From Here To 1137 AD: Episode 28, Taking Stock

This is episode twenty-eight of the novel, From Here To 1137. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available onAmazon in Kindle format or paperback.

Taking Stock

Fifteen miles south of Detroit, Tom turned his car into a paved parking lot and parked in front of a gray metal building. It was about half the size of a football field. A smaller building was attached to the front. Tom assumed the small building was the office area. Windows were on the front and two exposed sides.

From the front door, Tom walked into the lobby carrying a briefcase. Tom said a polite good morning to a young woman behind a desk, dressed in casual attire.  

“Can I help you?” she asked as if bothered.

“I don’t have an appointment,” Tom said, “but it is vital that I see Willard Braxton immediately.”

“Mr. Braxton is busy at the moment,” she said. “Perhaps I can set up an appointment. Let’s start with, what is your name?”

“Let’s start with this,” Tom said loudly, “this company is about to go belly-up, and I’m willing to help it stay afloat.”

“Not so loud,” she whispered. 

“I want to make sure Mr. Braxton hears me,” Tom said loudly.

A door opened to the side of the lobby. A man stepped out.

“I’m Willard Braxton, and if you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”

“Sorry for the rudeness, Mr. Braxton,” Tom said. “All I need is one minute. In your office or out here, I don’t care.”

“A minute,” Braxton agreed.

Tom gestured with his hand; toward the office or in the lobby?

Braxton tossed his head toward the office. They walked into Braxton’s office. 

“Don’t bother to sit,” Braxton said. “You’ll only be here for a minute.”

Tom placed the briefcase on the table. He unsnapped and opened it. As Braxton was sitting down behind his desk, Tom swiveled the briefcase around so that the twenty-five thousand dollars could be seen.

Braxton’s eyes darted several times from the money to Tom.

“What’s going on?” Braxton said.

“Do you mind if I close your door?” Tom asked.

Braxton stood speechless.

“Do you mind— the door?” Tom reminded.

“Sit,” Braxton said nervously, “I’ll get the door.”

Braxton shut the door and returned to the chair behind his desk.

“My name is Tomas Bales. I’m going to keep this short because there is not a lot of time.”

“What do you mean?” Braxton asked.

“Shortly, you will be getting a phone call informing you that you will have an hour to prepare for your electricity to be shut off.”

“How do you know that?” Braxton asked.

“Rather than answering pointless questions of me, ask yourself, does that sound about right?”

Braxton lifted his thumbs and nodded his head. “I thought it might come at the end of the week.”

“There’s twenty-five thousand dollars here. I  suggest you take five thousand and pay the electric bill immediately. Never mind a check. Nothing speaks louder than cash.”

“This isn’t a gift, is it?” Braxton said with an air of suspicion. 

“In a way, it is. Consider it a lifeline. The rest of the money is for things like payroll.”

“What in return?” Braxton asked.

“How many shares of stock does this company have? Wait, I know, so don’t lie to me.”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” Braxton said. 

“What’s their value, each—the last time you checked?”

“Less than a dollar each,” Braxton said regrettably. 

“I understand. Times are tough.”

“Do you want to buy some shares? Is that why you’re here?” Braxton asked. 

“The sooner, the better. And let’s make this easy: twenty-five thousand shares for twenty-five thousand dollars. Does that sound fair?”

“You want my shares?” Braxton asked.

“No. I happen to know what this company means to you. I understand that sort of thing. I also know investors are willing to sell their shares at nearly any price just to get out.”

“How do you know all of this?” Braxton asked.

“Obviously, it’s not insider information. We’ve never met. The gal out front was trying to give me the bum’s rush. This is my first time in Michigan. I’ve never purchased stock before. So,” Tom chuckled, “what does that leave? Let me put it this way, I got my information from a friend of a friend, of a friend. Let’s leave it at that.”

Braxton sat motionless. It was as if he was waiting for someone to say, ‘jokes on you.’

“What’s the next move?” Tom asked.

“We go to my lawyer’s office,” Braxton said as if in a trance.

Tom cocked his head and smiled, as if a teacher and Braxton had given the wrong answers. “First, pay the power bill.”

“Yes, of course,” Braxton said. 

