By Dwayne Phillips
Short Story 2008-47, 29 November 2008
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"I wanted to believe him, but I just couldn't get myself to," confessed Andrew.
"Andy, what was it? I mean the guy was going to save us," pleaded his partner Will.
"Well, yeah. I mean I know that now, or I believe it now. Well, I believed it then, but, I mean. Oh you know what I mean," replied Andrew in anguish as he recalled the events of the previous week.
The day of the previous week had started when Will had walked out the back of the office building. The two had leased a small office on the third floor where they toiled away trying to write the next great piece of software that would make them millionaires. They ate and slept in the office as well. They weren't supposed to do those things, but no one had complained, yet.
It was an odd situation with the real estate market. There was a glut of office space, and a crush on apartment space. Their office was cheaper than an apartment, even with government subsidies on the apartment.
Andrew and Will did qualify for government living subsidies with their income. They had some income from tutoring high school kids in their little computer science classes. That money bought cases of Ramen Noodle soup, the staple of their diet - actually all their diet this past month.
Andrew had received an email from a Mister Jones asking for a meeting. Jones had to be some type of fake name. "Nobody," surmised Andrew, "had a name like Lou Jones." It had to be an alias or something. Andrew would have hit the delete key, but the message had something about "meeting for lunch to discuss business." Andrew read the email carefully, and his first glance was correct. This Lou Jones was inviting him to lunch. The taste of real food was too much for Andrew to pass. The lunch meeting invitation was for that day. Will was already gone, so Andrew couldn't grab him for the meeting as well. "Besides," thought Andrew, "Will was probably going to his girlfriend's apartment. She would feed him."
Andrew went down to the office building's basement to the gym. He shaved quickly - first time in three days, soaked his head in the sink mostly to wake himself, and dried his head in the hand blow dryer on the wall. Andrew combed his fair by running his hands through it.
The lunch invite was to a Panera's bread three blocks away. Perfect, as Andrew could walk that distance and be on time. Gas was too expensive if your wallet was empty and your credit card was max’ed out, and Andrew met both of those conditions. "Meet you at the door," read the email. "I'll be wearing a yellow shirt and suspenders."
The "suspenders" line really caught Andrew's attention. He had seen plenty of high roller venture capitalists wearing suspenders. Well, he had seen one of them doing it. Back six months ago Andrew and Will had one meeting with venture capitalists. There were six well-dressed men in a conference room with an accountant in the corner taking notes. The accountant didn't take many notes as Andrew and Will were dismissed in ten minutes.
Andrew arrived at the Panera's a few minutes late. He had taken a wrong turn and had to climb an eight-foot chain link fence to correct his course. The fence marked his pants leg and scuffed his left shoe. Content would have to rule over appearance - he hoped.
Andrew approached the door of Panera's and almost turned around to return to his office. There at the door was a man with a long-sleeve yellow shirt, bright red suspenders holding up a pair of two-sizes-too-large patched blue jeans up to the mains beer belly. The main had a bushy gray mustache, wire-rim glasses, and wild gray hair. Topping it all was a floppy gray Stetson. On the ground next to the man was a scuffed banjo case and a baby in one of those scoop-shaped baby carriers.
Andrew found himself standing next to this man. Shock and disbelief had kept him walking whereas good sense would have turned him around. "I still have a chance to get out of here," thought Andrew. "This guy doesn't know me. I could look at my watch, fake something about a dentist appointment, and run off." The smell of fresh-baked bread from Panera's churned Andrew's stomach and forced him to open his mouth, "Hi. I'm Andrew. Are you Mr. Jones?"
The old man with the floppy Stetson turned and grinned. "Andrew, great to see you. I have been looking forward to this. Let's go in and have a bite to eat while we talk. Have you eaten lunch yet?" rambled the old man.
Andrew opened the door and held it while Jones gathered his banjo and baby and entered. "No, I haven't eaten lunch yet. I usually eat a late lunch on Tuesdays, so the timing was perfect," answered Andrew.
The two entered and stood at the end of a long line. "Sorry I have my grandson James with me. My daughter had a last second doctor's appointment, so I got to keep the little guy. I don't mind a bit. Do you mind?"
"Oh, no, no problem Mr. Jones," answered Andrew as he started studying the menu items on the wall. He was trying to figure which sandwich was the largest.
"Don't call me Mr. Jones young man. Call me Louis or just Lou. Whatever you do, don't call me Grandpa Jones. Ever since this little guy came along all my friends have called me that," chuckled Jones.
"Is this a good place to eat?" asked Jones. "I've never been in one of these. I suggested it because I knew it was close to your office."
