Vitus Bethel awoke early one April morning to the sound of rain tapping against his windowsill. He sighed as he realized what this meant--another dreary, rain-soaked journey to his shop, where he would sit quietly by himself for a large portion of the day. This idea wasn't exactly appealing, so he took his time as he readied himself for work.
Breakfast consisted of a plain piece of toast he ate while standing at the front door, looking out at a slightly moving, gray portrait of an Alaskan street. Usually, he would eat as he walked to work, but on a previous rainy morning, he had discovered his distaste for soggy toast. So he stood at his open door and waited, with one curled hand pressed against his chest to catch the crumbs. As he slid the last corner of crust into his mouth, he tossed the crumbs outside and rinsed his hand clean in the rain, and then with a deep breath, he adjusted the collar of his rain coat, prepared his black umbrella, and plunged out into the world.
Vitus was tall, young, and thin, though not excessive in any of those attributes. He walked quickly and erratically, almost as if attempting to dodge the rain. Luckily, he didn't have far to go. A long row of old shopfronts stood before him, and there by the near end, between the yoga studio and a new sushi restaurant, was Bethel's Fine Finds, the town's most successful antique shop. Vitus fumbled his keys as he stood at the door, already anxious to start the day or, rather, to get the day over with.
He shook the umbrella outside and then propped it inside against the large front window and then hung his raincoat on a nice walnut rack. Then he sat behind his desk and waited for something--anything--to happen. Though his business was considered successful, his clientele mainly consisted of wealthy collectors that paid obscenely high prices for meager antiques. In this regard, Vitus fancied himself a sort of treasure hunter--a man who could attain anything for the right price, but in reality, he normally just sat at his desk, calling upon colleagues until he found what he needed.
Vitus' perception of the world had been almost entirely tainted by romanticism. As a boy, he absorbed westerns and devoured detective stories, and he honestly believed that archaeologists adventured around the world with guns and beautiful women. So it came as a bit of a disappointment when he left college with a degree in history and every intention of dying young, only to find that there are no more cowboys, no detectives that trail anyone but cheating husbands, and that digging up ancient artifacts is not as exciting as the movies led us to believe. Vitus became disillusioned with the real world, but the accompanying sadness and loneliness were his own fault.
When he left home for Alaska, assured that it was the last real frontier, he found that it was much like the rest of the United States, only with more trees. His car broke down in a small town on the outskirts of Anchorage. By the time it was fully repaired, he already owned a small house downtown and had a job working in the town's original antique shop, that being the only place that was hiring at the time. The antique shop, then called Darrow's Find Finds, was owned by a man named Clarence Darrow, who bore absolutely no relation to the famous lawyer of the same name. When Vitus took the job, Darrow was already an old man with no family, so when he decided to retire the next year, he left the entire shop and all its contents to Vitus.
Vitus had been there ever since, bonding with his existing clients with his boyish charm and constant air of professionalism. Everyday, Vitus wore a different suit to work. Upon looking through his wardrobe, one would be hard-pressed to find a single t-shirt or pair of denim jeans. Instead, it consisted of a long row of dress shirts, fine jackets, and pressed trousers. Vitus took pride in his appearance, and it showed. While some people need love and attention, Vitus craved only respect.
His mind drifted as he sat waiting. At that particular moment, he wished he was anywhere else; at least then would there exist the potential for excitement. He checked his pocket watch often, patiently waiting for 10:30, when Jenn Korova would come around. Jenn was an artist and a frequent patron of the yoga studio next door. She was also the only person Vitus could accurately describe as a friend.
Just before 9:00, the rain picked up. It poured down like a gray curtain in the shop's front windows, and the wind howled through the old building. Finally, the door burst open, and Vitus jumped. At first he thought it had just been the wind, but the unmistakable shape of an umbrella appeared in the rain. He checked his watch again quickly, thinking that perhaps Jenn had come for an early visit, but a very large man entered the shop instead. He shook his umbrella violently and then stomped his way toward Vitus without bothering to remove his coat. The man, aside from being very tall and very round, had small, round spectacles and a large,comical mustache that evoked the image of a walrus. The first thought that entered Vitus' head was that Theodore Roosevelt had returned from the dead, but as the man drew nearer, Vitus realized that he bore a much greater resemblance to William Howard Taft.
"Where is it?" boomed the man.
Vitus was shaken, not just at the man's appearance, but at thundering anger in his voice.
"I beg your pardon?" asked Vitus.
The large man shook his head and sighed. "Forgive me. I've come a very long way in a very short time. I'm looking for a particular item, and I have reason to believe that it is currently in your possession. It's a very old settee--18th Century, perhaps. From what my sources tell me, it should be a recent acquisition you have made."
Vitus' mouth hung open. He believed he knew the piece in question, but it was already sold to a new Russian client. "I'm sorry, but what's your name?"
"Jacobi," the large man replied. "Aristotle Jacobi. I was one of Darrow's clients many years ago."
