The Referral Game

the way the receipts were jibing with the register. I went in as a new salesman with only him knowing my true identity. I was a nine to fiver for two weeks and didn’t discover anything, so I set up a nighttime stake out outside the building for a week. Day seven of the surveillance saw the son of the owner pull up in a car at two in the morning, disappear inside for ten minutes and take off again. When I showed Bristol the tape I had made of the incident he broke down in tears. He hadn’t wanted to know the truth that badly after all. I watched him age ten years in as many minutes. I waited while he pulled himself together.
    “I would have given him the money if he asked for it Randall,” he said. “It only came to five or six thousand. Why did he have to steal it?”
    “I don’t know Mr. Bristol. If I had the answer to that one I’d bottle it and make my fortune.”
    “That’s true enough I suppose,” he mused. “Money will make people do things outside of their normal character.”
    I nodded and he continued.
    “In a roundabout way that’s how I came to hire you.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yes. I remembered your name from the Silas Pomeroy case. I read about it in the papers.”
    I allowed myself a smile.
    “I see that you’ve heard that before,” said Bristol. “But I remember it for a more personal reason. You see I knew Silas.”
    “Really?” I said, feigning interest that I didn’t truly feel.
    “Yes, yes,” said Bristol warming to the subject. “He and I went to college together.”
    “Is that a fact?” I realized that he was the right age.
    “Yes, we were even in the same fraternity. Would you like to see a picture of the old gang in all our glory?”
    “Sure,” I said. What was next, a slide show? I’d have to make some sort of excuse to cut out if it got much worse.
    Bristol was rummaging through a cabinet and pulled out a large photo.
    “Here it is,” he announced triumphantly. “This is the entire house. It was my senior year. I must admit I was quite the rake in those days.”
    I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was back there again, younger, with his whole life ahead of him. No one had disappointed him yet, as his son had now.
    I looked at the picture as he pointed out the players.
    “Here I am in the third row,” he said.
    He hadn’t changed all that much. I could have picked him out with no trouble at all.
    “Now the test, can you find Silas?” he challenged.
    I scanned the photo without enthusiasm. I wanted to forget that I had ever met Silas Pomeroy, but it was obvious that Bristol was going to insist, so I played along. I looked at the faces, trying to add some thirty odd years to their youthful faces.
    I finally found a face I recognized, smiling and happy, in the prime of life. I stared at it for some time before I realized that Bristol was speaking again.
    “… not that we were great chums or anything, but I do remember him quite well. Who would have thought that he could ever have been involved in anything like that?” He came to a pause. “Well, did the fox find the rabbit?”
    “Pardon me?”
    “Did you find your man?”
    “Yes, yes I did,” I said slowly.
    “Those were the days Randall. We were quite a group of scamps back then. Why I remember once in my junior year at homecoming I-”
    “Excuse me Mr. Bristol,” I interrupted. “I’m sorry, but I have another appointment this afternoon and I’m afraid that I’ll have to be on my way.”
    Bristol nodded: “Certainly Randall, I quite understand. You’ve done a fine job here, even if the solution was a bit painful. But you know what they say; the best way to pull a bandage off is in one fast rip. It hurts less that way in the long run. At any rate I’ll have a check cut for you today.”
    We said our good-byes and I walked to my car. It was a very sunny and clear day. It was the kind of day, where if you were a pilot, visibility was unlimited. But clear nights had a down side. It got cold at night with no cloud cover. I shivered in advance.

Chapter 10

The Tip

T hat evening I sat in my office alone. I stayed late and drank my dinner. The phone rang off and on all evening. Towards the end of the bottle I got sick of hearing it ring so I picked it up.
    “Yeah?” My phone etiquette was getting lousy.
    “Hey Randall. Don’t you answer the phone no more? It’s murder getting a hold of you.”
    “Who’s this?” I asked.
    “A friend.”
    “I don’t have any friends.”
    “I can