Memory Lane

“I remember the first time I rode in a motor coach.” This was from the big man who was sitting across from him as he drove the delivery van. The young man thought to himself; “who talks like that?” 

He had been ninety minutes late to his morning shift at Flowrys’. This was out of character for him. He had been raised with a healthy respect for punctuality; but he had been at the mercy of some random doo-dad in his “motor coach”. It was composed of plastic and rubber; manufactured in Ceylon at a cost of a few pence, but for which the auto shoppe would charge him near five hundred-fold. It wasn’t the cost in coin that bothered him, but rather the thought that he had inconvenienced his grandmother.

Though it wasn’t “cool”; he had a great deal of love and respect for the shoppe keeper. This was evidenced by the fact that he had not hesitated to agree to her request that he chauffer the big man about for the rest of the day. Her exact words had been, “Bran, be a dear and place yourself at my friends’ convenience for the day.” 

Aha! He thought to himself. Olde people talk like that. He thought that, with the certainty that most twenty-year olds have with themselves. It was strange though; the big guy sitting across from him didn’t look that old. Branok thought to himself that the large fellow was probably in his mid-thirties; but dang if he didn’t talk like a geezer.

Earlier, Branok recalled responding with “of course Nana,” when his grandmother had put him at the strangers’ disposal for the day. He thought it a little odd that his grandmother had called out as they left; “see to it that the boy doesn’t get into any mischief Gerald.” 

If he was being honest with himself; he was a little hurt at the shoppe keepers’ offhand comment to that Gerald fellow. It was young mans’ pride no doubt that he was feeling. Like many twenty year olds, he was probably more confident with, and of himself than good sense would dictate. This same confidence or lack of good sense if you will, is what undoubtedly causes many men his age to do things that a mature individual would consider ill-advised.

Branok Fitzsimmons; named after his paternal grandfather, thank you very much, was a large young man. He was maybe two centimeters shorter than his passenger, and probably two stone less in weight, but he was still a large young man. He had been in a few dust ups in his youth; maybe more than he should have been. In his defense, it wasn’t so much that he was a troublesome or aggressive individual, so much that he did not much like a bully; and would readily come to the defense of anyone who was being taken advantage of, or being abused.

Another thing that had struck Branok as odd, was when Gerald had responded to his Nana with, “of course Miss Nellie.”

That might not strike some as unusual because his grandmothers’ name was in fact, Nellie. It seemed weird to him because his own father called her Mamm. Most of the people in the community referred to her as Mrs.

He supposed that was a sign of respect, since she had been a Mrs. for more than fifty years. After his grandfather had passed, people had continued to call her Mrs. 

Branok supposed that his Nana hadn’t been a “Miss”, for probably sixty years; and yet this Gerald fellow seemed quite comfortable calling her Miss Nellie, even though she was surely forty or fifty years older than he.  

Gerald had recalled his first thought on meeting Miss Nellies’ grandson had been, he looks like his grandfather. This had put a slight smile on his face as he was introduced to the likely lad. He had chatted with Miss Nellie over their lunch together in the upstairs apartment and she had proposed that her grandson shuttle him about when he arrived. That was fine with Gerald, and they didn’t have long to wait before the boy showed up; though Miss Nellie had insisted it was very unlike her grandson to be late.

Back in the day, if anyone had asked him about his friend and fellow enterprise troubleshooter, he would have told them that Fitz was a big fella, with hair black as pitch, and a calm serious face. Fitzs’ grandson could have been described in the same fashion. Though truth be told, the young man was a bit more handsome than his grandfather had been. This no doubt was due to the fact that Miss Nellie was such a lovely woman. Gerald smiled a little more when he learned that the boy was named after his old friend Branok. Of course, the boys’ grandfather had been almost universally known and referred to as Fitz.

Gerald asked his young driver, “Fitz, do you happen to know the Granville Library?” His chauffer for the day had a confused look on his face for a moment before answering, “it’s not far from the docks.” He continued with, “and my name’s Branok.”

The big bruiser smiled slightly and said, “your grandfather had the same name, and everyone always called him Fitz.” The young man was about to respond but Gerald interjected, “except for Miss Nellie. To her he was always Bran.” He was thinking to himself; that’s not quite right. Mr. Penrose always called him Branok.

This comment put a shy smile on Branoks’ face as he said, “that’s what my Nana calls me.”

Gerald told him, “I always thought it was a little silly; such a small name for such a big man.”

Branok could recall his father telling what he had always considered tall tales about his grandfathers’ size and strength. The man whose name he bore, had been gone for close to ten years now. His own memories of his grandfather were full of a big, kind old man who always had a sweet for him whenever he visited the flower shoppe that his Nana and grandfather had run for near fifty years.

