A Mad Man's Clause

13|The End of A Bargain

She had enjoyed the day.

Pushing the door to her room, Mai allowed feelings of contentment keep her afloat. Familiarised with the terrain, she ambled through the darkness to the bed and jumped on it. Crinkling noise followed soon after. It caused her to bolt up and search for whatever made that noise. A flat piece of brown envelope stared up nefariously at her. Mai frowned, apprehensive.

Impulsively, she turned her head in every direction, half expecting a figure to jump out at her. The darkness offering solace no more, she flipped the switch. Lights flooded the space. Her gaze then wandered to the envelope, now crumpled from her weight. There was nothing written on it however it elicited a sense of a rather strange emotion, dread. Not confusion, but dread.

A few seconds milled by as she stared openly at it. A decision made. She took a breath and willed her brain to calm down. One of the numerous aids in the house may have placed it there since she was out all day. Yes, more and more that seemed most likely. She snatched the envelope and ripped it open. A photo fell out onto the bed. She picked it up.

One thing stood out her. It was old, probably a couple of decades. The edges were worn out as a result of the years but the image was surprisingly distinct. There were six men dressed in pinstripe suits. All wore serious expression save for one. He was laughing, arms splayed out to his sides— wielding a pistol

Her frown deepened.

She recognised the animated character. Although the grainy photo was monochromatic, she could bet her non-existent life savings that his hair was blond. The resemblance was so uncanny that it unsettled her. Biting down on her lip, she tried to make sense of what she held in her hands. She grabbed the envelope, searching frantically but it was empty. She flipped the photo over and saw there was something written but it was far too faded to accurately make out.

Mai put her hand in her bag and pulled out her phone. She turned on the torch, casting it on the photo. She raised them over her head.

"1..." she read out. The others were a lot faint. She worried her lips, angling it a bit. "1...9...2..." Her tired arms gave out. She lowered them. There was one more number so she tried again. It took a lot longer this time but she made them out. It was a time stamp. "1927"

Was that the year this was taken? She wondered as she resumed her scrutiny. This man in the centre looked so much like her husband, even down to the crinkles that formed around his eyes when he laughed. She would know because she had witnessed them just a few hours ago. This couldn't possibly be Henry so was this man his ancestor then?

The probability was high. This led to her second observation. He was a mobster. The suits and bowler hats were reminiscent of the mob era of 1920s America. She knew this thanks to the hours she spent watching the history channel. It had been one of hers and Kofi's favourite pastime. Also, the pistol was a huge giveaway. She picked out another thing. He was likely the head honcho. His body language suggested he held some sway over the others in the photo. They all looked tense while he was stood relaxed and carefree.

"Wow" Her awe slipped out unrestrained. Every layer of her newfound life peeled away with rum. Instincts kicked in and she searched her room once more for anything amiss. Her hunt came up short. She plopped back down on the bed, eyeing the old photo.

She began to feel suspicious. It made no sense why anyone would leave this on her bed. What was the end goal here? So, Henry came from a family of mobsters but him not relaying that piece of information did not come as strange considering the nature of their relationship. Sure, the dynamics had changed but that was a fairly recent development. She had doubts that the culprit was trying to hint that Henry was also in the same line of work. An almost 90-year-old photo was not good enough evidence if that was the case.