Mystery Chapter

Cartilage

It was at the Aquarium that I first became acquainted with Franklin Turne. He was beside the shark tank, peering inside with an 

apathetic blankness in his eyes. He wore a black buttoned suit, and I'm quite sure my eyes would have passed right over him if it were not for the briefcase clenched within his right hand.

You see, Franklin was as average as it was possible to be without arousing suspicion. He wore a normal hat to cover his standard haircut. He wore a regular shirt that you couldn't help but feel you owned too. His shoes shined but did not sparkle, and his pants were exceptionally plain.

Had he been facing me, instead of the sharks, I might have noticed his left eye, which was no eye at all, but a glassy opaque marble to fill the vacuum. As it was, the only peculiarity I noticed belonging to Franklin Turne was his expensive briefcase, and his strained fist around the handle.

Had I given his countenance more consideration, I may have recognized his not-so-commonplace expression; the way he looked at those sharks was filled with an avid concentration, as though he hoped to find an answer to a question which plagued him. It would not be another four months until I learned what he was asking, and a whole year until I had the answer.

* * * * * * *

The first time I longed for something out of my price range, I was in love with my librarian. It was my second year of elementary school, and I caught a glimpse of her calf as she shifted her skirts while reading a picture book to my class. 

She was intelligent, aged, and was, in my opinion, the most beautiful grown up woman I'd ever laid eyes on. With my limited experience and crushing ignorance, my courtship did not do well. My darling librarian thought that I was an avid reader with an unfortunate stuttering problem.

In the fourth grade I discovered my natural talent, and my interests changed from reading to mathematics, and my fondness shifted to a pig-tailed blond girl in my mathematics class. I loved mathematics; the answer was always there before you'd solved it. The two things were one in the same: question and answer, problem and solution. I knew in that fourth grade classroom that I was to be the best accountant ever to wield a calculator in the United States of America. Of course I was correct.

Being around all of the figures of an entirely intangible wealth made me calm towards the market. When you spend your days following great sums of money around your client's life, you become apathetic towards bankruptcy, limitations, and frugality. Anything possible has a price, and I knew it.  

My career entailed being a spectator. I did not tell these tycoons of businessmen how to spend their money. I didn't tell them that what they were buying was needless, I didn't mention that it would be beneficial to the rest of the world to allot 5% of their income towards charity. Their money was their money, and I only marked its flow.

Throughout my lifetime, I've met many peers who have let the job get to their head. Seeing such vast budgets has led some to overspending their own measly salary. Others feel minute in the expansive sea of money that they don't possess. Many of the latter men have taken their own lives. Thankfully, I've never been either of these people. I have always remained collected and intelligent when spending my own money. I never had any notions of grandeur. I never wanted what was unattainable. And when, in my youth, I desired what was not mine to have, I learned, and I changed. 

In the fifth grade I held hands with Eloise, the pigtailed girl in my Math class. True, walking past the library was painful. And true, I would rather have touched my librarian's shins than hold a hand of a little girl.

But a hand in my hand was better than a leg in my mind, and I got over myself quickly.

 * * * * * * *

About a week after April 15, I had time on my hands. That was why I went to the aquarium. My boss, Mr. Muondain, called me into his office on Monday to tell me I needed to use my vacation hours. He told me he was a humane boss, and that everyone needs an occasional break. Then he gave me a stern look and said that this should, obviously, not be taken to extremes.

And so I was booted out of the office for the day for my deserved rest and relaxation. I stood outside of the office I had dedicated so much of my time to, and I contemplated where I ought to go next.

Home? No, all that waited for me there was bills, cigarettes and time with myself. I operated on an easy schedule to remember; work, home, bed, work. On holidays I visited the mother I'd had committed. My visits were as brief as I saw fit.

Yet there were no approaching holidays to go pay homage to my mother. What else did I know how to do? What else could I do at 9:30 AM?

The movie theatre was out of the question at $12.00 a ticket. I refused to be entertained by something requiring my participation, such as ice skating of any other physical activity. What was there to do that required practically nothing?

