The old man walked through the shopping centre with an air of grace. He looked through the shop windows casually eyeing his surroundings, appreciating the décor of the expensive facades. Pete followed him at a distance, yet somehow he sensed the old man knew he was behind him. He absentmindedly fingered the diamond stud in his ear, as he watched the old man take the escalator up to the next level. The old man walked with a sense of purpose, his long silver coiffured hair swaying slightly, the sharply tailored business suit, extenuating the deep tan of his olive skin.
Pete stood overlooking the balustrade to the levels below and observed as the old man rang the security bell to the heavy, dark tinted glass doors leading to the executive offices of the owners of the shopping centre. His own offices. Pete decided not to follow. Instead, observing the people around him and wanting to blend into the crowds for a short time, he walked into a shoe shop and pretended to browse the aisles of expensive leather and crocodile skin shoes, to give himself time to think strategy.
His pager rang. Maria, his secretary called to inform him of his visitor.
"I'll be an hour" he announced when he placed the call on his mobile phone. Let the old man sweat it out a bit. So he was right. He did recognise him. The Prince. Memories flooded back. Good memories, yet mysterious. And now, why had he returned. Why after all these years? Forty three years, Pete calculated. He knew the Prince would return, yet he hoped he never would, or at least, give him time until he could receive his substantial pension. Only a few years left.
They hugged. Two old men creasing their expensive suits and crying like babies. Maria left them to it and closed the door to Pete's office quietly.
"Great to see you" the Prince said, "and you've done well for yourself". The Prince looked around the office, eyeing the expensive furniture and décor, looking at the many photographs and sports certificates which adorned the walls.
Pete fingered the diamond stud in his ear once more, and suddenly felt embarrassed. The Prince noticed. "The stud. You've changed it."
"Yes. It's a solid diamond. 1 carat. It still means the same though." More than his wedding band did, Pete thought glumly.
"Have you seen Charlie and Joe?" The Prince asked.
Pete thought before answering. They were all once good friends. He tried to suppress the memories from popping into his head. He had spent years trying to forget the pain of lost friendship. "No. Not for years. Charlie, I've heard is down on the river. The last I heard of Joe was when he went to prison for fraud. Must have been at least twenty years ago."
The Prince thought for a long time, staring at the gleaming mahogany desk in front of him, toying with his fine china coffee cup.
"Pete. You know why I am here." He said suddenly.
Pete swallowed hard and nodded.
"Good. I want you to meet me here" the Prince produced a sketch map and pointed to a particular spot with his manicured finger "in one month's time. Bring what you need to. I'll see you then."
Pete sat and watched the Prince reach the door. "I'll have to have my lawyers with me." He said, but the Prince waved and was gone.
Pete told Maria, his secretary that he was not to be disturbed and sat in the dark for a very long time.
The trucks containing the racing cars were being loaded into the middle deck of the "Flaming Sword" a Catamaran cargo ship. Men were milling around watching the gleaming advert filled trucks inch forward to cram as much in as possible. The director was standing on the balcony of the office block overlooking the quay, watching the operation with a pair of binoculars.
"I assure you, there will be no problem with the equipment. You'll have them in Montreal in three days time"
The director put the binoculars down and looked directly at Charlie, smiling. "Good, I know I can rely on you. You're the best, even if you are a little expensive. You crook."
Charlie smiled back. "As you know, this little circus is one of the biggest money generators in the world. What's wrong with a little class. This is first class travel and you know it. Who else is there who can guarantee safe delivery of all of your equipment. Especially in this age of terrorism, where any such equipment can be used as leverage against governments."
The Director smiled once again and looked across the quay and out to the horizon beyond.
"You know, Charlie. Why don't you meet me in Montreal. I can get you a free pass and you can enjoy the next weekend looking around a Grand Prix circuit with me as your tour guide. In fact, it'll be an honour to have you there."
"Well, I've got commitments. It's not easy to leave Ginny alone, especially for four days or so." Ginny, his wife had suffered much over the years. She did not leave the house, and he had to care for her most of the time. He employed three carers, but she always preferred to have him around and became upset if he stayed over at work. "Why don't you give work up. Retire. It's not as though you need the money. We can be together each and every day." She often said, chiding him. Work was for Charlie a respite. Something else to think about rather than the suffering of his wife. Besides he had so much at stake in his business.
Sudden shouting from the quay broke his thoughts. Men were pointing and reaching for their guns.
Charlie looked through his binoculars at the silver Mercedes which had stopped alongside the vessel. The dark, olive skinned man stood near the door, looking at the ship and at the men advancing towards him, guns in their hands. The man stood assured and strong. Charlie gasped and hawked into his radio. "Leave him. He's alright. I know him He's my guest. Bring him up to me."
