Sink or Sell

Water surrounds us, sustains us and reminds us of our mortality.

Dear Reader, this story, Sink or Sell, received an honorable mention in Wild Waterways: Elegant Literature #010! There are lots of amazing stories from talented authors in this issue. Go give it a read for free.

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The man standing in front of pawnbroker Eli Levin, arrived exactly at closing time, 2:00am, on Detroit’s East side. He was dressed in pressed khakis, a polo and wore Birkenstocks, a dead giveaway he traveled south, emerging from a wealthy enclave of Grosse Pointe. Levin expected the pawn to be easy cash for a rich man who couldn’t be bothered with the likes of eBay or Craigslist.

Two items were placed on the counter. The first was a simple black briefcase, and the second an old leather bound, rectangular box with hand sewn seams, a single strap and a brass buckle. The surface showed signs of cracking from water damage. In his mind, Levin was already angling for a discount based upon wear and tear. Sizing up the customer, he expected it to contain a maritime collectible — a scuttled ship’s bell or possibly an antique sextant.

“We’re closed. Stop by in the morning after I’ve had a strong coffee and a few donuts. I promise I’ll be in a friendlier mood,” Levin said.

“That won’t work. I’ll be dead by then,” the man said.

“Interesting negotiating strategy.”

“My apologies for arriving so late. It was the best way to ensure our conversation could take place uninterrupted. My name is Frederick Ross.”

Levin let the name simmer. It was too familiar to be attached to the man standing in front of him, at this hour of night, in this part of the city.

“Frederick Ross, as in the richest man in Michigan, billionaire Frederick Ross?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“I don’t know how you made your money, Mr. Ross. You have the worst sales technique of anyone I’ve seen come in here. What could a man like me possibly offer you that you don’t already own, or couldn’t buy outright?”

“A chance at redemption.”

“Why don’t we start with what’s in the box and see where that gets us.”

Ross unbuckled the strap around the leather box, opened it and pulled out a dubious, simple contraption that appeared to be late 1800s. The tarnished brass base held a glass dome enclosure with a green swirling mist that moved organically, almost lifelike.

“Let me demonstrate how I know when I’ll die,” Ross said. He held his hands over the glass, and the mist attacked the perimeters, excited by the touch, then floated into the center. Numbers began to form, a date and time, counting down to what Levin supposed was the exact moment of Ross’s future demise.

“It’s an interesting trick,” Levin said.

“Let’s assume for a moment it’s not. How much would you pay if it were real?” Ross asked.

“It would be priceless, not to mention sought after by powerful individuals with a lot more money than me.”

“True, but I’m here now, and I’m not going to ask you to pay. It’s yours.”

“Yeah, what’s the catch?”

Ross turned the black briefcase toward Levin, flipped the latches and opened it to reveal stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills neatly labeled.

“One million dollars. I’m going to leave it and walk out of here with a promissory note from you for the same amount. My last mistake was making my current wife the sole beneficiary of my estate. Annabelle, my daughter, will get nothing. I’m sure of it. She also won’t speak to me, which leaves me with no other option. I’ll make arrangements for the note to be delivered to her privately after I’m gone. You get to keep the device for your assistance,” Ross said.

“Launder a million dollars? Why me?” Levin asked.

“It’s no coincidence I’m here at this pawnshop, Mr. Levin. Your own daughter’s death was a tragedy. She would be about the same age as Annabelle. I just figured if anyone could understand a desperate father’s love, it would be you.”

Levin was taken back at first. Ross obviously had resources that could dig up that kind of information quickly. It was no secret. Local news aired the picture of Levin’s daughter, Naomi, for several days, trying to drum up leads or witnesses. When the story was no longer relevant, they lost interest. Months later the police captured the murderer — a spaced-out junkie looking to score.

“Maybe your daughter has a good reason not to speak to you. Tell me how the device came to be in your possession,” Levin said.

“After Annabelle’s mother died, I could no longer look at her the same. The two of them were so much alike. It crushed me every day. I sent her to live with my sister and I got lost — in myself — in the world. I traveled by water exclusively. Adrift every day, never knowing where I would port next and wanting to leave immediately after we hit dry land — that was my routine. At night I would stand at the bow, staring down into the deepest, darkest void, wondering what it would feel like to sink into the abyss. I was terrified and mesmerized all the same. Do you know what I mean?” Ross asked.

Levin could see a hint of that void, pulling at Ross now, and he knew there was no question the man was going to die, was ready to die, but didn’t know if it would be by his own hands. Levin questioned whether he could say anything to change Ross’s mind even if that were the case.

“Yes, I understand. Like moths to a flame. Is that right?” Levin asked.