I thought of the zoo, but it was expensive and miles away. I came up with two substitutes: the park or the aquarium. Which to observe, fish or human beings?

Humans, I thought to myself, are a terrible bore. At least fish are in constant motion. I departed for the aquarium.

Constant motion, that is, unless they're dead.

 * * * * * * * *

The public transportation was, as to be expected, chaotic. To say the least.

After waiting 22 minutes for a bus (only to be kicked off when I had a ten dollar bill, opposed to coins) I hailed a cab. I then proceeded to sit behind a putrid, taco-meat-head of a man, eventually totaling $17.43.  I reached the aquarium.

A $5.00 entrance fee. I began adding the figures as I passed orange and white carp. If I buy a Diet Coke for $1.75, I'll be $5.82 away from a very regrettable vacation. At this point, I began yearning for a cigarette.

An eel poked its mossy bearded face out from inside a rock. I thought he seemed to grin, and immediately proceeded onwards.

Crabs and lobsters. Oh boy, perhaps it would have been cheaper to go to Red Lobster, and more efficient. Then I recalled that nothing was cheaper than Red Lobster.

I arrived at the mammals section, passing little girls fawning over the otters and squishing their faces onto the dolphin's glass enclosure. Wondering how much bacteria they were facially ingesting, I hurried out.

A concession stand stood at an intersection of exhibits. Gratefully, I took out my wallet to purchase a drink.

"That'll be $2.50 sir." Dammit.

I continued to a dark entranceway, immediately detecting the changed mood. While the mammals had housed wide hallways and soft lighting, and the fishes had been lit with fluorescent lights to make them appear more exotic, the light in here came only from the tanks.

I headed towards the light, narrowly avoiding a waste-bin hidden in the waves of pitch-black.

Approaching the glass, I recognized the figure of a Bull shark. His glassy beetle eyes swept over mine for a second, and then he had gone, his massive fin propelling him forward.

What a ghastly thing.

The sight of him made me cringe. I steered my feet the way he had left, arriving at the next plane of glass as he whipped out of sight.

I followed him around a corner, entering a long unoccupied hallway, except for one man. One plain man, staring up at the shark I was chasing. Clenched in his hand was a briefcase.

Passing along the corridor, I halted where my view was phenomenal, several feet away from the man. I took a sip of my $2.50 Diet Coke, and realized I would have to factor out today's pay from my monthly budget. I searched my pockets for my cigarettes.

Putting one in my mouth and gazing up at the aquatic animal, I racked my pockets for a light. Shit.

"Beg your pardon," I said to the man, befuddling my words with the cigarette still perched between my lips, "have you got a light?"

He turned his head towards me, and I bit down on my cigarette, shocked by his false eye that reminded me so much of the sharks.

"No, I only carry matches." His voice was rich; he seemed to emphasize each word.

"That will do," I replied, pulling a fresh one out of the carton. I approached him, and for a moment our faces glowed red as he raised the lit match towards my face.

"You know you can't smoke in here." I glanced throughout the hall for a sign dictating it.

"I'll plead ignorance." He extended his hand.

"Franklin Turne." I gave him my business card. "An accountant. How are you enjoying that?" It was a question, but he didn't really seem to be asking.

My teeth crushed together as I smiled at him. "Very well, Mister Turne. The economic crisis is within check with the proper accountant. If you'd be interested-"

"I assure you my kind gentleman, I will not. Not a slight on your account, of course." I wondered if he was joking with me, using the word 'account.' I kept my smile on just in case.

"Of course, of course." I cooed the words through my grin. He looked into the shark tank. I snuck a glance at his briefcase. Expensive, hand-made.

Mr. Turne turned to me, and said, jerking his head towards the beast, "What do you think of them?"

  "The sharks, you mean?" I was having trouble meeting that glass eye.

"Yes, yes, who else?" he demanded. His moustache momentarily quivered above his lip.

"They're..." I searched my brain for a neutral adjective, "intricate."

"Intricate?" His true eye widened, and then he let out a boisterous laugh. He thumped me on the back, and I felt awkward. "You," he wheezed, "make for a fine accountant."