"I'm sorry, Mister Jacobi, but I don't believe I have the piece you're looking for. I have just recently received a shipment of fine antique furniture that's on display at the back of the store, so you are, of course, welcome to look around in case I've overlooked it."
Jacobi stared at his feet and nodded. "Thank you, sir. I believe I shall."
Vitus watched as Jacobi disappeared behind a wall of curio cabinets and could hear the man as he shuffled around and muttered to himself. Within the next five minutes, Jacobi emerged from a row of shelving housing Alaska's largest collection of jade figurines. He was dejected, and it almost appeared to Vitus as though he had been weeping.
"Thank you for your time, sir, but I must really be on my way." The large man gathered his umbrella but did not even bother to open it as he stepped back out into the rain. Vitus Bethel would never see Aristotle Jacobi again.
Jacobi wandered down the sidewalk. His coat was open and useless, his entire, enormous body soaking wet.
"Over here, sir. The car's waiting," said a man in a dark suit. He held an umbrella over his head and stood beside a long, black car at the side of the street.
"I know where the car is, Philip. I'm merely stretching my legs first. It's a long drive home, after all," Jacobi replied.
"Of course, sir."
Jacobi continued down the sidewalk. Philip followed with his umbrella.
"They told me it would be here. They promised me. Bastards. Why do I continue to pay these people when the information they provide me is wrong? Have you any good reason, Philip?"
"None, sir."
"Damn them. Damn them and their computers, their technology. The whole lot. I no longer have the connections I used to enjoy. It appears my kind is dying out fast."
"You're still here, sir."
"That I am, Warren."
"It's Philip, sir."
"Right." Jacobi sighed. "I'm sorry, Philip. I must have been thinking of your father again. He was a good man."
"Thank you, sir."
"So was I, once--a good man. I was loved, and I gave everything I had to make people happy. It appears all my deeds have gone forgotten. I gave to the museums and the libraries, but they lay vacant now."
"Sir..."
"I just thought that if I could find this piece--if I could just find that damned settee--maybe I could make things right again."
"Excuse me, sir..."
"The world's not too far gone, Philip. Not yet. It can still be redeemed. I only hoped I could be the one to do that. I suppose not. I am just an old man; it's up to people like you, the young, to save the world. Goodness, I'm babbling again, aren't I? Please forgive the ramblings of an old man."
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"The rain, sir. It's getting worse. Are you ready to leave?"
Jacobi stared at him, defeated. There in the rain, the enormous man appeared confused and saddened, as weakened as he had ever been in his entire life. He nodded.
"Will you show me to the car?"
"Of course, sir."
Breakfast consisted of a plain piece of toast he ate while standing at the front door, looking out at a slightly moving, gray portrait of an Alaskan street. Usually, he would eat as he walked to work, but on a previous rainy morning, he had discovered his distaste for soggy toast. So he stood at his open door and waited, with one curled hand pressed against his chest to catch the crumbs. As he slid the last corner of crust into his mouth, he tossed the crumbs outside and rinsed his hand clean in the rain, and then with a deep breath, he adjusted the collar of his rain coat, prepared his black umbrella, and plunged out into the world.
Vitus was tall, young, and thin, though not excessive in any of those attributes. He walked quickly and erratically, almost as if attempting to dodge the rain. Luckily, he didn't have far to go. A long row of old shopfronts stood before him, and there by the near end, between the yoga studio and a new sushi restaurant, was Bethel's Fine Finds, the town's most successful antique shop. Vitus fumbled his keys as he stood at the door, already anxious to start the day or, rather, to get the day over with.
He shook the umbrella outside and then propped it inside against the large front window and then hung his raincoat on a nice walnut rack. Then he sat behind his desk and waited for something--anything--to happen. Though his business was considered successful, his clientele mainly consisted of wealthy collectors that paid obscenely high prices for meager antiques. In this regard, Vitus fancied himself a sort of treasure hunter--a man who could attain anything for the right price, but in reality, he normally just sat at his desk, calling upon colleagues until he found what he needed.
Vitus' perception of the world had been almost entirely tainted by romanticism. As a boy, he absorbed westerns and devoured detective stories, and he honestly believed that archaeologists adventured around the world with guns and beautiful women. So it came as a bit of a disappointment when he left college with a degree in history and every intention of dying young, only to find that there are no more cowboys, no detectives that trail anyone but cheating husbands, and that digging up ancient artifacts is not as exciting as the movies led us to believe. Vitus became disillusioned with the real world, but the accompanying sadness and loneliness were his own fault.
When he left home for Alaska, assured that it was the last real frontier, he found that it was much like the rest of the United States, only with more trees. His car broke down in a small town on the outskirts of Anchorage. By the time it was fully repaired, he already owned a small house downtown and had a job working in the town's original antique shop, that being the only place that was hiring at the time. The antique shop, then called Darrow's Find Finds, was owned by a man named Clarence Darrow, who bore absolutely no relation to the famous lawyer of the same name. When Vitus took the job, Darrow was already an old man with no family, so when he decided to retire the next year, he left the entire shop and all its contents to Vitus.
