Prelude:
Billy the horny antiques hanger-on, and sometimes transporter, would never know that his uncontrolled sexual appetites would forever change the lives of two petty miscreants and an honest antiques dealer. By the time antique dealer Moishe Sterlingstein had an unfortunate meeting with a bear in the backwoods of Northern Maine, two brothers had been living off his legacy for nearly a decade. Neither Billy nor Mo knew, that in a fortune lurked within a well packed box hidden inside a purloined van.
Moishe's Legacy:
Milo and Jim Bob Bolton were not quite smug. That would come later. They were extremely relieved, but not yet smug. They were marveling at their good luck in escaping the Winona, Missouri cops and then acquiring a first class ride nobody was looking for. They'd been able to abandon their stolen Camry in a truck stop, and get a legitimate ride. For the first time in 6 months, their car was not on any law enforcement Hot Sheet. For the moment, the Bolton boys didn't need to keep one eye in the mirror, scanning for cops. They kept looking back anyway, but it was purely out of habit and to keep their heat sensors fine tuned.
* * * * *
They'd driven a “borrowed” Camry into a truck stop on I-60 to grab a grease burger and fries. Just a quick bite to tide them over while they put more space between themselves and Winona. When the stranger started walking toward them, they wanted to jump back in the Toyota and burn rubber out of the truck stop. But the Camry's tank was about empty, so they reconsidered bolting long enough to hear what the man had to say. He said his name was Billy. He was dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a pink short sleeve shirt with palm trees all over it. He definitely didn't look like a cop. It turned out Billy was a kindred spirit who had an appealing offer for the Boltons.
Billy was basically an antiques thief. He was transporting a van load of goods belonging to a man named Moishe Sterlingstein, an antiques entrepreneur from Plain View, NY. Although the Chevy van and it's valuable load of antiques didn't belong to Billy, he offered to sell it to them for $200.00. He'd just tell Mo they were stolen while he ate lunch. He'd later say he didn't call the cops because he wasn't sure that Mo had acquired the treasures legally. As he talked he fidgeted and ran his fingers through his thick salt and pepper hair. He glanced nervously toward a young woman in a tight pair of Daisy Dukes, that was leaning against a small Winnebago. It was clear he desperately wanted to romance the lady. However, she drove a hard bargain, and Billy had to come up with a hundred bucks to get his bells rung in her rolling fun house.
* * * * *
The Bolton twins were on the run. Shortly after noon that day, they had escaped from local cops in Winona, MO, where they’d been arrested for robbing a hot dog cart. The cart had been parked outside of a lumber mill, and the Boltons hit it just after the lunch time rush. They were caught with the entire $166.75, which was suspiciously, still in the tube steak seller's cigar box. They were coincidentally, driving a rusty 1979 Ford Bronco they liberated from the mill parking lot. Milo and Jim Bob Bolton were ready to deal.
The boys were no scientists, but hard earned street smarts told them this was good. The two recent escapees had a couple of pressing needs. One: They needed money. All they had was the $166.75 in the sausage vendor's cigar box. Two: They needed a ride. One that was not starring on a regional police BOLO.
They'd still need gas money, so the Boltons offered Billy $100.00. The antiques thief grabbed the wad of ones and quickly followed the truck stop hooker into her tiny trailer.
* * * * *
Around two o'clock, Frannie and Johnnie, two of Winona, Misouri's finest, had pulled the Bolton twins over on I-60. They identified the boys as the hot dog stand thieves from the recent BOLO, but the amourous cops had misplaced their last set of handcuffs. Frannie thought they'd left the cuffs attached to the four poster bed in the motel room where they'd spent the first hour of their shift. They'd have to wait to buy a replacement set, but it was almost a week until payday.
While the cops were waiting for last night’s crop of drunks to be removed from Winona's only cell, fate intervened.
The Bolton boys had been nervously sweating by the front desk, waiting to be locked up, when a passing tourist lost control of his pick-up and crashed into the corner of the police station. The tourist, a fugitive pedophile from Ohio, decided to run rather than be caught. He threw his Dodge Ram into reverse and smoked the tires all the way to the intersection of Main and First Streets. He was doing thirty-two mph backward, his tires screaming, when he t-boned a loaded eighteen-wheeler loaded with freshly cut logs.
The big four door pick-up flipped and landed on it's top against Ferris’ Drug Store’s curbside flower box. The box splintered but the poppies and azaleas were unscathed. The noisy crash scared Frannie and Johnnie who dived for cover under the station’s front desk.
When they finally crawled out, guns drawn, they forgot about the Bolton boys and ran, pistols waving in the air, up Main toward First. When they saw it was only a wreck they slowed down and reluctantly strolled to the inverted pickup. The Ohio sex offender was hanging from his seat belts, gurgling like a plugged up drain and begging to be cut loose. Johnnie took his hunting knife out of it's sheath and sliced the belts. The pervert fell three feet to the top of the upside-down cab, landing on his head. The weight of his obese body broke his pudgy neck. He died instantly.
The Bolton brothers' cumulative IQ almost equaled their totaled ages, but a lifetime of criminal activity had taught them to seize an opportunity if they tripped over it. Jim Bob scooped the cigar box full of evidence off the police station’s front desk, tucked it under his arm, and ran.
The love-struck Keystone cops had left the stolen Bronco running in the street. It was still at the curb. Milo jumped behind the wheel and jammed the gas pedal to the floor. The Boltons were free again and headed east on I-60.