“Give me the address of your lawyer. I’ll meet you there. But before that, is there someplace where I can get breakfast? I’m starved.”

Braxton sat up straight in his chair as if coming out of a trance. “A mile down the road on your left is a restaurant.” He grabbed a pen and a slip of paper. He wrote on it. He handed the paper to Tom. “My lawyer's address, can you be there in an hour?”

Tom stood and shook Braxton’s hand. “See you in an hour.”

After a good breakfast at the restaurant suggested by Braxton, Tom found his way to Braxton’s lawyer’s office. The office was located in a one-time two-story Cape Cod-style home. There were two other lawyers in the firm. 

Braxton met Tom at the door, and they walked directly to his lawyer’s office. The entire meeting lasted for an hour. It appeared obvious to Tom that Braxton’s lawyer advised him to say little and ask no questions. Tom supposed the cash did all the talking.”

Tom slid back into his car and drove back to the farm. As soon as he arrived, he walked out to the pod. He entered and sat in the lounge. 

He let out a huge sigh. “Now what, Brain?”

“I’m going to tell you exactly what a broker might tell you,” Brain replied.

“And that is?”

“Sit and wait,” Brain said. 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 27, Brain Storm

 This is episode twenty-seven of the novel, From Here To 1137. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.

Brain Storm

Tom sipped his coffee and thought about Edgar’s situation. At any time, he expected one or more of Grasso’s men might be knocking on the door. They’d want Grasso’s money, Edgar, Howton, and Plummer. 

“Tom,” Brain said.

“Yes.”

“I think I have something that may work for you,” Brain said.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Can you make it to Detroit tomorrow morning?” Brain asked. 

“That’s a silly question. I can be there in minutes using the pod.”

“I am considering your availability, not your ability,” Brain said. “And I considered that it might be advisable to drive your car.”

“I can make it in two hours. I can have the cattle fed by 6:00. I’m free for the day. Give me half an hour to clean up. I can be there between 8:30 and 9:00, easy. ”

“That is the easy part,” Brain said.

“What’s the hard part?”

“Raising money,” Brain replied.

“How much money?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” Brain said.

“Tell me more.”

“There is a plastic coating company a couple of miles south of Detroit,” Brain said. “They are in deep trouble. However, unknown to the owner of the company, it is about to be awarded a contract that will make him rich.”

“How do I figure in on this?”

“Their electricity is about to be shut off, and they can’t make their payroll. Once that happens, the company that was about to award them the contract will award it to someone else. If you could step in and purchase twenty-five thousand dollars of their stock, it would yield a tidy sum for you.”

“How much is tidy?”

“Perhaps I have misspoken,” Brain said. “I was trying to impress you with colloquial vernacular.”

“I’m not trying to question your desire to fit in, but tidy could mean a lot or minimal—at least from my colloquial use.”

“I have performed several analyses,” Brain said. “There is no real reading of the future, but I am very sure of a favorable outcome.”

“Don’t beat around the bush. What are you saying, ten or twenty percent on the investment? I suppose a few thousand would help, but that’s band-aid over a gushing wound.”

“Do you want to hear what the tidy sum is or not?” Brain said.

“No reason to get testy. Let’s hear it.”

“At the least, it could double in a day,” Brain said.

“Well, now we’re talking some real money.”

“Keep in mind that the stock market is volatile and unpredictable,” Brain said.

“I’m sure you have been reading some brochures from brokers. You are beginning to sound like one.”

“It is a part of my research,” Brain said. “It sometimes puts a client at ease, and not to over-speculate.”

“And it covers the brokers’ backside at the same time.”

“That, too,” Brain said. 

“Okay, I’m in. Now, how do we get twenty-five thousand dollars?”

“For me, that is no problem,” Brain said. “You are the one with the moral restrictions. You could go to a bank and ask for a ninety-day short-term loan. And before we speculate more on that, there is zero chance of getting such a loan without the administrator of the trust cosigning for the loan. Let’s say that he does, and you pay back the loan in full. Your lawyer will want to know how you were able to achieve the rapid payback and the money to keep the farm going.”

“I have a feeling there are other choices. Let’s get to the one you think is best.”