"Yes, this is a good place to eat Mr. er, Lou," said Andrew. "The sandwiches are all good and so is the soup."
"I like soup," said Jones, "especially chili. Can you get chili in one of those bread bowls? I really like that. Nothing goes to waste and there are no bowls to wash. My wife hates it when I eat one of those things. She hates my eating with my hands and such. Some women are like that you know."
Andrew hadn't eaten a meal with a young women in. Well, he couldn't remember when. By the looks of him, Jones hadn't eaten with a young women in a few decades himself.
In a few moments they were standing before the cashier at the front of the line. Andrew ordered the biggest sandwich he could find, and then at Jones' urging, ordered another and another two to take back to Will at the office. "I know how it is to have scarce food. Starting a business can help you lose weight. I've been through that a few times," said Jones.
The two sat in a corner with the baby carrier on the table next to them. The grandson slept the entire time with only a few noises now and then. Jones asked a number of astute questions about Andrew and Will and the product they were developing. Andrew listened to Jones' thoughts and suggestions. Some of them were pretty good, and Andrew and Will had not thought of them. Andrew caught himself taking notes on a napkin.
"What am I doing?" Andrew asked himself silently. "This old Grandpa Jones guy is out of his head. He can't know what he is saying, can he?"
After Andrew had finished his double lunch and Jones had quizzed him for an hour, Andrew grew unsettled. Andrew knew little of babies, but figured that little James would have to start crying or poop his diaper or something that babies tend to do to make annoyances of themselves. Besides, he had work to do, and Will was probably back in the office typing code that would surely break the daily build if Andrew didn't watch him.
As Andrew was about to stand and leave, Jones grabbed his banjo case and set it on the table. The case was covered with dust.
"Excuse the dust Andrew," said Jones. He opened the case to reveal a banjo. Andrew guessed that it was a banjo. He really wouldn't know a banjo from a bassoon. "Hold this for me Andrew. Please don't drop it. Its a Bishline. A little pricey for my wife, but as long as I keep it below a couple dozen she doesn't kick me out of the house."
Jones fumbled around in the dirty banjo case and removed some sheets of paper. Andrew thought they were copies of "Smokey Mountain Breakdown" or "Smokey Mountain Hoedown" or "Hoota nannny" or some such hillbilly scratching.
"Here it is," proclaimed Jones. "This is a standard venture contract we use. I like your ideas and your expertise. You seem to have more formal know how than most people I interview. Besides, there is something I like about you. You have some respect in you. Respect for old men and babies. That tells me something, something you don't see in source code."
Jones pulled a shiny blue pen from a dirty corner of the banjo case and held it towards Andrew. Andrew caught a glimpse of the logo on the pen. It certainly didn't say "Bic," and Andrew thought it read "Cartier." Andrew dismissed that as blurred vision from too many sleepless nights in front of a computer screen.
Now came the not believing part. Andrew could not believe that this raggedy old man with the floppy hat and broad red suspenders was for real. He wasn't about to sign away his business on the promise of funds that this old claimed man he represented. Surely, anyone with this much money could hire a baby sitter instead of bringing the baby to a business lunch. And who would have a business lunch at such a cheap place like Panera's.
Andrew stood, laid the banjo in the case, picked up the extra sandwiches, and walked away. He left Jones sitting at the table with a fancy pen in hand and an unsigned contract.
"Maybe the old guy was for real," said Will, jolting Andrew back to the present.
"I wanted him to be for real," replied Andrew. "But if you had seen him. The clothes, that hat, a banjo and a baby for God's sake. Have you ever met a real business man who shows up for a meeting dragging a banjo and a baby with him?"
"Well, no," stuttered Will, "but you could have least brought the contract with you and we could have checked the guy. Now we have nothing and nothing to go on. How do you Google 'crazy looking old man acting like a venture capitalist?'"
"I already tried that one. For once Google came up with zero matches. Do you know how rare it is for Google to have zero matches?" asked Andrew.
The conversation was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Andrew and Will never got a phone call in their office. They both dug around until Will found the phone under piles of paper in a corner.
"Yes," said Will into the phone.
Will strained to hear as the voice on the other end was a man whispering so that someone nearby couldn't hear him. "I have a hobo-looking fellow down here. Says he knows Andrew and wants to talk again."
"Sounds like Grandpa Jones tailed you here," announced Will to Andrew. "The guard at the door says a hobo is downstairs wanting to see you."
"Is he alone?" asked Will into the phone. He listened for a moment, furrowed his brow in confusion, and turned to Andrew.
"The guard says the old man is carrying a banjo case in one hand, a baby in the other arm, and has a young lady in a business suit with him."
