Disappearance of Randall Marks

He made a mistake, the kind of mistake that will get you killed.  The men he took the money from were not known for their compassion or forgiveness. In the rolling hills of Sonoma County that is covered with grape vines, Randall Marks found the money in a car he thought was abandoned, when he was walking home on this dirt road, he saw a Ford Impala parked on the side of the road near a family vineyard.  When he opened the door, he saw the driver slumped over with a red dot on his forehead.  The red dot was an entry wound.  The interior of the car was covered with the brain material of the deceased driver, but next to the dead man was a briefcase.  The briefcase was not locked.  Opening it, Randall saw more money in the briefcase than he had ever seen in his entire life.  Glancing in all directions, Randall closed the briefcase, grabbed the handle and walked away from the grisly scene.  He could not wait to get home to his trailer where Gwen waited for him to get home from dinner.

Gwen DiMonte was a bit of a shrew since Randall did not clear much on his paycheck as a winery worker.  Wouldn’t she be surprised when she saw what he had in the briefcase.  Maybe she would start paying the respect she owed him after six years of their rocky relationship.

“You’re late.” She complained as he walked in the door, “What the hell took you so long?” 

“Wait till you see what I have here.” He smiled as he put the briefcase on their naked table.

“What?” She crossed her arms across her chest with a dubious expression on her face.

“This.” He flicked the case open.

“Holy-” She grabbed her mouth with her hands.

“Yeah.” He purred.

“Where dija get it?” She gasped.

“Found it on my way home.” His smug smile told her more than she wanted to know.

“We can go on a vacation, Ran.  We ain’t never been.” She could hardly contain her delight.  It pleased him to see her in a good mood for a change.  Their past few months together had not been a picnic.  She had her hours at the bakery in town reduced and so they relied more on his anemic paycheck to get by.  Mr. Holtz had been sniffing around the trailer for his lot rent and they had already had the electricity cut off a few times when they couldn’t pay the bill.  Heat was also hit or miss and with the winter coming, it was looking more and more bleak. 

Vacation?  He would take care of the bills and see what they had left over.  Maybe he’d even pay the yearly fee just so they could breathe again.  

After dinner they went to bed.  With her sleeping contently on his arm, he took the remote and turned on the television.  The late evening news was being broadcast, but what he saw disturbed him greatly.

“We have a reporter down Shindeckler Road where the body of a man was found in a Ford Impala.” The reporter explained, “According to local authorities, the deceased man, Allegretto Manganese, was shot at point blank as he was carrying money he had taken from his boss Benito Ovanelli.”

Randall’s blood froze.

“Ovanelli is well known as the boss of one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the country. Rumors have circulated for years that Ovanelli has strong connections to the cartel south of the border.” The police officer said in a professional monotone. 

It was becoming painfully clear that his great fortune was covered with strings that Randall wanted nothing to do with.  Gwen was sleeping peacefully in her warm dreamland while he was hiking through the landscape of hell. 

“I will say if anyone came upon the money, the best thing to do is to turn it in as soon as they can.” The officer said before the news began discussing the upcoming weather.

He glanced over at Gwen.  She would not let him turn the money in without a fair amount of discussion that most likely would include hysterics and violence. Benito Ovanelli was known as one of the ruthless crime figures of all time.  He wouldn’t think twice about sending some goons to wipe out any trace of Randall and Gwen in order to recover his lost money.  Money that was inside the briefcase tossed thoughtlessly on the kitchen table. Looking around the confining spaces of his small trailer, the more Randall thought he was living in his own metal coffin. He sat up in bed suddenly unable to breathe.  Gwen moaned as he moved.  In order to keep the peace, Randall put his feet on the cold linoleum floor.  

Suddenly the deep shadows became enemies.  Mr. Peepers their black cat was prowling in the kitchen and nearly sent Randall in a panic attack.  Placing his hand on his chest, he exhaled and sat in one of the kitchen chairs. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the darkness so he could distinguish shapes and familiar objects in the cramped room.  

Why had he stopped?  What made him decide to check out the seemingly abandoned car parked at the side of the road?  Fate was a troubling notion.  Gwen always stopped by the Jiffy-Mart to buy a lottery ticket, but luck just never seemed to be on their side.  Now he had a briefcase filled with Ben Franklins, the only thing inside the car that did not have blood or pieces of brains on it.

“You have to disappear.” He whispered to himself.  The bank opened at nine in the morning.  He would deposit the money so Gwen would have access to it, but it would be better if he just disappeared.  Disappearing was a tricky enough illusion for a magician, but for an amateur like he was, this would be one heck of a contrivance.  Once he had put some distance between him at the syndicate, he would get a hold of Gwen to tell her what was going on.   No one could possibly connect her to this.  