“I have one that will cause as little attention as possible,” Brain said. “And may not conflict with your moral precepts. I can get the money from any number of sources. The money can be returned before anyone knows it is missing. Thus, you will be able to keep a degree of anonymity, ease your own conscience, and be able to provide needed resources to keep the farm from being sold in the spring.”

“What if Gene asked where I found the money?”

“That’s easy,” Brain said. “Tell him you found the money. Tom, there has to be some degree of deception involved. You have already done so. You are not deceiving yourself to selfishly advance yourself. It has been to cover the purpose for which you have been selected. You don’t have to question me; I’ve analyzed volumes of books on ethics. You are on solid moral ground.” 

Tom stared out the front window of the pod. It had a clear view of the barn, silo, granaries, garage, and house. His hand rested on his knee. His middle finger tapped his knee. He remembered the day he and his dad dug up an old field drain. His dad told him how he heard stories of ancestors who dug the trenches by hand to drain the fields. ‘The reason these fields aren’t a swamp today is because somebody did the work before you. They didn’t do it for someone in the future to fritter it away.’

“Get me the money,” Tom said resolutely. “But make sure you don’t take it from a pension fund or charity.”

“Frankie Grasso has a rival in Queens,” Brain said. “He keeps a stash of money in the basement of his lawyer’s office. Look over at the Instaport.”

Tom turned to the Instaport. There was a stack of money on its floor.

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 26, Checking On Edgar

 This is episode twenty-six of the novel, From Here To 1137. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.

Checking On Edgar

Two days passed, and Tom began to worry about Edgar. And there was another pressing issue: the mortgage on the farm and the money owed by the trust. If he suddenly came up with the money, that might lead to questions. Also, Tom thought that undue attention might come his way. 

The farm has been in the family since the Bales settled there in the late 1830s. Keeping it in the family was a matter of pride. His dad had told Tom stories of how the family overcame tough times to retain the farm. His dad often told him there was more history on the farm than in the whole county. But his dad was pragmatic and sensed the end to family farming was just over the horizon. The last thing he wanted to use the farm for was to educate his sons and send them on their way.

Since the death of his dad, the farm took on a deeper meaning for Tom. To him, it was worth keeping. He saw a future in working the land. He loved it and had plans of expanding to make it sustainable and profitable. He thought that there was nothing more honorable than working the dirt to grow crops. 

Now, he was faced with a grim reality. Although it was mortgaged to pay for Edgar’s education, nothing remained. The visions Tom once had faded. His only hope was to possibly enlist the help of Brain. 

Tom walked out to the field on a blustery winter day where the shrouded pod rested. He climbed into the pod.

“Brain, I need some help. I know you can Instaport all the funds needed to keep this farm afloat, but it would be robbing somebody. You could replicate it perfectly, but that would be counterfeiting. I need to raise some money. When March comes, my lawyer will expect me to have a plan or give him the okay to liquidate the trust, which is the farm.”

“I’m starting to work on something,” Brain said. 

“You know my constraints.”

“Well aware,” Brain replied.

“And you are aware of my moral obligations as well?”

“Indeed,” Brain said. “Would you like a coffee while I’m at work?”

“Sure, that would be nice.”

Tom walked over to the replicator and got his coffee. He sat in the lounge and waited. 

“You have a call coming at your home,” Brain said. “Do you want to answer it?”

“Yes, it may be Edgar.”

“It is,” Brain said.

Tom heard from the pod’s sound system the phone pick-up.

“Hello,” Tom said.

“Tom, this is Edgar.”

“Good to hear from you. I’ve been worrying. Where are you?”

“Costa Rica,” Edgar said, “a place called Bejuco. It’s on the Pacific Ocean about a forty-mile drive from the capital, San Jose. It’s quiet and out of the way.”

“Great.”

“I wish you would tell me what’s going on, and how you made a deal with Grasso.”

“The less you know, the better.”

“You’re afraid I’ll do something wrong, right?”

“No, it’s just that I can’t tell you. And I never will, so don’t bother asking or trying to find out.”

“How long am I going to stay here?” Edgar asked.

