Origin & Earth (The Orris Project Book 1), page 22
“Jesus, man, is this gold?” Bill asked, gazing at the pieces in amazement.
“Of course, I told you it was real.”
Bill shook his head. “You don’t change this kind of money, man, you sell it. These two both say twenty francs. I’m no expert, but I know that twenty francs, at least before France changed over to Euros, were worth about four bucks American. These are worth a couple hundred bucks each, at least. What the hell is this other one?” Bill held the Clotz coin up to the light.
“It’s Roman. Very old,” Garrett said.
Bill studied the coin. “I’ll say.” He dropped the coins back into Garrett’s hand. “Well, man, you need a jeweler, or a pawn shop, or something like that. Trust me, sell them. They are worth a good deal of money.” With that, he put the truck into gear and pulled back onto the highway.
2
Garrett was smiling subtly, happy to be in motor transport again with all its creature comforts. The scenery rushed by, cloaked in darkness but with fleeting moments of illumination from the electric light at the front of the truck and the other vehicles that surrounded them. It had been years, both in actual time and Garrett’s realized time, since he had traveled a fast-paced and mesmerizing highway. That it was raining only added to the illusion, and he realized he had been in a trance, no conception of time passing.
“How long have we been driving?” Garrett asked. Bill was guzzling drinks from aluminum cans and had a determined look on his face. He had tuned the truck’s radio to a channel that was only men talking, with no music to accompany it.
“Since I picked you up? Ah, three hours, a little over three. Why? Do you want to get out?”
Garrett straightened up in his seat to get more comfortable. The men on the radio were talking about vampires, a term he was unfamiliar with. “No, no, certainly not. It’s just that I feel like I have no idea how much time has passed. The road can put you in a trance, I find.”
Bill smiled and glanced at Garrett, then back to the road. “Hell yeah, it can. That’s why I have these.” Bill held up a mostly empty can. “They keep you awake, focused. I don’t know how long we’ll be together, Garrett, but I’m headed to Yuma, Arizona. And I can tell you right now that’s almost on the other side of the country and driving at night is the only way to go.”
“Well, I can tell you I am very happy that you are awake and focused as the operator of this large, heavy vehicle.” Garrett said.
Bill chuckled. “I’m gonna drive until the morning, man. I gotta stop at 6:07 a.m. or this thing will rat me out.” He tapped on a small digital console on the dashboard. “That will put us in Virginia, anyway. After we stop, we can figure out what you’re gonna do. If you want to keep going, that’s fine by me. I enjoy company, but I have nowhere for you to sleep, so it might get complicated.”
They talked during the next few hours, Garrett asked a lot of questions and Bill answered them. They talked about the radio program they were listening to with all its macabre topics. A few times, they sat in silence and watched the miles roll by.
3
At 5:52, by the clock on the dashboard, Bill steered the large truck off the highway. After only five minutes and two more turns, he pulled into a large empty lot with painted markings on the ground but no other vehicles.
“We can park here for the day. I’ve done it several times before and had no problem. The best thing is there’s a diner across the street,” Bill said. “Wait here for a bit, I’ll be back in a minute.” Bill pulled a clipboard from the floor next to his seat and a pen from his shirt pocket. He exited the truck and Garrett observed him inspecting multiple places all around the truck and trailer. After he finished, he opened Garrett’s door and motioned for him to climb down.
“You can leave your gear in the truck, I’ll lock it, but why don’t you bring one of your gold coins with you? Maybe someone in the diner can tell us where you can sell it,” Bill said. Garrett retrieved one of the Napoleons from a satchel and climbed down out of the truck. When he swung the door shut, he read the logo emblazoned below the window. “Big Bill Little,” it said, and beneath that, “Service with a purpose.” “Follow me, I’ll buy you breakfast and we can go from there.” Bill strode across the street when it was clear of traffic, and Garrett followed.
The two men ate their breakfast in the old diner. The age of the establishment showed in its linoleum floor, deeply worn from foot traffic, and the torn upholstery of the diner bar stools. They showed the coin off to the waitress and two old men drinking coffee at the counter. One of the older men told them to try the jewelry store, which he referred to as “Ray’s place.” “You can even walk there from here. It’s but two blocks, but he won’t open for another two hours. I think he opens at nine.” The old fellow looked at the man next to him, who shook his head and shrugged. Bill thanked the two men, paid the bill, and walked out of the diner.
Garrett followed and once they stood outside the diner said, “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I don’t want to burden you any further.”
Before he could finish his thought, Bill interrupted him. “Don’t worry about it, man. This is interesting. Driving a truck for a living can be interesting, but it can also be boring as hell. I usually don’t turn in until about noon, and then up at eight and right back on the road, so we have some time. Let’s see if we can get you some new duds for cheap. There’s a department store down this way a little. I’ll cover you, and if we can get you some cash, you can pay me back, but if we can’t, don’t sweat it. It won’t break me.”
Garrett opposed taking any form of charity, but the prospect of being able to pay the man back made it easier to accept. “That’s generous of you, Bill. I can’t thank you enough for all this help.”