He closed his eyes as Mr. Peepers rubbed up against his leg that nearly sent Randall vaulting for the ceiling. 

Without making a single sound, Randall took the briefcase outside to where his old pickup was parked.  Without money for gas, the pickup had been parked there for a couple of months.  The bald tires were low on air and there was some concern, as long as it had been parked there, the battery was dead.  He put the briefcase on the bench seat, putting complete faith that his old truck would start when he needed it to. 

A hooting owl on a nearby branch made Randall dive under the running board.  

No one ever drove out here unless they had land.  Worthless could not begin to tell the complete story.  Even the vintners weren’t interested in the sandy soil that could not hold water.  Pot growers would not even consider growing their cash crop in such poor conditions.  When he first moved out here, Randall had attempted growing marijuana, but watched it all wither before he could harvest it. 

His father, Elvis Marks, who was in state lock-up, confided that his only son was destined for mediocrity at best.  He had not disappointed his father’s expectations.  He was a loser, plain and simple. His father would remind him of that every time he went to Folsom for his weekly visit with him.  

“That Gwen, she’s way above your means, Randall.” He would say after Randall told Elvis that he still loved him.

“Thanks dad.” He would shake his head.

He noticed the sky was lightening up.  Looking at his watch, he saw it was still too early for the bank to open up.  So, Randall went to the shack in front of his rusty pick up and got his shotgun.   Sitting in an old lawn chair, Randall laid the shotgun in his lap and waited for the sunrise.  The skeletal trees provided shade from the hot late summer sun, but it never seemed adequate. By the time the bank opened, it would seem as if he was living in a frying pan.  He nodded off snoring and drooling all over his shotgun.  

When he awoke, it was hot.  Looking at his watch, he saw it was nine thirty.  Gwen slept until noon unless someone woke her up.  He jumped up and started his truck after nearly flooding the motor with gas.  With a couple of backfired, his engine roared to life.  His luck was holding out.  He had a standard transmission where the gears would freeze up at times, because he hadn’t run it in a while.  He checked, the briefcase was where he had left it.  Carefully he opened it.  Every last bill was exactly where he had left it. 

Carefully backing out of the dirt driveway, he headed down the road toward town.  Riding roughshod down the mountain road, he arrived at Calistoga in record time.  The bank, tucked into some well maintained landscape, was in the middle of the quaint town.  As he approached the table, a couple of tellers met his eye.  He could tell from their dour businesslike expressions, they did not hold much hope for a customer who was usually overdrawn on his account.  He put the briefcase on the table with the deposit slips. 

Suddenly it occurred to him that he had no idea of the amount of money that was in the briefcase.

“Do you need some help?” Asked an account manager as he fumbled with one of the latches.

“No, I’m alright, thanks.” He said as he felt the latch finally open.  The manager smiled, but Randall did not want to open it with the manager standing there with a know-it-all grin.

“What’s in there?” He asked.

“None of your business.” Randall snapped.

“I see.” The man nodded before leaving the table with Randall and his briefcase.  Opening the case just enough to glance at the money when it occurred to him that it would take the better part of an hour to count the loot.  He knew Benito would have his cronies out searching for the money.  

Time was not his friend.  

He needed to disappear.

He needed to wipe his fingerprints off of everything.

One of the tellers was staring at him.

He wanted to tell her to stop staring at him, but that would draw unwanted attention to him. 

He started counting.

Each stack had over a hundred one hundred dollar bills.

There were over fifty stacks.

He had failed math in school.

Then he saw the calculator on the table.

Click, click, click.

One million smackers!

He felt light headed. 

No wonder Benito wanted this money back.

He walked over to the teller who had been staring at him with his deposit slip for over a million dollars and the briefcase.

“Can I help you, sir?” She asked with a professional smile on her pretty face.

He handed her the slip.  Her smile disappeared, replaced by a scowl.

“I see.” Her eyes were scanning him as he stood there. “And where is this money?”

He put the briefcase on the counter and opened it.  She gasped.  He nodded.

“I need to call my manager.” She informed him.

“No, not necessary.” He waved his hand.

“It’s all routine.” She waved to the man who had hovered over Randall as he stood at the desk.  

“No, this is not…” He mumbled. All his life he had been a victim of routine and procedure from taxes to filing for divorce. The humble public servants always had a way of making him feel like a chump.  

“Ah, I see.” His smile was condescending as he peered at the money in the briefcase.  “Did we knock off a bank recently?” 