“Yes, exactly! Toward the end of the journey, I had sailed every ocean and major body of water known to man. My last destination was the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Egypt. While docked, I met an Israeli archeologist, who I ultimately befriended. He told me that on an expedition some local fishermen led him to an underwater graveyard. Unearthed beneath the sediment was the box. I thought he was crazy when he stated its purpose — even crazier when he said it predicted his own death in two days. He was murdered. So, I took the box.

On the way back home, I met my second wife, Eva, in Portugal, had a whirlwind romance and was married a month later. Imagine Annabelle’s surprise, the first time seeing her since her mother’s death, and it’s with a stepmother in tow. When everything went sideways, I opened the box and laid my own hands on the device, wondering when it would all end. That was a couple days ago.”

Both men stood silent. Years in the pawn trade allowed Levin to read all kinds of people from all walks of life. He didn’t know what else to make of Ross, other than he was certainly telling the truth. There was only one thing left to do.

“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Ross.”

Levin was surprised when the news broke, not that the device had predicted Ross’s date and time of death, but that it wasn’t suicide. He died from cardiac arrest. A broken heart, Levin thought. As Ross expected, his daughter got nothing and was living with her aunt. Eva was back in Portugal, a billionaire beneficiary, content to live out her days in solitude. All Levin had to do was wait for Annabelle to show up at the pawnshop, which she did several months later.

No matter the claim amount, customers with a promissory note walk right up to the counter. By the time they make it to Levin, they’re all the same. He can read the desperation on their faces. With Annabelle it was different. She had the note in hand, her ticket to financial freedom, no questions asked. Yet, instead of walking up to Levin, she browsed for more than an hour, looking at clothes, jewelry and antiques. Her greatest interest was an eclectic assortment of clocks.

Levin was distracted by customers and without warning he found himself face-to-face with Annabelle Ross. The resemblance was noticeable. She had Ross’s eyes and nose, and her presence was just as out of place, not because she radiated wealth, but because of her sense of normalcy despite coming from wealth.

“It’s for a lot of money,” she said, handing the note to Levin.

“Annabelle, right?” Levin asked.

“I’m not surprised you know my name. You were probably hoping I wouldn’t show. You could keep the money for yourself.”

“Your dad gave me something much more valuable — an opportunity to meet the daughter he loved so deeply.”

“You don’t know my father.”

Levin didn’t want to start out this way. She was right, he couldn’t understand the pain she felt or had experienced. He only heard Ross tell his side of the story. A few minutes alone with Annabelle wasn’t going to change her for the better, so he changed the subject instead.

“I noticed you were looking at the clocks,” Levin said.

“My aunt is fond of clocks. All throughout her apartment, clocks tick away the hours, minutes and seconds. I studied them intensely over the last several years — every groove, nick, scratch and oddity that makes them unique. All that time waiting. You know what I was waiting for?” Annabelle asked.

“A phone call,” Levin said.

“That’s right, a phone call. Maybe a letter, or I would have settled for a card on my birthday. I’m not really here for the money, although I am broke. What I want to know is my worth to my dad. What could you possibly have that would give me value?” Annabelle asked.

“I could tell you a story, or at least the part of it that brought him here. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

Levin recounted the events over lunch, keeping them as close to Ross’s words as he could remember. He didn’t want to romanticize or lead her astray. Whatever Annabelle wanted to do with the details was up to her. He only hoped that by discussing that evening he could steer her away from the same dark waters as Ross. The abyss was seductive, trying to claim another victim of circumstance. Losing Annabelle to the deep would be like losing Naomi all over again.

“Is it real? Can it do what he says?” Annabelle asked.

“It is. I’ve made a few guarantees as to its legitimacy,” Levin said.

“You can keep the money.”

“A man has nothing if he doesn’t have his word. I promised your dad.”

“Sell it back to me. I will offer you one million dollars.”

“It’s worth much more than that. Tell me why you really want it.”

“Because it has the power to save. Imagine a world where people see death not only as the end. Knowing when you die can be a new beginning. My dad wanted that opportunity. It was too late for him, but it doesn’t have to be that way for everyone.”

“Annabelle, that’s not how the world works. Knowing an entire lifetime is ahead can create complacency, or even recklessness. Not everyone will use the knowledge for good.”

“You’re right. Complacent, reckless, stupid, call them what you want. Knowing wouldn’t change that sort of person any differently. It only matters to those who need a little push. I want to be the one to push them.”

Levin considered what she was asking. Annabelle was young and a bit reckless herself. How many women of her age would turn down a million dollars to try and make such a difference in this world. That kind of passion shouldn’t be wasted, Levin thought. It should be channeled.

“I have a better idea — a partnership. You keep the money and come work for me. Together, we can find a way to use the device,” Levin said. “It’s a second chance for all of us.”

“On one condition,” Annabelle said.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“If my new boss is terrible, I want to know how long I have to live with him.”

“I have just the thing that will tell you.”