Vitus had been there ever since, bonding with his existing clients with his boyish charm and constant air of professionalism. Everyday, Vitus wore a different suit to work. Upon looking through his wardrobe, one would be hard-pressed to find a single t-shirt or pair of denim jeans. Instead, it consisted of a long row of dress shirts, fine jackets, and pressed trousers. Vitus took pride in his appearance, and it showed. While some people need love and attention, Vitus craved only respect.
His mind drifted as he sat waiting. At that particular moment, he wished he was anywhere else; at least then would there exist the potential for excitement. He checked his pocket watch often, patiently waiting for 10:30, when Jenn Korova would come around. Jenn was an artist and a frequent patron of the yoga studio next door. She was also the only person Vitus could accurately describe as a friend.
Just before 9:00, the rain picked up. It poured down like a gray curtain in the shop's front windows, and the wind howled through the old building. Finally, the door burst open, and Vitus jumped. At first he thought it had just been the wind, but the unmistakable shape of an umbrella appeared in the rain. He checked his watch again quickly, thinking that perhaps Jenn had come for an early visit, but a very large man entered the shop instead. He shook his umbrella violently and then stomped his way toward Vitus without bothering to remove his coat. The man, aside from being very tall and very round, had small, round spectacles and a large,comical mustache that evoked the image of a walrus. The first thought that entered Vitus' head was that Theodore Roosevelt had returned from the dead, but as the man drew nearer, Vitus realized that he bore a much greater resemblance to William Howard Taft.
"Where is it?" boomed the man.
Vitus was shaken, not just at the man's appearance, but at thundering anger in his voice.
"I beg your pardon?" asked Vitus.
The large man shook his head and sighed. "Forgive me. I've come a very long way in a very short time. I'm looking for a particular item, and I have reason to believe that it is currently in your possession. It's a very old settee--18th Century, perhaps. From what my sources tell me, it should be a recent acquisition you have made."
Vitus' mouth hung open. He believed he knew the piece in question, but it was already sold to a new Russian client. "I'm sorry, but what's your name?"
"Jacobi," the large man replied. "Aristotle Jacobi. I was one of Darrow's clients many years ago."
"I'm sorry, Mister Jacobi, but I don't believe I have the piece you're looking for. I have just recently received a shipment of fine antique furniture that's on display at the back of the store, so you are, of course, welcome to look around in case I've overlooked it."
Jacobi stared at his feet and nodded. "Thank you, sir. I believe I shall."
Vitus watched as Jacobi disappeared behind a wall of curio cabinets and could hear the man as he shuffled around and muttered to himself. Within the next five minutes, Jacobi emerged from a row of shelving housing Alaska's largest collection of jade figurines. He was dejected, and it almost appeared to Vitus as though he had been weeping.
"Thank you for your time, sir, but I must really be on my way." The large man gathered his umbrella but did not even bother to open it as he stepped back out into the rain. Vitus Bethel would never see Aristotle Jacobi again.
***
Jacobi wandered down the sidewalk. His coat was open and useless, his entire, enormous body soaking wet.
"Over here, sir. The car's waiting," said a man in a dark suit. He held an umbrella over his head and stood beside a long, black car at the side of the street.
"I know where the car is, Philip. I'm merely stretching my legs first. It's a long drive home, after all," Jacobi replied.
"Of course, sir."
Jacobi continued down the sidewalk. Philip followed with his umbrella.
"They told me it would be here. They promised me. Bastards. Why do I continue to pay these people when the information they provide me is wrong? Have you any good reason, Philip?"
"None, sir."
"Damn them. Damn them and their computers, their technology. The whole lot. I no longer have the connections I used to enjoy. It appears my kind is dying out fast."
"You're still here, sir."
"That I am, Warren."
"It's Philip, sir."
"Right." Jacobi sighed. "I'm sorry, Philip. I must have been thinking of your father again. He was a good man."
"Thank you, sir."
"So was I, once--a good man. I was loved, and I gave everything I had to make people happy. It appears all my deeds have gone forgotten. I gave to the museums and the libraries, but they lay vacant now."
"Sir..."
"I just thought that if I could find this piece--if I could just find that damned settee--maybe I could make things right again."
"Excuse me, sir..."
"The world's not too far gone, Philip. Not yet. It can still be redeemed. I only hoped I could be the one to do that. I suppose not. I am just an old man; it's up to people like you, the young, to save the world. Goodness, I'm babbling again, aren't I? Please forgive the ramblings of an old man."
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"The rain, sir. It's getting worse. Are you ready to leave?"
Jacobi stared at him, defeated. There in the rain, the enormous man appeared confused and saddened, as weakened as he had ever been in his entire life. He nodded.
"Will you show me to the car?"
"Of course, sir."
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