My grin twitched downwards, and I let out a shallow, hasty laugh. One that was really just exhaling out at a certain high pitch.

"Intricate. More like savage. Bestial. Have you ever seen it kill?" I shut my mouth. His fake eye penetrated mine. My head shook side to side jerkily, and the nape of my neck tensed spastically. Damn my office chair.

"It's incredible," he continued. "The great fish," he held reverence in his voice, and it frightened me, "attacks like Hades from Hell." I checked my watch to avoid his gaze. "Ten-oh-nine," he stated, gazing again with his Cyclops's stare at the shark. I glanced up from my watch.

"How did you know?" I asked. He had no wristwatch. I had already checked.

"Felt it." He thumped his chest. "Felt it here in my ticker." I had no way to respond to metaphor. In junior high I had hidden my calculator throughout all of Shakespeare's plays and countless lessons of poetry. Actually, not countless. More like 232 classes spent finishing Calculus homework. "I'm telling you, they come to their prey like ... like ..." I saw his mind search for the proper phrase.

"Very scarily?" I suggested. It seemed to be the wrong thing to say. His eyebrows condensed, and he inhaled heartily through his nostrils, readying for battle.

"What do you know about very scary? Have you ever looked in Death's dolly eyes? Have you ever been terrified enough to piss all down your leg?" I gaped at him.

"No ... I haven't. I, um, have you?"

"Of course not boy! Haven't you guessed that I'm an Aristocrat?"

"I, I suspected it sir. Mister Turne that is." He put his arm around my shoulder. 

"Please, call me Larry. All my closest friends do." I looked momentarily into his eye, but averted my eyes quickly.

"I thought you said your name was Franklin, Larry." He smacked my back jovially. 

"So I did my boy, so I did. What a delightful memory you posses. Well, use whichever you prefer, I'm partial to both." I adopted my 'interested face,' the one where I open my mouth slightly, indent my eyebrows a tad, and nod whenever someone pauses. 

"So, neither of us has ever pissed our pants. So what? We're still men, aren't we?" He flashed his teeth. "We both know where the human fish prowl, don't we?"

I shrugged. "Do we?" 

"Absolutely. They're the ones with all the money. If you're a good accountant, you'll have seen them. Met them, even laughed with them." A stunned, giddy expression suddenly crossed his face. "Why, I suppose you're talking to a shark now."

I forced my eyes to meet his. "Are you the shark?"

"I am now," he said, patting his briefcase with his free hand. My interest was peaked. My face shifted to genuine curiosity. 

"Do you mind if I-"

"You ask me what's in the briefcase? Yes, it would be terribly rude of you. To keep you from losing my respect, I'll just tell you preemptively. It's," he gestured for me to come closer and dropped to a whisper, "money."

I let out an actual laugh. "Right, a briefcase full of money. Just like in the movies." He sneered at my mockery.

"Stacks of hundreds, piled together tighter than pigs in a blanket. Mmm ... Are you hungry?"

"Sure, if you're treating." He examined me.

"A joke? Maybe you're not as good an accountant as I thought." I ignored this.

"So, how much all together?" He looked at me condescendingly, as though my sarcasm was foolish to him.

"Enough to let your wallet retire."

"Bullshit." My boldness faltered under his stare. "Excuse me," I said, addressing the shark, "I meant ... well, that's very implausible."

"I'm sure he's heard the word 'bull'  enough, being a bull shark." He held his breath and watched me. I believe he was expecting a laugh. "But in any case, I assure you it's true. And I will treat. I'm thinking seafood?"

 * * * * * *

Franklin Turne drove a Lamborghini.  The seats were leather, and he played a Bon Jovi CD. The CD threw me off.

He seemed rich enough, but I was still unsure about his briefcase. Before getting into the driver's seat, he placed it gingerly in the back. If it was as much money as he had implied, then surely he would have kept it in his grasp. Unless he believed I was trustworthy, and it was safe there between the two of us.

Pulling into the parking lot of Red Lobster, I couldn't help but feel slightly excited. Their biscuits crumbled in your mouth. After parking, he reached into the back seat and removed his case.

