They drove down the dirt road and parked next to a sign saying Visiting Pilots Welcome Aboard.
CHAPTER 67
Judy Katz ran up the stairs to her third-floor apartment, searching through her bag for her keys. The backpack she’d borrowed from Reuben was heavy. She was breathing hard by the time she reached her door.
Some clothes, not much, and my passport, she thought. Where the hell did I leave my passport?
The passport from her teenage years, the one filled with stamps from an eight-week If-It’s-Tuesday-This-Must-Be-Belgium American Youth Hostels summer vacation, was long expired. Her rapid-fire legal career did not leave time for vacations. She’d obtained a new passport a few years back, though, after she and a boyfriend-of-the-moment talked about how much fun it would be to take off on a last-minute weekend to Paris. She’d realized her ability to be spontaneous would take advance planning, the first action being getting a current passport. The boyfriend went south before the two of them flew east. She was ashamed the passport was as pristine as the day she’d received it.
Where did I hide that thing?
She turned the key and slowly opened the door, half expecting a crowd of the FBI agents she used to direct, but the apartment was empty, as quiet and lonely as it had been when she fled to Maine after discovering the DVD in her laptop.
She pulled clothes from drawers as if she were conducting a search, which, she realized, she was. Who knew what the weather was like where she was going. Warm, for sure. Hot? She didn’t know.
All she knew for certain was that she had to leave, had to get out of the country, soon, today if possible. Before tomorrow for sure. Everything would change tomorrow.
At the top of the heap in her junk drawer was a small blue booklet with the familiar seal of the United States on the cover—her passport.
She grinned, grabbed it and raced across the room to her bed. The passport went into her pocketbook. The clothes, and the manila folder, were stuffed into a nylon suitcase. With a final glance around the room, she walked out the door and down the steps, taking them two at a time despite the weight of the suitcase in one hand and the heavy backpack over her other shoulder.
Her car was parked halfway down the block. Shouldn’t use my own car, she thought. Call a cab? Shouldn’t use my cell phone.
Fuck it. She raced to the car. Fumbling with her car keys, she unlocked the trunk and tossed her suitcase in. The backpack went on the passenger seat.
Now where? Abram would know. Wish I could have asked him. Downtown. There’s a place downtown.
She drove quickly, following the Boston traffic rule of “green light means go, yellow means go faster.” Passing Boston Common, she turned down a side street and pulled to the curb next to a Loading Zone No Parking sign. “Screw it,” she said.
Locking the car, leaving the suitcase behind, she hefted the backpack over one shoulder and walked to the corner. Washington Street. Where the hell is that building. Left? Right? She looked both ways to orient herself. Left. Maybe.
She walked down the crowded sidewalk, so distracted she couldn’t deal with people walking toward her, doing a dance with a man in a blue suit, carrying a briefcase, cell phone to his ear, walking directly toward her. She moved right, he moved the same way, she moved left, he moved the same way. They smiled at one another in embarrassed annoyance and passed.
Her eyes were on the old brick buildings lining the street. Which one is it? A doorway with a sign over the top brought her a sigh of relief. Boston Jewelers Building.
She’d been there once before, a Friday afternoon she’d left work early after turning down an invitation to join “the guys” at a bar in Southie to tie one on. She went to look at rings, hoping, fantasizing that one day she’d be engaged. Where is my life going, she’d thought, wallowing in self-pity at approaching what she considered to be middle age with no husband, no family, no prospects of a husband or family. Nana was so right, she’d thought.
Katz took the elevator to the third floor. She didn’t remember the name of the shop, but she did recall the sign on the front door. Beneath the word Diamonds it said, Gold Bought and Sold.
She tried the door handle. Locked. Looking through the glass door she saw a man behind the counter. He looked up as she pressed the button next to the door handle. She smiled. He smiled and nodded. A buzz. She turned the handle and the door opened.
“Ready for that diamond now, sweetie?” the man asked. Seeing the startled look on her face, he smiled broadly. “My father taught me. Never forget a customer. Especially such a pretty one. If this man doesn’t work out for you, there’ll be another. I knew it all along. So, sheyna velle, bright eyes, are you ready for your diamond?”
Katz lifted her backpack onto the glass counter, plunking it down with such a thunk she was afraid she’d break the glass. The man raised his eyebrows quizzically.
She reached to the bottom of the bag with both hands and deposited a mound of glistening gold coins on the glass.
“I want to sell these,” she said, hiding, hopefully, the nervousness in her voice.
The man picked one coin up and glanced at it quickly.
“Krugerrands,” he said, spitting the word out as if it were an obscenity.
“I want cash for these. How much are they worth?” Katz asked.
Without saying a word, the man began counting the coins, sliding them one at a time across the counter as he did so. “Ten, eleven, twelve.”
“I have more,” Katz said quietly. “But I’m going to take some with me. How much can I get for these?”
The man walked to the far end of the counter where a computer that looked as if it had been purchased during the Eisenhower administration sat, orange characters appearing on a black screen. He pecked at the keys with one extended figure. Rows of numbers filled the screen.
He walked back to Katz with a look of sadness, almost of despondency.
“Gold is down,” he said. “Keep them. Sell them some other time.” He saw the shocked expression on her face.
“You know I’ll just take them someplace else,” she said, desperate. “I need the money today, right now.”
“No, tottala, no,” he said softly. “Whatever is troubling you, it will get better. Trust me. I’ve seen bad in my life. It gets better.”
He saw the desperation in her eyes. He made a decision.
“So, sometimes getting better takes some help. All right then. They have a face value of $1,346. I’ll give you…” He paused, his eyes turned to the ceiling, going distant for a moment, then returning. “I’ll give you $1,200 each. Nobody else will give that much. They’d steal them from you, the gonifs, thieves.”
“I’ll take it,” Katz blurted. “Thank you so much, so much.” She pushed the coins toward the man. “Can I have large bills, please?”
“Oh no, sweetie. I don’t keep that kind of cash here. They’d beat me over the head.”
He opened a drawer and removed a large leather binder. Inside was a spiral-bound check register.
“I have to have cash,” she said flatly, sadly.
The man calculated rapidly in his head and began writing a check.
“You can take this across the street.” He pointed out the window. A sign said Bank of America. “They’ll give you cash for this. I need your name, dear.”