Little Black Box

The silver door handle was taunting me, just daring to be opened. It has chilled from the lack of contact throughout the day so that it tingles under my palm. Giving way slowly the bedroom opens, expanding to gargantuan proportions. When designing the room it seems Linear Perspective from the entry was a central theme. The bluish silver of the blanket hugging the bed frame, which was edged in wrought iron, lined up perfectly with the open balcony. The small cherry oak nightstands that were standing as sentinels to the serenity of the room seemed to sense my presence. The sparse work station that sits off to the left of the door looks like a good a start, the chair had nothing special about it, black, rolling, with a worn left armrest from hours of use. Scanning down the stacks of papers I notice on the right side, which ends abruptly, a desk side fan. No it wouldn’t be here. This modernist desk has no drawers.

A quick jot over to the balcony allows for a closer examination of the bed. The comforter is thick chenille. The weight presses down over the bed showing an unmade tangle of sheets below. White cotton poking out from underneath luring the senses like only the smell of freshly washed cotton can. The nightstands are not so watchful now relaxed back to rest on their similarly colored cousin, the floor. Poking my head under the bed for a quick glance I can see a marching line of shoes staring back. Running shoes, hiking shoes, Work boots, Cycling shoes, and a pair of out of place slippers sleeping soundly under the bed frame. No little black box but I’m getting closer, I must be. The room is open and bare and there aren’t many more places to look.

The closet, that’s it! The mirrored doors have been in on it the whole time, hiding their treasure while reflecting the hunger in my eyes. I fling the slider to the side exposing the darkened corner of the room; Suits one after the other, arranged by color, style, and season. Another row just below the top hold the shirts that are equally resplendent in there tightly knit community of tones. Far left a rolling stand holds tie’s easily accessible by the bearing seated at the bottom to allow a quick turn. A jewelry box holds watches, rings, couplings, and a Smith & Weston 40., standard for someone in this business. It’s odd that the first sign of a threat would be the marking point for my goal, perhaps a reminder to be wary before digging into secrets.

Bingo! The lock box stares right back at me from behind the jewelry. I can taste lemon from a lemon tree from outside in the air as I take in an extra breath to savor the moment. The locks pick at my side jumps into my hand and I begin to work the lock in rhythmic motion. I can feel the peacefulness of the room change with an extra wave of sunlight as it puffs up. The lock gives up its last bit of resistance as the lid slides open. Anticipation for this moment has made it almost impossible to stand for a second longer. My hand darts in, shuffling around stacks of euros’ and dollars, another pistol, a few clips, passports, and birth certificates, where is it? My hand touches a small metal object near the back, got it! A small key attached to a braided steel ring. Such a small thing to hold so much of a future in it, I can already see myself sitting on the ship now, relaxing deck side before the next phase of the adventure.