The Director looked at Charlie. "Who is he?"
"He's an old friend." He said, absentmindedly fingering his gold ear stud. "He's the Prince and he's returned."
"So, this is what has kept you busy over the years. Messing about with boats on the water, just as you were when you were eight."
"Yep." Charlie explained, looking along the quay, proud of his achievement "Started off with one vessel and now have a fleet of seven, including the 'Flaming Sword', the fastest cargo ship in the world. She can get to New York in just 38 hours, when the waters are calm."
"Fully laden?"
"No. It's been tried with only half the allowed weight." Charlie explained. He smiled and looked carefully at his guest. "You've kept well. My, how long has it been?" he thought aloud.
"Forty three years, two months, seventeen days" the Prince said matter of factly.
"Forty three years. It seems just like last week, when we all had ambitious plans and dreams to fulfil" Charlie remarked.
"Well. It's good to see you. I would like you to meet me here" the Prince said, placing his finger on the same map he'd shown to Pete, "next month."
"Next month. Why?"
"To allow you to sort your affairs. I think you know why." The Prince said, standing up. "See you next month and thanks for the drink." He said as he slipped out of the room.
Charlie stood staring after him. "I don't believe it" he thought. He picked up an old dog-eared book off the shelf, rifled through the pages and found the number he was after. He placed a call to someone he'd not seen for fifteen years.
The man with the long lank hair and dirty clothes shuffled along the queue at the night shelter. His hair gleamed, still wet from the shower he'd just had, his face red with the heat of the water which had just washed a month of grime off his skin. He felt fresh, though his nose told him otherwise. His clothes smelled of fish. Still, he was one of the lucky ones. He held onto the job at the fish market for a week now, and he intended to keep it for at least another and hopefully for longer than he'd held a job in years. The queue moved ahead slowly. The man behind started jostling him.
"Come on. Move it."
"Wait your turn" Joe said, seeing a scruffy version of himself, yet something about him was wrong. Joe couldn't think what it was. The smell of food made him feel hungry, yet the feeling was always there. In fact he couldn't remember a time when he was not hungry. The night shelter, run by a charity, had free accommodation. At least he had a roof over his head. The nights were becoming colder and the fierce grip of winter would soon fall so that all such spaces would be fought for, amongst the homeless who arrived from all over town. He hoped this winter to find a permanent place at the shelter. He had a job and could prove responsibility.
He reached the soup table and the portly woman on the other side slopped a ladle of soup into his polystyrene cup and pointed to the bread plate. Further along he could see a roast being prepared. This is a good shelter. Perhaps he could give some of his hard earned cash towards getting a better meal. He thought of that on the way to grab a coffee. No. He needed his money. He had to save up to find a cheap sleeping bag.
"Hey Joe."
Joe turned around. The man preparing the roast gestured to him to come across. Stuart. One of the 'Christians' who thought he was doing God's work by helping out people like him. Not more Bible stuff. Not tonight. Joe felt a headache coming on.
Joe thought of ignoring him. He'd only just sat down near the heater. If he were to get up, he'd lose his place and would have to sit closer to the door.
"Joe. I need to see you. It's important."
"So is my soup. It can wait, till I've finished. Promise me I can be first in the queue for the roast and I might think about seeing you."
Stuart showed Joe a letter. "It's addressed to you."
"How does anyone know I'm here? Why should anyone write to me?"
"Cos you haven't got a mobile" Stuart joked.
Joe stared at him, not seeing the humour. He looked at the envelope. Nothing special. Just an envelope. Inside was a handwritten note. He started to take the note out, but noticed Stuart taking a lot of interest in it as well. He walked away, into a corner, his plate of roast balanced on his knee. When he thought no one was looking he took out the note.
Meet me at the Bus stop. November 14th. You know why.
P
Joe stared at the note. A small sketch was on the reverse, indicating the bus stop. He shook. He looked around. Did anyone notice. Someone was staring at him. At that moment he walked out of the shelter. It was the man who was behind him. Now he realised what was wrong. The man had been in disguise. His clothes were too clean.
Could he have been the Prince? After all these years. Joe fingered his left ear. There was no stud. He'd sold it years ago whilst in prison so that he could buy a pillow. Desperate times required desperate measures.
