll be ok. Will I be ok?
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David exited Wilmington, driving north on US 17 in a state of numbing sadness. Sorrow permeated his whole being. He was morbidly melancholic. He felt like the car was a casket in autopilot mode. Should I really even bother doing this? This soon? Just after Chantelle’s funeral? Well, I could see her wanting me to keep going. I can hear her laughing. ‘Now, don’t you fuck this up, bone boy!’
He decided to stop in at Buffalo Bob’s in Jacksonville. Soon he was in front of the man that Chantelle had described to him. Well, that’s definitely him. Here goes.
“What can I help you with, sir?” the shop owner asked while sitting behind a jewelry display case, reading the local newspaper.
“I have some one-ounce gold ingots that I am looking to sell,” David announced. I hope this works.
“Sure. Show me what ya got.”
David placed a small cardboard box on the glass counter and opened it, displaying a 4 x 3 arrangement of a dozen gold cubes.
The owner then stood up to take a closer look. “Why, these look like the same ones that I bought last week. Let me just do some quick tests for purity.” The owner grabbed the box and put it on his little table behind the display case.
“Sure. No problem.”
“Do you know a young, black female named Marie? I bought ten of these, exactly-the-same, one-ounce cubes from a Marie last Thursday.” Marie? Ah, Chantelle used a false name. I’m going to miss her wily wit.
“Yes, I do. Marie was, I mean is, a very good friend.” Gosh, I hope my brain-dead slip-up didn’t tip him off to something being fishy. / Something’s afoul here.
“Did you two have a fight while splitting up the spoils?” What the hell did he just ask me? Oh, just calm down.
“No, nothing like that.”
“I sure would love to know what Charlotte creek you found the gold pellets in.” He chuckled. “But, I know that’s your little secret.” Chantelle must have told him some story.
David offered a short, nervous chuckle. “Yeah, I think we need to keep that to ourselves for the time being.”
The owner laughed. “I’m sure you do.”
David watched as he performed a series of tests on a few of the gold cubes. Please come up pure. At least 99.9%.
“These cubes are ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-nine percent pure gold. They are some of the best gold ingots I’ve seen come through here in a long, long time. Will fifteen-twenty an ounce suffice, sir?”
“Certainly. Deal.”
“You want it in cash, or as a check? A check will cost you three hundred sixty-five dollars.” He doesn’t want the sale traced. And neither do I. Perfect. He’s just as my dear Chantelle described: crooked as a fish hook.
“In that case, I’ll take it all in cash.” Just like Marie.
“Ok, just give me a minute.”
He then walked away with the gold and disappeared into the back of the shop. Five minutes later he returned with a brown-paper grocery bag, which he handed to David at the counter.
“There ya go, pal. Eighteen thousand, three hundred dollars. That’s 183 United States Treasury C-notes. I even threw in an extra sixty dollars. Trust me, it’s all there. My currency counter never misses a note. If you have any more to sell, come back in about three weeks. I’ll need a little bit of time to resell it and build up my vault again.” Chantelle was right: This guy is totally under the radar. The perfect buyer.
“Ok, will do,” David said as he walked out of the store with the brown-paper sack under his right arm. Do I sense a red laser dot on the back of my head? I guess it’s just first-time bullion-sale paranoia.
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David was back in his house on Kittrell Drive with his paper bag of loot and Chantelle’s green notebook two hours later. It was 6:06 PM. What a day. How I wish Chantelle were still alive. How I wish she were here right now. I wish I could buy her life back from the gods with this golden cash. How I wish I could sever the finality of her absence.
He looked at the wrapped hundred-dollar bills. Success, but such a hollow victory. I would trade it all just to have her back – alive – in my arms. I already miss her smile, her sensuous kisses, her skinny legs, her bony fingers, her devilishly erotic ways. Gosh, if there’s really a God, I’m sure that I’ll pay for that thought somewhere down the line.
David put the sack of cash to the side and picked up Chantelle’s notebook. He started to thumb through the pages. He read her notes for her first novel. He noticed that her description of the male protagonist was very much like him. Wow, that’s me! She was going to use me as the main male character. I was the star! It’s all too heartbreaking.
He continued to read notes on various places. He saw a section with a heading of Adjectives to Use. Many of the words that she had heard him use were listed. When he read the word disconsolate, a tear fell on the page, causing Chantelle’s red-felt-tipped pen’s ink to run. What is this life about? It’s all ultimately sorrow, isn’t it? Brief island-moments of joy, only to be submerged once again in a sea of sorrow. Inescapable heartbreak and tragedy. When and where do I meet my pitfall? Ah, who the hell cares?! I don’t give a damn what happens to me anymore. Bring it! Gimme your best shot. I’m right here waiting. Are you chicken? C’mon, take me out right now. What are you afraid of, Zeus? Do it. Chuck a lightning bolt at me. Make it two. Make it ten! Are you scared, Yahweh? … or, just waiting for an unsuspecting moment to completely annihilate my psyche? I can tell; I’m going to go mad.