"Well, tell him to send them up. If nothing else, you will get the full treatment and maybe you will understand why I couldn't trust the guy last week."
In a few minutes Will opened the office door in response to a knock. In walked Jones with banjo case and baby in hand. Also walked an attractive young lady wearing a black business suit and carrying a black attache case.
"Andrew," greeted Jones. "Glad to see you again. I had to go to London, so it took me a while to get to you. You know my grandson James. He's getting bigger every day. And this young lady is Ms. Katz. She is the CFO of my little company. I brought her along in case your partner didn't believe me to be for real. She has all those official looking papers in her brief case that proves we're solid and sound and all that accounting stuff."
Ms. Katz had placed her attache case on top of a pile of papers that were on the folding table that Andrew and Will used to review code. The look on her face showed her skepticism in Andrew and Will. They guessed that they had the same look concerning Jones.
"Gentlemen," announced Ms. Katz, "Here are our bona fides. Please have your people check them for you. I trust that you will find everything in order and that Jones Diversified Services is sound financially and can meet any contract we sign."
Andrew and Will stood back near the window. It was only three paces from Ms. Katz, but it was as far away as they could be in there tiny office. Will spoke slowly and cautiously, "Well, yes. Our people will check these I guess. Yes we will check these."
Ms. Katz continued her Kellogg School of Business speech, "Mr. Jones rarely invests in something so small. As CFO, I advise him not to delve into matters below the hundred million dollar mark as that ties our accounting into knots. In this case, however, he has assured me personally of the promise of your concept and your trustworthiness. I want you to know that Mr. Jones rarely meets with prospective clients in person. He made an exception with you, Andrew. And here is a list of our clients. You may call and verify these if you wish."
Will took the list from Ms. Katz and swallowed hard. He recognized most of the names of the list. Those names were all Internet millionaires, and they were all associated with the old country-boy fellow who stood before them. Well, Jones wasn't standing before them any more. Instead he was on the floor cooing and whistling to his grandson while changing a dirty diaper.
"What you boys want me to do with this dirty little diaper?" asked Jones.
"I'll take it," volunteered Andrew. "I'll find a place for it."
Will joined in with, "Ms. Katz, would you like to take a seat while I make a couple of phone calls? Here, sit on this, uh, sleeping bag. Its the most comfortable thing we have in here, to sit on I mean."
Count for Something
by Dwayne Phillips
"I wanted to believe him, so I did," said Andrew recounting the prior
evening.
"The guy looked trustworthy, he looked like what he said he was," he added.
"But," interrupted the State Trooper, "did you think that he might steal your car?"
"No, not at all," replied Andrew. "Maybe I was being stupid. I'll admit that. But really, what's wrong with the world these days?"
The Trooper sat calmly behind his small, gray, metal desk and listened to Andrew's story.
The night before, Andrew was driving down a two-lane state highway after work. It was a typical evening after a typical day. Andrew rounded a long bend in the road and saw a man standing next to a new red pickup truck with its tail lights flashing. Andrew instinctively slowed his car. His slowing continued until he came to a slow roll next to the man and his truck.
Andrew pressed the button to this left to lower the passenger side window next to the man. The closeness and lowered window allowed Andrew to see the man clearly. Middle-aged, wearing slacks and a short sleeve shirt, the man looked like a business man or a white-collar worker.
"He's just like me," thought Andrew. "We are dressed the same and driving similar model year vehicles. The only difference is that he is having mechanical trouble and I am not."
"Thanks for stopping sir," said the man.
"Sure," replied Andrew. "You having trouble?"
"I guess so. I'm not sure what the problem is. This truck is only six months old. Shouldn't be in a fix like this. I just don't know what is wrong."
"Well, I'm not a mechanic, but there is a repair shop a couple miles up the road. I can give you a lift if you like. The mechanic lives next door to his shop, so he'll probably be there. You interested?" asked Andrew.
The man next to the truck looked at his watch, looked up and down the dark road, and answered, "Yes, I'm interested. You sure you can do this for me?"
"Yeah, sure. Hop in," answered Andrew.
The man opened the passenger door, started to step into Andrew's car, but stopped. "Oh, wait a minute," he said. "I have to bring one thing with me."
The man turned to his pickup truck, opened its door, and reached into it to retrieve something. Andrew glanced in his rear view mirror to ensure that he wasn't blocking anyone. He then moved his eyes to the road in front of him to see that traffic was safe in that direction as well. He then turned to watch the man enter his car. A handgun was now in Andrew's face.
"Slip out on your side of the car, now, fast," was all Andrew heard.