From his childs’ memory, he could say that this grandfather was big; but certainly not that much bigger than some of the other adults that populated his childhood. Now as a young man, he knew that his grandfather had been hunched over much of the time, due to age and arthritis. With that in mind, he could admit that his grandfather was most likely bigger than the other adults he knew then, and certainly when a young man, must have towered over most.

Gerald told his young driver. “I have an appointment with the chief librarian there in about half an hour.”

“No problem,” the younger man said, “we can be there in ten.”

As they drove, Gerald couldn’t help but look about and notice what had changed in the city and what had remained the same as when he had lived here and worked for the Penrose enterprise, many years ago. He felt his vest pocket to make sure that the letter was there. Gerald had been corresponding with the chief librarian of the Granville library for the last month. T. Russell Davidson ran the large library in the South part of the city. He took the letter out and looked over the fancy letterhead on the top of the missive. He had yet to meet the librarian and was looking forward to it. There were a slew of letters after the right honorable Davidsons’ surname at the peak of the paper. It proclaimed T. Russell as the Doctor of what-not and expert of whatchamacallit. The one time Gerald had read the academics’ titles out loud, he could not help but add, at the end “M-O-U-S-E” in a singsong voice. The several letters he had exchanged and the appointment he had made, showed the librarian to be highly intelligent, insightful, and just plain old funny.

There was research he needed done; and Gerald was hopeful that T. Russell could get the job accomplished.

As Branok drove by an elegant tower of condominiums on the dockside, he couldn’t help but notice the larger man staring intently at the pretty dwellings. He was curious, so he asked Gerald, “do you know that place? It is a pretty new development.” The big man slowly shook his head in the negative and said, “I remember when it was a dockside warehouse.”

Branok was somewhat confused by the statement. As far as he knew, the site of the condominiums had been an empty lot for probably thirty or forty years. He did recall his Nana mentioning something about a warehouse there, and her aunt and cousin having an incident at the location when she was a girl. As he made a right turn towards their destination, he thought he heard his passenger mutter something sotto voce, “Teague gave that Italian Devil what for.”

As they arrived at the library, Gerald could not help but be impressed with the edifice, as it was an impressive building. He had heard that it recently celebrated its’ sesquicentennial. Of course, he had never actually had cause to visit when he lived in the city. In his younger years, before his return; he realized later, that he had been dyslexic as a youth. This meant that he would have been as likely to have an audience with the Pope, as with a librarian.

Gerald had dismissed the lad temporarily because he didn’t know how long it would take him on this first meeting with T. Russell. He had asked Fitz if he had eaten lunch; and when the lad answered in the negative, Gerald gave him enough money to have a nice lunch. The big man had actually handed the younger man a second bill of larger denomination when he considered that Fitz was a large lad, and likely could hold his own in an eating match with Gerald himself.

“Check back in an hour if you would lad,” Gerald had called out as Branok got back into the delivery van. He saw the young man nod affirmatively as the van started off.

Gerald felt for the letter once more and started his way up the wide steps towards the ornate front doors. He noticed something straight away as he climbed the stairs. Now Gerald was a good man. Some would call him a gentleman; but he could not help but notice, several steps above on the stairway, a well-formed figure in a stylish dress that was loose in some interesting places, and snug in several other interesting places.

He could see that the figure was tall for a woman. Maybe she was ten centimeters shorter than Gerald himself. She was moving up the stairs at a brisk pace; or Gerald would have moved to open the door for her. After he entered, and strode a few paces into the lobby, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the lower level of light. He saw a sign with names of personnel; T. Russell was on the third floor. He took the stairs to the right and was pleasantly surprised to see she of the stylish dress using the same stairway.

He followed her up the stairs to the third floor: not in a creepy way, it just so happened that she was going in the same direction as he.

He stopped a moment at the third-floor landing to verify which direction to turn toward the chief librarians’ office. It was to the left.

Gerald turned that way, and saw the woman at the door which he now knew to be the office of T. Russell Davidson. As he walked toward the office, he noticed several things. First was that the woman in the stylish dress was unlocking the door to the office where he had an appointment. Second was a trio of men who had been loitering nearby in the hallway. He was close enough to hear the woman ask the men, “can I help you?”

As he neared the quartet of individuals in front of the office door, he heard the tallest of the three men say, “Dr. Davidson, I need you to come with us.”

Gerald heard her response as he came even closer to the small group. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid I have an appointment shortly, and then meetings for the rest of the day.” The woman offered, “if you like, you can make an appointment for tomorrow morning.”

The tallest of the three men; he was actually of a height with Gerald, though quite a bit leaner, said “I don’t think you understand Dr.” The man pulled his hand from his jacket pocket and said, “I need you to come with us.” Though he was turned slightly from Gerald’s view, the big bruiser could see the sleek automatic pistol that the man had withdrawn from his jacket and proceeded to level in the Dr.’s direction.

“Oh my!” the woman in the dress exclaimed. “Oh my indeed” Gerald exclaimed as he sprang into action.