The forgotten felons, were hungry. A mile up I-60 they stopped at a 7-Eleven and stole a twelve-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, two large packages of string cheese, and a party size bag of beef jerky. Lunch.
They cruised up I-60, singing along with a Warren Zevon song playing on the squeaking cassette player. Blue Ribbon's tabs were popped, and they let the Bronco have it's head. “Ra hoo! Werewolves of London. Ra hoo!” The Bolton boys were free and running, with a cold twelve-pack of Pabst between them. They though that life couldn't possibly get any better.
At a KOA parking lot fifteen miles east of Winona, they traded the conspicous old Bronco for an 'invisible' beige Toyota Camry. As the owner napped in her tent, they motored off in their new ride.
Driving what may be the most inconspicuous car on earth, they were unnoticed as they headed East toward their fortune. As they drove and drank, they contemplated their pathetic life of crime. The boys realized that they had driven with with one eye in the mirror, most of their lives. That's when the Boltons decided it was time to go straight.
Enough of this running from the law, they thought. Firm believers in fate, the brothers began believing that something good was sure to land in their laps. They were certain they'd soon be making a better life for themselves. Jim Bob and Milo Bolton steadily progressed all the way to Exit 20 on I-95 near Lumberton, NC. Indeed, as fate would have it, at the truck stop at Exit 20, their lives suddenly took a very fortunate turn.
* * * * *
The Boltons pulled into the nameless truck stop. They planned to get some food and maybe steal another car. They had just parked the Camry, when they met Billy. He casually strolled up to them with his strange proposition. They were more than happy to give Billy $100.00 for the keys to the blue van filled with Moishe Sterlingstein's antiques. They couldn’t believe their good fortune. They left the keys in the Camry and never looked back.
* * * * *
Their newly acquired antiques inspired the boys. They were sure they could go straight now. By the time they’d reached Richmond their plan was loosely assembled. Brothers Jim Bob and Milo were now Jon and Marc. Who would think that the two crooked bubbas were a gay couple looking for a storefront to set up an antiques shop. They knew nothing about antiques but both were thinking, how hard can it be?
* * * * *
Shortly after arriving in Richmond, VA, they found a place that would do, in the peaceful western suburbs. That's where Jon and Marc met a man named George Turnbull in an antiques shop. They traded an old vase from the van, for twelve months rent in advance. Now they had a well lighted, clean storefront with an apartment in the back. They could live in the apartment while growing their business, and keep a close eye on their investment.
George Turnbull was a shop owner and antiques expert. He didn't ask questions when asked to appraise their merchandise for them. That's when he made the discovery of his life. Hiding his excitement, their new friend was grateful for the Boltons' ignorance and kept his cool.
Unfortunately for the boys, they could have done better if they'd known more about antiques. After a quick glance at the priceless Ming vase, George would have gladly thrown in the two story Victorian home he lived in, to close the deal.
George didn't care about giving away the store and house. He'd already decided that after a year, he'd give John and Marc the deed and they'd own it free and clear. George was sure they'd stolen the load of antiques, but knew it would be best for him to say nothing. To show his gratitude to the gormless Jon and Marc he kept their deal and their ignorance of antiques a secret.
He'd soon sell the vase, out of the country, and buy a one way ticket to some tropical paradise. Retiring at age forty-four was better than he'd ever dreamed life could get.
* * * * *
Eighteen months after George Turnbull gave away his shop, he was walking on the beach at St. Barths in the Caribbean.
Two neatly groomed beach boys strolled along the white sand beach. Gulls swooped into the calm blue ocean, dining on tropical fish while tourists swinging in hammocks were sipping fruity drinks under palm trees. The retired antiques dealer from Richmond, VA, was walking in the opposite direction. He stopped in front of the two young men and stuck out his hand.
“Well, I'll be damned! Jon and Marc! What a pleasant surprise! What the hell are you guys doing here?”
“George! How are you doing? We live here now," Jon said. "We bought a couple of houses about a mile up the beach."
“What happened to the Antique Boutique?” George asked with a cautious tone.
“Interesting story.” Marc chimed in. “Some guy from upstate New York came by one day about six months ago. He asked if he could sort through some of the junk you left in the storage room.”
“We figured hell, maybe he'd give us a few bucks for some of it and we wouldn't have to throw it out,” Jon grinned.
“Good luck with that junk,” George grinned. “I felt bad sticking you guys that useless crap.”
“Well, he must have been a real fool,” Marc chortled. “He came out of the back all pale and sheepish looking. He made us an offer for the store on the spot, merchandise and all”
“Yeah, George,” Jon said. “He offered us a million and a half for the whole shootin' match. We figured he might go more, so we upped the price. When he hit two million, we decided it was time to sell and find some place warm to live.”
“I can't figure what he saw in that back storage area that would make him do that,” said George with a thoughtful stare. “I only left some old brass engravings and a couple of cracked earthen pots. Oh yeah, there was an old Pirate sword in there, but it was a worthless fake.”
“Well,” Marc laughed. “There was something in there he wanted bad. We're just glad that old Mo Sterlingstein came along. We're not really gay, ya know. Livin' that life was hard. By the time he came by, neither of us had been out with a girl for over a year!”
That left more questions than answers in George's mind, but he nodded knowingly. As he strolled off down the beach, his mind was racing. Something in my storage room was worth over two million? What the hell could that have been?
The End?
NOTE: This work of fiction is purely an invention of Don Winfield. No person, living or dead, is represented or alluded to. If you enjoyed this short story of mysterious adventures in the world of antiques, please look for "Hiding in Plain View", on Amazon Books in the Fall of 2014.