Joe forgot about his meal and his hunger. He launched out of the corner and through the door into the cold night. The street, crowded with traffic leaving the theatre district, all heading for their comfortable beds in suburbia. A silver Mercedes tore away from a parking bay. He looked the other away. Cars and buses. Joe walked towards town. He didn't know where to go. He began walking. He thought of the bus stop. He didn't need a map. He'd been there numerous times just to pass the days, and the nights away. Of course it had changed. The conglomerate which owned the shopping centre had bulldozed away the street and the closed buildings around the original bus stop, yet had decided to maintain and even build a superior bus stop for the new trams which glided along linking the shopping centre with the town and the port. The bus stop now comprised of an executive waiting area, rather like one at the airport, yet Joe had not yet been inside, for a charge of £3.00 was levied just to wait for bus inside the cabin. No. Joe was content to wait on the hard benches outside watching the trams, buses and the world go by.
Joe was not heading for the bus stop. He couldn't, despite it being close by. Instead he meandered along the dark streets and up the hill, across the river to the cemetery. He made his way amongst the tended lawns and bushes to his father's grave. Here he sat and awaited the sunrise, which always pleased him from this spot. His father would be happy to have such a view each morning. Looking across from the grave Joe could make out the outline of a stone angel lying in the grass. The fallen angel, Joe called it. It had been there for years. It had once been upright, but through one reason or another it had fallen to the ground and being too heavy, no one had ever put it right. The grass grew high around it, yet just beyond, the caretakers of the cemetery had maintained the lawn to keep it neat. Why they had not fixed the angel no one knew. Joe was happy though. He liked the fallen angel, and it's buried secret, for it reminded him of himself.
The waiting room in the bus stop was filling up, Pete saw. He sat on a leather seat and watched the door. His lawyers were there, having been asked to come early and with the prepared accounts. They had no idea why though. The door opened and Charlie walked in. He sauntered across to sit next to Pete, yet they did not speak. Both were nervous. Charlie carried a business case as well as a suitcase and an expensive raincoat. He looked every part as if he was going to travel somewhere this day. Charlie took note of Pete out of the corner of his eye. They hadn't spoken for more than twenty years, yet Charlie had followed Pete's career and his rise in popularity.
The appointed hour came and went and still the men in the room sat in silence. Charlie wondered about the other men. They looked at him too, asking silent questions as to his presence at this unorthodox meeting.
Yet another tram glided to a halt. Pete stood and went to the coffee machine for the sixth time since he'd arrived. This time however he returned with two cups and passed one to Charlie.
"For you. I knew it would be waste of ti.."
The door opened. "Time..?" announced the Prince, who sauntered in, with great authority.
"Gentlemen, excuse me" he said, squeezing in the small gap between Pete and Charlie and sitting on the back, with his feet on the seat. Just like he did back in the old days. The lawyers suddenly looked uncomfortable, not knowing how this would play out. "Where's Joe?"
Charlie shrugged his shoulders. Pete grunted. "Late. As usual." He smiled.
The ice was beginning to melt. They were eighteen again. Young and youthful with a slight mischievous manner.
A police car pulled up outside. A policeman approached the door, thought better of it and returned to the car. Leaving the car he paid the three pound fee and entered the waiting area. "Is there a Prince here?" he asked, rather sheepishly, Pete thought.
The Prince just stared at him, whilst everyone turned to the Prince.
"Ah, Good. We have arrested a man at the Old Hill Cemetery. He insisted on speaking to his lawyer. He told me that was you and the only way to contact you was in person, in this very bus stop. Weird. Still, he's right. If you talk to him, we can then take him away to the station."
"Bring him in here" the Prince said.
"No Sir. We cannot do that. He's under arrest."
"For doing what?"
"For digging up buried treasure at the cemetery."
"He claims it is his. Judging him by what I know of him and his past, I rather doubt it."
"Bring him in here. You can come in too, and I will explain his case." The Prince said.
The room was full. Every seat taken. Pete brought coffees all round. Three lawyers, two policemen, four old friends and one unfortunate man who wanted to travel somewhere and who was asked to be a witness to the proceedings.
"A hundred and three million, two hundred and seven thousand, one hundred and twenty eight pounds" Pete announced, after consulting with his lawyers about the exact figure.
He took a deep breath and looked around the room. Producing a bag, which his lawyer had carried, he counted ten long gold bars. Everyone stared open mouthed at the gold. Everyone, that is apart from the four friends. They were not surprised. The two policemen looked at each other bewildered. They had seen a similar gold bar, just a couple of hours ago.
Pete continued. "Your five gold bars which you gave me, had a value of ten million pounds each. I managed to invest the gold with the branch of the Swiss bank in the town, that same week. If you remember the very next Monday, all hell broke loose. The stock market crashed, the government was toppled in the coup, the army moved in and closed the economy down. The Swiss bank swiftly moved its operations back to Switzerland, including the gold. It took four years for things to settle down and for a new government to be set up. I cashed in the gold, invested the money in property and began to rebuild the town. I even designed and built this place" Pete laughed, looked at the Prince. "That amount I read out is the net worth of everything I have. All debts being paid, all monies due, everyone paid. Just as you asked. The extra three point two million is mine, shall we say as interest due to good work."