Bill bought Garrett two pairs of blue jeans and three t-shirts. Two of the shirts were plain colored tees, but the third was in a bargain bin and had the word “Virginia” printed on it in heavy italics. They walked around the store for over an hour, killing time while they waited for “Ray’s place” to open for business.
After they left the department store and returned to the truck so Garrett could change and get more of his coins, they made their way to Ray’s. As they approached the store, Garrett read the correct name of the establishment on a hanging sign above the front door: Raymond Heller’s Fine Jewelry and Antiques. Garrett smiled at the simplification of the name as espoused by the old man at the breakfast counter.
A small-framed, middle-aged man in a black business suit was walking up the sidewalk toward them from the opposite direction, holding a briefcase and fumbling with a set of keys. When he looked up at Bill and Garrett, he smiled and said, “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“G’morning, are you Ray?” Bill asked.
The man found the key he was looking for, slid it into the lock, and turned it completely around twice, which produced a low, metallic thunk. He chuckled at the question. “Yes, most people call me Raymond, but Ray doesn’t bother me. What can I do for you gentlemen this morning?”
Bill stepped back and gestured to Garrett. Garrett pulled one of the gold Napoleons out of his satchel and held it out. Raymond lifted his glasses away from his eyes to inspect the piece with more focus.
“Ah! Very nice. I rarely deal in coins, but if you want to come in, we can take a closer look and maybe determine its value.” He raised his brow and his glasses slipped back down in front of his eyes.
“That would be excellent,” Garrett said, and they followed him into the store.
When turning the corner, Raymond flipped up several switches, and the room illuminated with electric light. Glass cases lined the room, with four more artfully placed in the center. Ray walked to a counter on the far side of the shop, which appeared to Garrett to have computer equipment on top of it. The top of the counter was unlike the others in that it was an opaque polished stone where the others were glass. Ray pulled a stool up to the counter and a bright light over to the center of the unencumbered part of the countertop. Garrett placed the coin under the light and the satchel it had come from about a foot back from it. As the weight of the satchel relaxed on the surface, it made the sound that only a satchel of coins can. The sound caused Ray to pause. He gestured to the satchel. “What’s that?”
Garrett slid the bag toward the light. “More of the same, and some others. It’s all fairly old.”
Ray tilted the satchel on its side and six more Napoleons spilled out, with two dozen assorted silver and copper Roman pieces. “Is this,” Ray paused as he looked at four of the well-preserved silver, bronze, and copper Roman coins. “Are these all real?”
“Yes,” Garrett said. “And I have another satchel of them just like this back in Bill’s truck.”
Ray’s jaw dropped. He emptied the satchel under the light and spread the coins out, separating the French gold coins from the Roman ones. The collection was enormous; it occupied almost half of the free counter space.
“This is remarkable. How on earth did you come to collect all these, and so many more?” Ray asked.
Garrett had thought a question might arise about the exotic monies and parroted his mentally rehearsed answer. “A relative of mine in France passed three months ago. He had no other kin and left everything he owned to me. It didn’t amount to much, but I found the two satchels of coins among his possessions.”
“Oh, you didn’t tell me that’s how you got them,” Bill said.
Garrett offered a small smile. “You didn’t ask.”
“Well,” Raymond said, “I can tell you a few things. First, the French money, the twenty-franc pieces, those will have a pretty well-defined value assigned to them, as they aren’t that old, especially compared to the others.” He picked up one of the gold coins, inspected the front and back, put it down, and walked over to his computer interface. He typed in some information and appeared to read for about a minute. “It looks like they value the twenty-franc gold pieces at about three hundred and fifty dollars each.”
“Nice,” Bill said.
Garrett did not understand the value of three hundred and fifty dollars. He knew their breakfast had cost fourteen dollars, and the total of his clothing had come to sixty-three dollars and some number of cents that he could not remember.
“That brings me to some other things I can tell you,” Ray said. “The value of anything is only what you can find a buyer willing to pay. Like I said, I rarely deal with coins, so as a general statement, I’m not interested in buying any of them. But,” he held up an index finger, “if you have time for me to make a phone call, I might be able to arrange the sale of one or two.”
Garrett looked at Bill, who shrugged. “We definitely have time for a phone call, yeah,” Bill said.
Ray smiled and knocked twice on the counter. “Great, just give me a few minutes.” He took his phone from his pocket and made the call. It was less than a minute before he put the phone down against his chest and addressed Garrett. “My brother will pay you six hundred dollars for two of the Napoleons, if you accept, we can do the transaction right now and I’ll settle up with him later.”
Bill said, “Hell yeah, dude,” under his breath.
“I trust that is fair,” Garrett said, and extended a hand for Raymond to shake. Ray shook it, took the two coins his brother wanted, and walked back into another room, informing his brother of the good news as he went. When he came back, he made six stacks of five twenty-dollar bills on the counter. Garrett wiped up the cash and put it in his satchel on top of the coins he had gathered and put away while waiting for Ray to return.