"So," I began, quickening to keep up with his long strides, "what did you do to get the profit?" I didn't say 'earn.' I hardly ever said 'earn' when talking about money. 

"Now my little friend, that's dangerously close to rudeness."

"I-"

"Don't worry. I'm aware how often unintentional rudeness arises. Let's not discuss it just now."

I was put off, but nowhere near the point of confrontation. Come to think of it, when was the last time I confronted anyone about anything? I thought of my father, and checked my wristwatch.  

"Impatient? Feel free to leave, I'm not stopping you."

"Oh no," I said hurriedly, shaking my head to emphasize, "I was just-" He fixed me with a stern eye, and I fell silent.

"Now listen my calculating cohort, I know the secret life of an American accountant is ... engrossing, to say the least, but I want you to know that none of those drugged up, off-the-wall math parties can offer you what I can."

I perked up. Offer? I loved business transactions. Especially ones discussed over those soft, buttery biscuits. Then I imagined my spacious, empty apartment, and pondered all the drugged up off-the-wall parties I was not having.      

We were seated at a table adjacent to the lobster tank. Mr. Turne sat with his back to them, so that I was facing a bizarre image. Franklin was surrounded by the restrained lobsters. I tried not to look at them. Then I tried not to look into his false eye. I spent a good deal of time examining my fork.

"So, what would you like me to call you?" His eye probed my face. I shrugged. "Very well," he continued, "I would like for you to address me as Frank. Frankie is also acceptable, if you prefer the term of endearment. Perhaps if you spontaneously feel very fond of me?" He gazed at me thoughtfully. Hopefully? Wow, Red Lobster's forks have three prongs.

"If not, Frank. Now, where to begin? Ah good, the biscuits are here." We picked them up. I immediately took a bite while Mr. Turne (Franklin, I mean Frank) dabbed butter onto his, his eye continually roving over me. That eye made me so uncomfortable. "I'm a marine biologist. Have I told you that already?" I shook my head no. "Well, I've been on a research team for twelve years now studying aquatic animal characteristics. Recently, I made a serious discovery on carnivorous fish's attributes concerning greed. At first we were just testing how much they would eat beyond their stomach's capacity for a magazine article. Then one day I lost my watch oversea, and two test subjects killed one another for it. The winner, a basking shark, held it in his mouth for two days, until he was ultimately attacked by a hungry hammerhead. We were fascinated; the sharks had no use of the watch and the female hammerhead began exhibiting maternal behavior over the object. We were awestruck and began conduction experiments involving gold and bronze watches, and then some other gilded objects, such as candle sticks and women's jewelry."

I shrugged at him. "Well sure, maybe they like the way it reflects light or something." He smiled.

"Why on earth would a shark desire something for having luster? Haven't you ever seen the ocean's realm?"

"No, can't swim.” 

"Well, the water reflects light off of so many surfaces that everything seemed to glitter. It's completely improbable for a shark to be attracted to something just because it's shining, or they'd attack everything in sight."

I was uninterested. What made him think I shared his passion for marine biology? What made him think I was passionate at all?

My left hand cupped my chin, and my eyes strayed to a nearby booth housing a family of five. Adjacent to the booth sat their baby in a highchair. He had thick golden curls, and an orange-tinted face. Who leaves their baby in the sun that long?

"James? James?" I looked back at my dining partner. It took me about 3-and-a-half seconds longer to react to my name being called than the average person. I'm just not used to being addressed...at all. 

"Yes, what is it Mr. Turne?" He pouted. There was a grown one-eyed-man across from me, pouting. 

"I thought you were previously instructed to call me Frank, Franklin, or Franklin. 'Mr. Turne' is the opposite of those names."

I nodded wearily. 

"Yes, very well Franklin." I hesitated for 2.3 seconds. "Now, uh, Frank, would you kindly explain the briefcase?" His pout deepened, and I was embarrassed. I hoped our waitress didn't come to take our drinks while he was looking that way. 

"But that is what I've been doing. Haven't you been paying me any attention?" I blanched, and began to stutter.  