Andrew complied quietly. His heart was racing as he exited and stood still in the road next to his car. The door of the pickup truck slammed. Andrew looked up to see a person now behind the wheel of the truck. The man who had put a gun in Andrew's face was now sitting behind the wheel of Andrew's car.
The two vehicles sped away. Andrew stood in the dark road. He was alone in the dark and quiet; he was shaking, and he couldn't stop the shakes. He stood there for what seemed like was an hour, but was only a few minutes.
Headlights appeared in the distance and grew closer. Andrew waved his arms while still standing in the center of the road. "Hey, stop!" shouted Andrew. It didn't occur to him that the approaching driver couldn't hear him. He shouted longer and louder. It also didn't occur to him that he was standing in the middle of the road in the dark with a car speeding towards him.
"I guess I assumed that the driver would see me, and trust me enough to stop and help," he told the Trooper.
Andrew was correct about trust this time. The car slowed and stopped next to Andrew. It was a small, old, beaten Toyota that was once white but was now various shades of gray and red primer. A man with a faded John Deere cap covering knotted hair rolled down the window of the car. He hadn't shaved in a week, and his breath smelled like he hadn't brushed his teeth in a month.
"Got some trouble here?" asked the disheveled man in the fast-rusting car.
Andrew paused. Would he fall for an ill-meaning stranger twice in one night? The man who stole his car at gun point looked good but acted bad. Would this man who appeared the opposite act the opposite? Andrew stopped thinking. Instead, he spoke, "Yes. I've just been robbed. I stopped to help someone and he stole my car. He pointed a gun at me and made me get out. I had to get out or he would shoot me or something. I didn't know what else to do. I was shaking I was so mad and so scared and felt so foolish."
Andrew had not noticed that he was speaking so fast that it sounded like babbling to the gruff man in the old car.
"Mister, just get in. My cousin's a State Trooper. I'll take you to him."
Andrew complied. He walked around to the passenger side of the Toyota and tried to open the door. The door handle came off in his hand. Andrew stood dumbfounded on the side of the road with a rusted door handle in his hand. He stared at it until the car door opened and hit him hard in the knee.
"Sorry bub. I gotta fix that door someday. Here, give me the handle so I can tape it back on tomorrow."
Andrew stepped into the old car and sat on half a dozen empty beer cans. He tried to brush them out from under himself onto the floor of the car. Several attempts later, he had succeeded and then noticed that they were careening down the road. The driver was swerving the steering wheel back and forth. Sometimes the car responded as desired, sometimes not. Andrew's hands started shaking again.
Half an hour later, the car pulled into a State Trooper station. Andrew stepped from the car, but the driver did not. "My cousin Larry is inside," said the driver. "I'll just go on now. It won't do for me to hang around and have another Trooper see me with all this beer in the car. See you."
With that, the old Toyota screeched backwards, stopped with a skid on loose gravel, and screeched out into the dark of the highway.
"And so," said Andrew to the Trooper behind the desk, "here I am."
"Okay," replied the Trooper. "I wrote what I heard from you. I want you to take a few minutes and read this carefully. If you agree to it, sign here at the bottom of the last page."
The Trooper slid the papers across the desk to Andrew. Andrew read the papers slowly, nodding yes along the way, and signed his name in the proper place.
"You know," started Andrew. "I thought I could trust people. I don't know about that from here on out. I don't think I will be stopping on the side of the road when I see someone who looks like they are in trouble. No, not me. Let someone else be the sucker."
"Well," answered the Trooper, "The second guy you met last night did okay, didn't he?"
"Yes, I guess so. If I had to pick the trustworthy person from appearances, I wouldn't have picked him. He didn't look too good, but I didn't have much of a choice standing out there shaking in the dark. It was a good thing your cousin came along."
"Mister," said the Trooper, "I have ten cousins, but they all live three states away. I don't know what that man in the old car was thinking, but he wasn't being straight with you."
"What?" asked Andrew in astonishment. "How could that be? You mean he lied to me? You mean I shouldn't have trusted him either?"
"I don't know sir. I do know that he picked you up in the dark and brought you here. That must count for something, don't you think? I know your car was stolen, but you have insurance and it will be replaced. You could have stood out there in the dark all night until someone ran over you, right?"
“I guess so,” answered Andrew. “But still. I want to trust people, but I don’t know anymore. Look what people will do to you.”
The Trooper shook his head and sighed.
“I suggest you continue to trust people. You’ll sleep better at night. Just take a little more care and maybe carry a cell phone and offer to call for a Trooper the next time you find someone broken down on the side of the road at night.”
Go to
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Email me at
d.phillips@computer.org