The Movement

Chapter Nine - Part 3

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Troy felt queasy about the meeting with the old man; yet he knew he had to go to satisfy his curiosity over who this old man was, why he sent him this sign and money, and how he knew where Troy lived. The stack of money the old man sent with the sign confused Troy and was even more unexpected than the gift itself.

Why, or how, did the old man sit on the sidewalk holding that sign every day? Why did he dress like a bum? Where did he get that kind of money from? he thought.

Perplexed, questions raced through Troy’s head as he stepped out of the shower. His wife had just begun to wake up, at half past ten in the morning.

“Where are you going today, babe?” she asked in tired, groggy voice.

“Just to run a few errands,” he replied.

“Oh. What do you need to do?” she asked.

“Just to pick up a few things and then stop by my office,” he lied.

“Mmkay,” she said, not thinking about his answer.

She leaned over and grabbed her book on the nightstand next to the bed.

Troy looked across the room to make sure his wife was not looking, went into the closet, and reached up to the top shelf, grabbing his gun case. Quietly opening the case, he checked the safety and tucked the small handgun snug into his waistband, his long pea coat providing a thick blanket, easily hiding the gun. Troy walked over to his wife and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours. I love you,” he said, and walked out the door to head to Central Park a little early to further ponder the possibilities of the odd meeting with the mysterious old man.

Upon arrival, the peaceful walk through Central Park provided a perfect atmosphere for Troy’s imagination. Dozens of thoughts, possibilities, and scenarios raced through his mind. Some of the imaginations ended poorly—with the old man revealing himself as Troy’s long lost father. Another ended gloriously, with Troy learning that he had inherited a large amount of wealth from the old man. One ended with the old man testing Troy’s character, to see if he would return the money without being asked to. None of these imaginative outcomes seemed reality, however.

Returning his mind to the reality, Troy sat down on the bench he assumed the old man meant by the “Central Park Bench.” He checked his watch—11:58 a.m.

He looked around and observed the calm surroundings. Squirrels scampered silently up the tall pine trees as the snow parachuted from the sky.  Awaiting the old man’s arrival, Troy checked his watch once again.

Right at noon, Troy heard the old man’s shuffling feet coming from behind him, slightly from his right. Instead of his usual bum attire, the old man dressed in black slacks and a charcoal pea coat, grey scarf and black cap. He carried a cane, and his silver hair and beard glistened in the snow’s crystal brightness. His thin lips, grey eyes, and lantern jaw showed his true age. Troy stood up quickly and shouted at the old man in his loud, low voice to intimidate him.