“No.” Randall shot back defensively. “Lottery.” 

He knew he’d better not leave anything memorable in his passing. It’s hard to disappear when you leave clues behind.  That’s when he saw Liz come waltzing in the front door. 

“Hello Randall.” She smelled of honeysuckle and Ben Gay.  She and Gwen had been friends since high school and she knew this town like the back of her hand since her father owned several businesses in town.  She was jolly and an able ambassador in the community. She also made no secret that Gwen could do a lot better than Randall Marks.  “Saw the pick up outside.  Hadn’t seen that wreck for quite a spell.” 

“Time to give it a good run.” He smiled through gritted teeth. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you are running out on Gwen.” She tilted her head a bit.

“Nope, not today.” Randall saw a Cadillac pull up in the parking lot.  Two men in three piece suits got out of the vehicle.

“When, then?” She batted her eyes.

“When she gets tired of me.” Randall kept his eyes on the men who had entered the bank. 

“And that hasn’t happened yet?” More batting of her eyes. 

“Nope, unless you know something I don’t” 

“No, just prayer and hope.” She shook her head as she walked away.  

The two men approached one of the tellers.  Randall saw the teller point his way.

“Do you want your receipt, sir?” The manager said holding a slip of paper, “It seems it is all in order…much to my surprise.” He said the last part under his breath, but Randall heard it.  

“You.” The older man pointed in my direction.  Randall’s eyes nearly bugged out when he saw it was Benito.

“Thank you.” He grabbed the slip and hustled out the door.

“You.” Benito held up his finger.

Randall froze expecting his head to be blown off, but instead Benito asked, “Sir, do you know where Ellsworth Street is?”

“Yes, two blocks down from here.” Randall even pointed.

“Thank you, sir.” Benito nodded as he hustled over to the other man.  After a few words, the man nodded and both of them exited the bank. Randall exhaled from the tips of his sneakers. 

Too many close calls.  Sooner or later the excrement will hit the fan and then what.

He tucks the deposit slip in the hip pocket of his Levi's and dashes out of the bank.

“Hey you.” A uniformed policeman is walking toward him.

“Officer?” His voice cracks a bit. 

“Did you see those two men leave the bank?” He asks as he pulls out a notebook from his pocket.

“No, no.” He shakes his head.

“Someone said they saw you talking to them.” He squints a bit.

“Oh, those men.  I have no idea who they are.” Randall shakes his head.

“Don’t care.  Do you know where they are headed?” 

“Sure, sure, down Ellsworth.” He pointed again.

“Thanks.” He motioned to his partner still sipping a Slurpee in the front seat of the cruiser.

“Buddy!” Someone called out to him as he stood there watching the cruiser pull away from the curb.

Afraid to look up, Randall saw it was a cab driver.

“Yes?”

“Need a ride?” He asked.

“I could…”

“Great hop in.” He yanked his thumb to the back seat. “Rumors has it that you are looking to disappear.” 

“How did you know that?” Randall stared at the hack slack jawed. 

“You look like someone trying to get away.” The cabbie smiled.

“I am looking to disappear.” Randall opened the passenger door and got in the backseat.

“Disappear?  That will be extra.” He pushed the bar on the meter.

He handed the cabbie a hundred dollar bill. “Keep the change.” 

“Very well.” The cabbie saluted with the Ben Franklin. 

Randall watched as the streets of the town disappeared.  He closed his eyes.  He was safe now.

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes everything was dark outside the taxi.  

Randall glanced at the cabbie’s license.

Cooper.  Not an uncommon surname.

It was just that there was no visible terrain.

And road for that matter.

“Where are we?” Randall asked, feeling uneasy.

“We are where you asked to go.” The cabbie answered. “We disappeared.” 

“Disappeared?” Randall scratched his head.

“Yes, between nowhere and somewhere.” He laughed.

“What is your name?” Randall’s stomach was now twisted.

“Cooper.  You saw it for yourself.” He pointed to the license. 

“Yes, I know, but something isn’t right.” Randall looked out the window.

There was no road.

“I am just driving you to where you wanted to go.” He shrugged

Leaning forward, Randall saw the cabbie’s full name, “D.B. Cooper.” 

“Did I ever tell you about the airplane trip I took a few years ago?” The cabbie asked Randall.

“No.” Randall’s throat went dry.

“It’s a doozy.” He laughed and slapped the steering wheel. “Well, that turned out to be the day I disappeared.  Now it’s your turn to disappear, Randall Marks. Welcome to Limbo.”  

The cab came to a stop. They had arrived.