“Thank you very much, guys, that was wonderful.” Ray waved goodbye and the two men were back on the street.
As they walked back to the truck, Garrett counted out four of the twenties and handed them to Bill. Bill took them and said, “This is eighty bucks, man, you don’t owe me that much.”
“The clothing was over sixty-three, and breakfast was fourteen, plus the tip you left our waitress,” Garrett said. “I owe you exactly eighty, if not a little more. And this way, I bought you breakfast this morning for offering me so much help.” Bill nodded and put the money in his pocket.
“Ok man, if you’re okay with it, then I am. You want to have a beer before we turn in? There’s a restaurant on the way back to the truck. I’ve eaten there a couple times and I’m pretty sure they open at ten, which is in twenty minutes.”
“I am dying for a beer,” Garrett said. Bill smiled and pointed forward.
4
Once seated at the bar in the completely empty restaurant, the two men had to wait a few minutes as the bartender was finishing with her opening procedures. Except for the natural daylight spilling in through the several windows that lined two walls, there was little effort put into lighting the establishment. The bar was a large rectangular island in the middle of the massive dining room, with tables surrounding it and booths fixed to three of the walls. “So, what’s your poison, Garrett?” Bill asked.
Garrett scanned the room and found a chalkboard that said, “On Tap,” but was otherwise blank. “I’m not sure until I know what my options are,” he said. Bill looked up at the tap handles and pointed. Garrett read through the writing on each tap handle with general disregard as he knew none of the names, until the second to last one. He read, “Clotz Ale, Est. 540AD.” Garrett felt a chill down his spine. “I can’t believe it. Fifteen hundred years?”
Bill looked at him with curiosity. “What, man?” he asked. Garrett pointed at the tap handle. “Oh, yeah. That stuff’s been around forever. It’s European, though, so you’d probably be into it.”
A middle-aged woman with a deep brown complexion, black pants, and a matching vest with a white dress shirt beneath appeared and wished the men a good morning. She looked at Bill and squinted. “You’ve been here before, right? Truck driver?”
Bill smiled, “Yes, ma’am. A few times.” He looked at Garrett and nodded, “We’ll take two Clotz, we’re not eating.” She smiled and turned to get their drinks. Bill then turned to Garrett, “So, you still haven’t told me what you’re doing in the states, man. I know about the money and looking for a place to stay, but you gotta be here for a reason. Is it a vacation? Or a holiday, like the Brits say it?”
“No, nothing like that. I am here for a purpose, though. And honestly, I’m never going back to France. I have no reason to. Let me ask you, Bill; this will seem like a strange question, but please bear with me. Have men ever touched the moon?” The bartender placed two napkins in front of the men and a large glass of Clotz Ale upon each. She had heard Garrett ask the question and shot Bill a look that said, “did he just ask that?”
“Yeah, man, hell, they did that before I was born. A lot of cats out there will tell you we never been there, but they’re all just conspiracy nerds. Those types think they fake everything,” Bill said.
Garrett was grinning. He nodded and picked up his glass of Clotz Ale, fully prepared to be disappointed at what fifteen hundred years of recipe alterations would add up to. He was not. Although the beer tasted nothing like it had when he drank it on the farm, it was cold and refreshing and had a flavor that packed a punch. He smiled and resumed his interview.
“Was it this country or another that achieved it?” The bartender shook her head and walked to the chalkboard to update it with the current draft selections available for that day.
“It was us, man. The good ol’ U.S. of A. And damn, that was back in sixty-nine!” Bill said.
Garrett slapped the bar once, but loudly. “Excellent, Bill! Who was in charge of it? Where can I find them? That is where I need to go!”
Garrett’s animation startled Bill. He shifted in his chair and leaned back. “Um, I mean, NASA is in charge of all the space flight. But I’m not sure where they really are. They launch in Florida, but they must control everything from Texas, because you know, ‘Houston, we have a problem,’ and such. But I think they launch from Texas sometimes, too,” Bill said.
In an unexpected twist, the bartender who Garrett saw was wearing a nametag that read Charlotte spoke up. “NASA is like any other government operation. It may have buildings in a lot of places, but the main place, headquarters, is in D.C.”
Bill’s face lit up when she finished. “Oh, yeah man, that makes sense. Probably D.C. is where you want to go,” he said. Garrett smiled. It was all excellent information. “And you know what? Damn it! We just drove past there last night, probably around twelve-thirty or one o’clock.” The missed opportunity did not discourage Garrett in the slightest. He had a good understanding of the enormity of the landmass that made up the continental United States, and if they had been close to his destination only a few hours before they stopped driving, he was close.
“It’s close. How long would it take me to walk there, Bill?” Garrett asked, still smiling.
“Walk? What the hell? It’s like three hundred miles, man! Jesus, take a few of the dollars out of your bag and buy a bus ticket.” Bill said, laughing. As they finished their beers, they discussed the details of the bussing plan with Charlotte. Once she recommended a motel that would accept cash without a credit card, they made their plan to both separate Garrett from Bill’s care and then get him to Washington, D.C.