The Prince smiled and nodded. "Pete, my good friend, you have done a fantastic job. Well done. I commend you. I gave you five gold bars and you have earned five more. I knew I could rely on you. Yes, I give you the three million as your reward."
Charlie cleared his throat and looked once again at his papers in front of him before reading out his net worth. "Forty one million, six hundred and twenty three thousand, five hundred and forty two pounds net. After you gave the two gold bars, I followed Pete and also invested them into the Swiss bank. I had a hard time during the coup. I was beaten for my views and I fled abroad. I returned after about nine years, but had lost the bank receipts and the deposit book. I approached the headquarters and explained my situation. It took another four years and an expensive court case to finally get my gold.
I started a business, after spending a fair amount on a good house, and flash goods. I mean twenty million is a lot when you have nothing. Fortunately, my business picked up, I won some good contracts and began reaping the money in. I only broke through the forty million pound target six months ago. I thought of when you would return and hoped that it wouldn't be whilst I was struggling to even get ten million pounds together." Charlie stared forlornly at the floor.
The Prince put his arm around Charlie's shoulder. "You did well, Charlie. You took my two gold bars and have earned two more in return. Your wise business sense has earned you well. Congratulations, for you have built up a good fortune. You may keep the one point six million as your reward."
"You did what?" the Prince bellowed.
"I buried it" replied Joe, now quivering between the two policemen as though facing a headmaster for missing class.
"You buried it. Why? Tell me, from the beginning."
Joe sat silent for a while longer. He seemed to find it difficult to sit up and look at the Prince. Then he began to speak.
"That night. The night you gave me the bar of gold and told me it was worth ten million pounds. You said I could do with it whatever I could. You told me to look after it, and ordered me to pierce my ear to keep the pact with you. I didn't know what to do. I told you when you offered it to me, that I didn't want it. Didn't want to lose it. Didn't want to know how to pay you back if I did lose it. It weighed heavily in my pocket. Pete and Charlie had their gold bars. I was glad you'd only given one. I walked up to dad's grave and sat there all night. I saw the angel and it seemed to be staring at me. I knew then what to do with the gold bar, so I buried it close to the angel in the cemetery. Then when the army moved in and placed curfews and filled the streets with guns, I was glad to have buried it. Over time I forgot it. I lost a few bets and began to owe people money. I got entangled up in crime and was sent down for running drugs. All the time in prison I laughed at the irony. I knew I could get my hands on ten million pounds, yet here I was stony broke and in prison. I even had to sell the ear stud to get a pillow, I was so desperate. When I was let out, I didn't know what to do. I worked in many jobs, trying to keep clean from drugs and crime. My life was empty. I couldn't handle anything and ended up on the streets, in hospitals and rehab centres, in jail a few more times, until I found solace once again up on the hill at my dad's old grave, looking across to the angel. It had fallen down on its side. The irony of it was that is was pointing to the exact spot where the gold bar was buried. I often stayed days up there, hoping no one would come along poking about looking for grave loot and all that. I became a guardian of the fallen angel. I worked up there as a gardener until my health got the better of me. I grew a long beard and kept my few belongings under an old wheelbarrow. People regarded me with contempt and mostly steered clear of me. Hecklers would often come along and jaunt me and throw stones. One threatened to put me in a fresh grave in the cemetary since that is where I wanted to be, but his threat was empty. All along, I knew that I had done right. I knew that you would come down hard on me if I had lost the money. I dug it up this afternoon to pass on to you. Old Mr Harbinger, being nosy, phoned the police. Told them I was grave robbing. So here am I sitting beside my two new friends, my gold bar in their car outside."
The Prince looked like thunder. "If only you hadn't buried it. If only you'd put it in a bank and left it. The interest it would have earned would be far better than simply burying it. You are wicked and lazy. You have no sense." The Prince turned to the policemen. "Go, fetch the gold which belongs to me. Arrest him for robbing me. I could have at least earned interest on the gold."
The gold bar was brought from the car. "Thank you." The Prince said. "This, I give to Pete as his reward for his hard work. For he will have an abundance, yet you Joe, you have nothing for that which you have is now taken from you. Arrest him, charge him and lock him up. He deserves nothing else."
Pete received the eleventh bar with gratitude. Charlie looked relieved as the Prince patted his head and Joe was taken away shouting something inaudible as they dragged him to the car.
The Prince stood alone in the waiting area of the bus stop and smiled. His judgement had been right all those years ago. After all, he had given them all an equal chance. If only Joe had had more faith. He closed the door quietly behind him and slipped out into the night.
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