By Any Chance
Chapter 10 Money for Nothing…
By Nicholas Nocketback

Inside locker 114, Evan gazed upon it. Only he wasn’t exactly sure what it meant. A Viking published paperback copy of John Fowles' The Magus, dog-eared and yellowing, lie face down. The book was worn and cracking, purple cover with double visage. He checked the locker and found nothing else, brushing his hand across the top of the metal locker bottom. For all intents and purposes it seemed like a normal book.
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Evan had read it one summer when he was out of work. He’d found it on the number 34 bus he was riding on his way home from the dentist. It was a different publisher, however. He normally didn’t like reading, not that he hated the act, he simply found it tedious and several of the books he read over the course of his life were rather boring. This particular piece, though, he found enthralling. When he’d seen it occupying the seat next to him on the bus, he really hadn’t the idea to read it, simply to move it to another seat. But as it were, the text lie bottom up so he could read the blurb, selected by the modern library as one of the 100 best novels of the twentieth century. Normally when Evan read a blurb on a book they would state, very vaguely, how one was swept up by the narrative, or carried away by the author’s prose. This book claimed to not only be “sumptuous,” but also threw out adjectives like “frightening” and “dizzying” and “intriguing.” Plus, a committee of sorts claimed it was the best out of 100; of course, it didn’t claim which number it actually was, but still, one of the best. He figured if he couldn’t get in to this book, he’d have no luck anywhere else and end up never reading again. He’d taken a big chance. The Maury Show was a rerun when he got home, someone was unsure of whose baby it was, and they were going to find out by the end of the program. Evan had seen it and new that it was, in fact, Antonio’s and not Deandre’s. So he clicked off the television and began The Magus. It was no short feat at 656 pages. After the first 100, he never put it down. It took only three days to finish, something Evan had never done. He just couldn’t put the book away. The characters themselves took on a life of their own and whatever happened to one, happened to Evan. He felt like the kid in The Never Ending Story, reading a book that allowed the reader to participate with the text. Centering on Nicholas Urfe, a young Briton teaching English on a Greek island, the narrative follows him through an elaborate maze, both visually and mentally. Urfe befriends a millionaire and learns exactly what too much money can buy—a game in which the very wealthy use the not so well to do as their chess pieces. He remembered that if he was ever rich, he’d try and do the same, but for a good cause.
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Evan pondered this as he stood in front of the locker. Why would anyone put this random copy of a book he so enjoyed in a locker for him to extract? No one knew him here in Fresno and he felt violated, as if someone had stolen his car and brought it back in the same shape, only with added miles. He fanned the pages of the book and noticed sporadic yellow splotches. He flipped again more slowly and spotted highlighted words. Evan closed and locked the locker, sliding the key in his front pocket, and found a seat on a wooden bench next to the men’s room. He noticed that only some pages had highlighted words, several of the pages had absolutely no markings while others had a word on each page. Pages 437-443 had words on each page; the only real consistency and something Evan figured symbolic. It must be a code of some sort, he figured, and walked to the ticket counter. The cashier, a girthy middle aged woman who smelled of tobacco donned a pair of round rimmed prescription glasses and a navy blue visor. Her vest was gray and she wore a black bolo-tie. Evan wondered if she shouldn’t be dealing cards at some hole-in-the-wall in Arizona, circa 1894, but only snickered as he approached.
“What can I getcha?”
“Actually, what I really need is a pencil and a piece of paper. Could I bother you for that?”
“You mean you aren’t goin’ anywhere? Are you waiting for someone to arrive? I can tell you now; the next arrival won’t be here for another hour, maybe more.”
“No. I only need a pen or pencil—just something to write with.”
“This ain’t Staples; if you need office supplies, there’s an OfficeMax down the road a piece.”
“Listen,” Evan noticed her nametag, “Rose, I only need it for a moment. It’s quite important. I won’t even bother you for a piece of paper, I just need a pencil. Now, if you’ll humor me, I promise to give it back promptly.” Evan began to feel his face burning up. Who was this bitch? What normal human being questions a person before giving them a writing utensil?
“Look, I ain’t in the business of giving out pencils and pens and paper and tape and what not. You wanna do some work, go to your office. You wanna do some crossword game, go home. You wanna buy a train ticket, I’d be more than happy to help you. I’m not here for my health, I am here to work—you heard of it? Now, are you just looking for a warm place to stay, or are you too cheap to walk down the street and buy a pencil? I don’t have time to be messing with you.”
Evan looked around the depot, no one in sight. He wondered what exactly she needed to get back to. Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a crisp one hundred dollar bill. “Okay Rose, where can I go for this?”
“You looking roundtrip or not?”