"I- well, that is, yes, I have, but ... I, er, don't recall you mentioning the briefcase." He unrolled his napkin, revealing cutlery. 

"I'm afraid I can't tell you who gave me the-" he mouthed the word 'money' "or why, but it relates to my study."  Cheating bastard.

"Well then, what was the final finding of your experiment?"

The waitress came to our table. She was a late-thirties brunette with a wilting voice and breasts finally submitting to gravity. I asked for a beer, he ordered a wine. Franklin told her we needed more time with the menus, and I unabashedly eyed her as she walked away.

"Not a bad pair of legs," I said to him conversationally. Something resembling disappointment flickered across his face. His eyelid blinked over the marble, and I suppressed a shudder. There was a stretch of silence. 10 seconds ... 12 ... he coughed, and salvaged the conversation.

"What was it you'd asked me? I've forgotten." I took a moment to remember. The golden-faced baby threw his sippy-cup onto the ground, and orange juice seeped out beneath it, saturating the carpet. 

"Oh, I've recalled. What did your study prove, that got you a whole briefcase packed with-" He shushed me hurriedly, squinting suspiciously at the nearby family. 

"While my involvement in this transaction was entirely honorable and legal, I request you keep outside parties out of the situation. That's what makes them outside parties." I nearly reminded him that he had been the one bringing me, a total stranger, into the loop, but I thought better of it. "Now," he resumed, "I cannot inform you as to what the study found, because nothing was found. We applied for a scientific grant to fund the experiments, since gold and scuba gear cost more than you may think."

"Where did you apply for your grant?" If I were a dog, my tail would be wagging. 

"Menas and Phaangs. My crew and I thought they had more than enough money to go around... it turns out we were right, in a way."

"Then they funded your experiment?"

"No. We received their refusal by telephone three days afterwards. Then yesterday, their manager arrived at my home early in the morning, as I was making breakfast. I was still in my pajamas when he knocked on the door."

The waitress returned to our table once more. Damn, I thought while staring at her shoulder, her hair is covering her nameplate. I had forgotten her name, and wanted to address her by name while ordering my meal. Women tended to remember your words more particularly whenever this trick was utilized. Unfortunately, I have a horrible memory when it comes to names.

Franklin ordered the salmon, giving many specifications which lulled in and out of Italian. Shit, I haven't examined the menu yet. Skimming the entree prices, I located the cheapest and read the dish name to myself as she turned to me. Butchering the language, I sounded the words out. She smiled and turned.

"Oh and Margaret, could you please get me another wine?"

"That's right! It's Margaret! Margaret, could you please get me a new fork? This one has something right over there, see?" She leaned closer to me so as to see the spot I was pointing to.

"Sure thing. Anything else?" We shook our heads, and she left.

"Well, what did he say?" Franklin blinked at me vacantly. "While you were in your pajamas?"

"Oh of course," he snapped back to attention. "Well, he told me that what we were doing was financially ridiculous and morally stupid."

"Verbatim?"

"Yes. Phonographic memory."

"I'd say that was an odd thing for him to say."

"I'd say you're somewhat right James. I felt like telling him off at that point, but I let him finish what he had to say. Turns out he was interested in all the sharks we had in our lab. I was able to sell him six sharks for," Frank paused, shifting his eye to the side. He looked into my eye and giggled. Taking a pen out of his breast pocket, he wrote something on a napkin and pushed it towards me. I spun it to face me. $1,500,000.

"For sharks?" Incredible. Unreal.

"I'll tell you, that manager got the serious shorter side of the stick. And those sharks were sick. Two were probably about to die. And they're all male. Big help they'll be to anyone, right?" He lifted his glass to toast the other man's loss.

"So that's how much you have in your briefcase?" He nodded. "All cash?" He nodded. I nodded. "Good."

"He brought the money this morning, counting it all out for me. I've spent the afternoon deciding where to go next. I'm thinking somewhere warm, sandy, and with cable."

Franklin took a sip of his wine and focused false and real eye intently upon my face. "Want to come?"

Polly Molly