“Feel the area out. Try to blend in. I know that might be a problem being an American. But keep a low profile. I know that’s not your character, but any attention drawn to you could set things in motion. The tentacles of organized crime reach into remote places too. Keep aware of things. Don’t be afraid to pick up and leave if something doesn’t feel right. Get a postal address. Call me when you get it. The money I gave you will run out. I’ll mail you enough to keep you going.”

“It’s cheap living here,” Edgar said.

“Do you have a place?”

“I’m renting a one-bedroom place about fifty yards off the ocean,” Edgar said. “Great view.”

“If something comes up or you need something, give me a call.”

“How’s the farm?” Edgar asked.

“In the red, but I may have a plan.”

“You should sell it,” Edgar said.

“We’re going to get out of this, okay?”

“If you say so,” Edgar said.

“Take care and keep in contact, bye, Edgar.”

“Bye, Tom.”

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 25, Debbie Pries

 This is episode twenty-five of the novel, From Here To 1137. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.

Debbie Pries 

Tom woke up in his own bed. The escapade in New York seemed like a dream. Frost on the window shielded his vision from the cold winter day outside. He turned over and looked at the clock. It was 8:17.

He heard someone downstairs. He heard the washer begin to agitate. He slipped his clothing on and went downstairs to the kitchen. Debbie was in the laundry room, a room off the kitchen. Her back was to Tom.

“Good morning.”

Debbie jerked and turned around. “Oh, Tom, I thought you were gone for a couple of days.”

“I was done in a day,” Tom said. “This place is cold. I’m going to start a fire in the fireplace.”

“While you’re doing that, how ‘bout breakfast?” Debbie said buoyantly. 

“Let’s see who’s done first,” Tom smiled.

Debbie brewed a pot of coffee, prepared eggs, toast, bacon, and hash brown potatoes. And they ate together.

“You never did tell me where you had to go,” Debbie said.

“Edgar is moving out of the country,” Tom said. “He asked me to take care of a few things for him.”

“After the way he’s treated you, you should have told him to take care of things himself,” Debbie said with what little indignity she could muster.

“I know,” Tom said, “but he’s my brother. Maybe someday he’ll come around.”

“Where’s he going?” Debbie asked.

“Central America, he’s going to call me as soon as he’s settled.”

“Central America has what, five or six countries?” Debbie stated. “Which one will he be going to?”

“There are seven countries in Central America: Belize, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Panama.”

“I stand corrected,” Debbie wagged her head. “But which one?”

“I’m not sure. All he said was Central America. He said he’d call as soon as he got settled.” Tom tried to appear unconcerned.

“Did he get transferred there?” Debbie asked.

“I don’t know. He just told me he’s moving to Central America.”

“That sounds fishy to me,” Debbie frowned and shook her head.

“Maybe he joined the Peace Corps.”

“Edgar?” Debbie said. 

“Look, Debbie, Edgar is in big trouble. I’m not sure if he’s in Central America yet or not. But that’s where he’ll be for a while. I should have thought things out better before saying anything.”

“You mean like a better lie?” Debbie said.

“Yes,” Tom admitted. “Please say nothing to anybody about Edgar. If somebody asks about where I’ve been, just tell them I'm clearing up some matters for Edgar. And that’s all you know.”

“Is he in trouble with the law?” Debbie asked, concerned.

“No, I can assure you of that.”

“You’re keeping something from me,” Debbie said. “I can tell. I know you better than you know yourself.”

Tom grinned. “I’m not keeping something from you. If I did, it would mean it’s something you should know. And it’s nothing you should know or care about—truly.”

“I care about you,” Debbie said. “And, here it comes, I love you.”

“And I love you. There we both said it. I’ve known it for a long time.”

“I expected a more romantic setting.” Debbie chuckled, “But I’ve known it for at least five years. I told my mom then, and she said it would pass—it hasn’t.”

Tom reached across the table and held Debbie’s hand. “Debbie, there will come a time when I can tell you what’s going on, but it’s not now. It is a load only I can carry for now. If I were to let you in on all this, it would be more than unfair.”

“I don’t understand what could be so important or secretive,” Debbie said. She leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Here’s one thing I’m sure of: I trust you. And you have always looked out for me. And I know that’s what you are doing now. I’m going to leave it at that and be satisfied.”

“There will come a time when I can let you in on everything.”

“And I can wait.”