There was another thing. I was seventeen years old, and this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. By far. And I wanted to chase it.
4
On Monday morning I biked up to Mr. Bowditch’s house bright and early to feed Radar, and she did the heavy looking on while I installed the safety bars. The toilet was already a cozy fit in the tiny bathroom, and the safety bars would make a descent to the unloading position even cozier, but I thought that was good. I foresaw a certain amount of grumbling, but it would be hard for him to fall. He could even hold onto the bars while he urinated, which I thought was a plus. I tried wiggling them and they stayed solid.
“What do you think, Rades? Good to go?”
Radar thumped her tail.
“You can weigh the gold on my bathroom scale,” Mr. Bowditch told me during our conversation. “It won’t be exact, but a kitchen scale takes forever—I know from experience. Use the knapsack to weigh and carry. Go a little on the heavy side. Heinrich will weigh it himself, on a scale that’s more accurate. Dig-i-tal, you know.” He broke it into syllables like that, making it sound both silly and pretentious.
“How do you get it to him when you need a cash infusion?” Stantonville was seven miles away.
“I take a Yoober. Heinrich pays.”
For a minute I didn’t understand, then I did.
“What are you grinning about, Charlie?”
“Nothing. Do you do these exchanges at night?”
He nodded. “Usually around ten, when most of the people in the neighborhood are tucked in for the night. Especially Mrs. Richland from across the street. That one’s a nosy-parker.”
“So you said.”
“It bears repeating.”
I had gotten the same impression.
“I don’t think mine’s the only business Heinrich does at night, but he’s agreed to close the shop tomorrow so you can come in the morning, between nine-thirty and ten. I’ve never done an exchange of this size with him. I’m sure it will be all right, he’s never played anything but straight with me, but there’s a gun in the safe, and if you want to take it—for protection—that would be fine.”
I had no intention of taking it. I know guns make some people feel powerful, but I’m not one of those guys. Just touching it made me feel creepy. If you had told me I would be carrying it not too far in the future, I would have called you crazy.
I found a scoop in the pantry and went upstairs. I had washed the numbers off my arm after putting them in a password-protected note on my phone, but I didn’t even need to consult it. The safe opened on my first try. I took the knapsack off the bucket and just marveled at all that gold. Unable to resist the impulse, I plunged my hands in up to the wrists and let the gold pellets run through my fingers. I did it again. And a third time. There was something hypnotic about it. I shook my head as if to clear it and started scooping gold.
The first time I weighed the knapsack, the scale registered a little over three pounds. I added more and got it up to five. The last time, the needle stopped at seven, and I decided that was good. If Mr. Heinrich’s dig-i-tal scale showed more than the agreed-upon six pounds, I could bring back the extra. I still had stuff to do at the house before Mr. Bowditch’s arrival. I reminded myself to get a bell he could ring in the night if he needed something. Home Care for Dummies suggested an intercom or baby monitor, but I thought Mr. Bowditch might like something a little more old-school.
I had asked him how much six pounds of gold was worth, both wanting and not wanting to know the amount I’d be carrying on my back as I biked the seven miles—mostly rural—to Stantonville. He told me that the last time he checked with the Gold Price Group in Texas, it was going for about $15,000 a pound.
“But he can have it for fourteen a pound—that’s the price we agreed on. It comes to $84,000, but he’ll give you a check for $74,000. That will take care of my hospital bill with a little left over for me and a nice profit for him.”
Nice was putting it mildly. I don’t know when Mr. Bowditch last checked with the Gold Price Group, but as of the end of April in 2013, he was way low. I had checked the price of gold on my laptop before going to bed on Sunday night, and it was selling at better than $1,200 an ounce, which came to about $20,000 per pound. Six pounds would have gone for around $115,000 on the gold exchange in Zurich, which meant this Heinrich dude would be $40,000 to the good. And the gold wasn’t like hot diamonds, where the buyer would insist on discounting because of the risk. The pellets were unmarked, anonymous, and could easily be melted down into little ingots. Or made into jewelry.