“Your choice, Rose.”
“My choice? I ain’t goin’ with you.”
“I understand that. Look, imagine you were going to leave on this train somewhere right now; where would you go for one hundred dollars?”
Well, that’s easy, Modesto to visit my cousin Debbie. She just had the sweetest little girl and…”
“I’ll take it, Modesto it is.”
“You want round trip? Or…”
“Yes, I want round trip, Rose, yes.”
“Alrighty,” waiting several minutes while Rose tapped away on her computer, Evan eyed a pen lying in plain sight atop the counter, next to the keyboard. “That’s gonna be one twenty-two thirty four,” she said in a deep monotone voice.
Evan’s only reaction was to laugh, otherwise, he’d hit her. “Don’t you see that I have one hundred dollars here?”
“Tax.”
“Rose! Listen very closely. I know this job sucks; I bet you get all kinds of wacky folks in here everyday. I am terribly sorry to add to that number but I am in desperate need of something to write with. I see a blue pen right there,” pointing to the pen by the keyboard, Rose followed his finger to the object in question, “I just need that for a minute or two.”
“If I give you that, I’ll probably never see it again. I need this pen; I use it all day long. This place ain’t made of pens and I ain’t made of money.”
“Rose. Is that short for Rosemary, Roseanna?”
“Just Rose”
“Like the flower, great. Okay, Rose, I’ll give you this money, yours to keep; put it in your pocket and we’ll both go our separate ways, yes? All I want is that pen. Is that clear?”
“Well, shit, for that price you can have ‘em all.” Rose pushed the pen over to Evan and bent over to retrieve a small brown box under her computer. The stamp on the side read Bic ballpoints, blue, 200 count. “Here’s a notepad too, sweetheart.”
Evan shook his head, handed her the bill and scooped up the box and the notepad—a small affair with a pink heart border. Rose turned from the view of the camera lens pointed toward her computer and stuffed the money in her bra. Evan found a spot on the wooden bench and splayed his book on the seat along with the pad and pens. He opened up the book slowly and began with the first page, no color. The verso page had only the basic information about the publisher and date, etc. The first highlighted word landed on page 15. Evan jotted down in onto his notepad. Not a very smooth pen for a hundred bucks, he thought. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Rose handed Evan a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee and cream.
“Here ya are, Hun.”
“Thanks,” Evan mumbled. “Looks like all it takes is a hundred dollars for some hospitality in this town.”
“I woulda taken twenty.” Rose laughed as she walked away.
Evan continued his mission, sipping on his coffee while flipping through The Magus. The entire process took exactly fifteen minutes, pausing only once for a piss break. Wanting to be absolutely sure, he went through the entire text once more. Finally, feeling like he’d finished, he looked at the notepad. There were 68 words and in chronological order, it made absolutely no sense. Beginning with the end of the book, Evan found a pattern that worked. Once finished, the note read:
In lieu of current events, it seems you’ve found yourself in a pickle. I have all the evidence needed to prove that you killed Janelle. Now, we can do this very easily. I know about the accident in Boston. Further, I know about the money you received for compensation. You leave the money in this locker, one million dollar increments four times. One a week. You begin tomorrow.
Evan reread the text twice and then again, slowly. He tried to piece the words together in other ways but none made any comprehensible sense. With only a few choices, he thought of them all. Firstly, he could go to the police and tell them of this, showing them the book. Secondly, he could take off; leave the city; leave the country, even. Thirdly, he could play it conservatively and leave the money in the locker as requested. At this point, it dawned on Evan that perhaps the person responsible for this was watching him right now. Whoever did it knew that he’d come here after the delivery. They also knew about the money and how he’d been staying at Janelle’s. He looked around at the empty depot. Rose sat staring at her computer screen, face sullen and staid. He packed up his possessions and walked toward his car. Rose flashed a toothy grin as he passed. Evan nodded and cursed under his breath. Starting the engine, he sat, car idling in the lot. The radio was set to an AM channel with someone spouting incoherently about the presidents’ ability to delegate responsibility. He winced once he actually listened to the content and pushed the disc into the player. The Cold War Kids resounded throughout the Jetta’s interior: “Still things could be much worse/ natural disasters, on the evening news/ still things could be much worse/ we still got our health, my paycheck in the mail/ I promise to my wife and children/ I’d never touch another drink as long as I live/ but even then/ it sounds so soothing/ to mix a drink and slip into oblivion/ this’ll blow over in time/ this’ll all blow over in time.”
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Evan shifted into reverse and drifted toward the bank. It was time to call the bluff. But he needed the money to do it. There was only one way of finding this out and it would certainly make Rose a very wealthy person.