It took about 25 minutes to walk from Miriam’s Kitchen to the Connecticut Avenue office building where I was to meet Ms. Bell. I checked the time on a nearby parking meter and found I was 20 minutes early. I slipped my hand into the wrong pocket looking for my pouch of tobacco, and I found a crumpled up piece of paper. I pulled it out and discovered it was a $10 bill. Apparently, whoever donated the slacks to Miriam’s didn’t check the pockets first. I took my newfound wealth to the Starbucks on the corner and got a venti-sized coffee. I made it back to the office building with five minutes to spare.
After checking my ID, the guard at the desk directed me to an elevator that would take me to the fifth floor, which housed the law offices of Rabin and Thorne. Ms. Bell was a junior partner at the firm. The receptionist at her desk offered me a danish before admitting me into a conference room that was equipped with a coffee maker, its decanter full of the life-giving brew, as well as sugar and powdered creamer on the side. I topped off my cup and was munching happily on a cinnamon danish as Ms. Bell entered the room with a A/V cart equipped with a monitor and a DVD player.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” she said as she knelt down to plug the monitor and DVD player into a wall outlet.
“Not at all,” I replied. “I’d just grabbed some coffee as you walked in.”
“Good,” she replied as she sat down and fished a bulging legal-sized envelope out of her attaché bag. “This is a copy of Mr. Cornel’s will, as well as certain documents he’s left for you and an item of some interest.”
I opened the envelope and found the will, a checkbook and a folder emblazoned with the logo of BB&T bank. At the bottom of the envelope was a small jewelry box, the kind that usually contains an engagement ring. As I scanned the contents of the envelope, Ms. Bell popped a disc into the DVD player. Frank’s face appeared on the monitor. My attention was drawn to the screen, my newly-acquired property forgotten for the moment as Frank began to speak from beyond the grave.
“I, Francis Allen Cornel, being of sound mind and body, do solemnly leave this last will and testament … Oh to hell with it! Look, Bill, if you want the legalese, read the will. It’s in the package Ms. Bell gave you. More importantly, all my money has been placed into a bank account which the documents in the package should allow you to access. Now I know you’ve gotta be wondering, ‘How did an old-head drunk like me wind up with a couple grand in the bank?’ The secret is that ring you always saw me wearing. It should be in that package with everything else.”
“You see, I knew you figured out that I wasn’t a real Mason. You’re smart. Hell, you’re smarter than most of the guys I see on the streets. And I’m not talkin’ about the bums, hell no! I mean you’re smarter than most of those suits I see walkin’ down K Street everyday. You knew damn good and well I wasn’t who or what I said I was. Here’s the thing though: you never busted me on it. You never let anyone know I was lying through my teeth, and for that reason, and that reason alone, I’m leavin’ you what I’ve got, well at least what I haven’t drunk or pilled away.”
“You see, the ring is the key to my success. Put that ring on and sit at the corner of L and 18th streets on the northwest side and you’ll see what I mean. You need to be there between 11:30 AM and 2 in the afternoon. Trust me on this. It’s in your best interest to be there.”
“Now before you go runnin’ off to find out what I’m talkin’ about, I wanna tell you the story of how I got that ring. Back in the summer of ’99, I was headin’ to the Willard Hotel to go bleed the lizard when this taxicab comes ballin’ around the corner headin’ straight for this old white guy in a seersucker suit who was crossin’ the street. Now I managed to run over and knock the old geezer out of the way without getting run over myself. He was amazed and grateful that I saved his life, and told me to meet him over by the old Borders on 18th Street the next day. Said he’d have something for me.”
“I showed up at the appointed time, and low and behold, he hands me that same box you’re holding in your hand now with that same ring inside it. He told me to wear that ring always and to be at that corner every Monday through Friday afternoon. It would be in my best interest, he said.”
“So Bill, go take some of your new found wealth, get yourself a good lunch, then get your ass to that corner. Trust me when I tell you, it’s in your best interest. Don’t worry none about me, I’m in a better place now. Go on, get goin’. Just remember me kindly.”
And with that, the screen went blue. Ms. Bell broke the deafening silence, “I think you should look over those bank documents before you leave, Mr. Dickerson, just to make sure everything is in order.”
I pulled out the bank folder, and sure enough, an account had been set up at BB&T Bank in my name, with a balance of $2,659.78. My eyes lit up in awe of my windfall. And what do you know, the documents even included a debit card so I could start spending right away.
“Well Mr. Dickerson, I need to be in court in about an hour, so why don’t you grab that lunch Mr. Cornel was talking about. You’ve only got an hour before you need to be at that corner, but the cheesesteak sub from the Potbelly’s over on 19th and L is to die for, and you’ll have enough time to make your rendezvous.”
I gathered my goodies into my backpack and headed off to take Ms. Bell’s advice. The sub was good, but I was too deep in thought to notice it at the time. What was the secret of this ring? That question ran through my mind a thousand times before I sat down on the retaining wall that ran next to the vacated retail space that used to be the Border’s on 18th and L.
