Twinge

It was that twinge you get, a quick spine shiver, like when you find an object that turns out to be a gold coin, tucked away somewhere you’d never expect.  Like in your father’s desk drawer.  Or the pocket of an old raincoat your mom used to wear.  They put them there for what?  For safety?  For future use?

       I’d found nothing like that when I donated first my father’s, then seven years later my mother’s clothes to Goodwill.

       But this, right here, it felt that way, the surprise gleaming from the soil way, as I was digging in the yard.  Could pirates have ventured all the way from Honolulu Harbor through town, and climbed all the way up Pacific Heights Road to bury their booty?

       That twinge again.  Maybe more recent pirates, the kind that would drive a car, like a Model T, up my hill, choose this spot, and bury early 20th-century doubloons in, of all places, my yard.

       Probably got all dressed up, sophisticated as their kind had become by then, so that no one would suspect them of being pirates laden with treasure.  Sure, those headbandanas and open shirt fronts, lots of tattered and dirty strips of clothing top to bottom, and big black stomping boots, could be easily put aside in favor of decent T-shirts and slacks, say.  But how to disguise peg legs and hook hands, the necessary eye patches not just put on for show, and row upon row of gold teeth?

       As for any parrots, they could be left to protect the ship, giving the idea that someone was below decks talking.  A dramatic monologue, of course.  A regular Ahab pacing his cabin.  Unless the bird could do more than one voice.

       All this passed through my mind as I stood there staring at this little spot of shiny metal I’d unearthed while tilling the soil in my backyard.  I felt that shivery shot up and down my spine again.  Midas, baby, and I was beginning my turn-it-to-gold run.

       Dropping my tool, I knelt to get a closer look.  It was definitely a goldish color.  I touched it with my index finger.  Solid.

       I began to brush away the dirt, very carefully, like an archaeologist at a dig site.

       A coin.  It was a gold coin.

       The soil was hard-crusted in spots.  I didn’t want to clean it off yet, knowing that a coin’s value is decreased if you remove any patina that has built up naturally over the years.

       Brushing it as lightly as I could, I saw part of an eagle.  This was good news.  I saw words that appeared to say“one ounce” stamped on it, too.  This was great news.  I was looking at more than the $2000 minimum, and who knew how much more if the coin had value beyond only its melt value?  That would be the best news of all.

       I laid the coin aside and began carefully picking away around the spot where it had been.  Several minutes later, sadly convinced that there were no other coins, I stopped,  scooped up my single treasure piece, and headed for my phone.

       “Keoki, this is Chris.  You will not believe what I just found in my yard.”

       Keoki, who lives a few houses up from me, is the most rabid of the coin collectors I know.  If a coin has any value beyond melt, he’s interested.

       I described what I could see.

       “Wow, Chris, that sounds like a gold eagle.  Could be real valuable.”

       “Should I even rinse it off?”

       Keoki laughed.  “You learning, uh?  Yeah, don’t even wash it.”

       “Do you want to see it?” I asked.

       There was a long pause.  “You know what,” he said, “don’t bring it here.  I no more money right now, and I tell you, if it’s what I think it is, we’re talking maybe a lot more than melt value.  If I saw that coin, I would want it.  But no more kala, Brah, so gotta take it to a dealer.”

       Never having done this before, I asked, “Which dealer do you go to?”

       Another considering pause.  “I tell you this, don’t trust dealers in this town.  Except only this one guy.  Max Asai.  He’s called Coin Connections.  Call ‘um up.  In him, I trust.”

       Out of curiosity, I Yelped ‘coin dealers honolulu.’ Six names came up, and they all had decent ratings.  Coin Connections was the last listing.  Unlike the others, it had no address.

       The phone rang for a long time.  Just when I was about to hang up, a man answered.

       “Coin Connections, this is Max.”

       I told Max about the coin, how my friend Keoki Souza had recommended him to me, and how I couldn’t give a complete description because some of the dirt was caked on hard.  He assured me there was no problem.

       “Let’s meet,” Max said.

       “Can you tell me where you are?”

       “Oh, I don’t have a shop.  I can come to you.”

       I thought about this.  Did I want this guy coming to my house?  I pictured the folks who brought their items for sale to the back of the Pali Safeway parking lot so the potential sellers wouldn’t know where they lived.  Generally a sketchy bunch all around.  Craig’s List for sure didn’t screen listers for creepiness.

       I thought of another place just down the hill.

       “Do you know the Starbucks at the old Chun Hoon Marketplace?  Now it’s called the Nu‘uanu Shopping Plaza?”

       “Yes, I know it.”

       “Can you meet today?”

       He could.  At 2:00.  I had two hours to stare at this coin and dream of more than $2000 coming my way.”

       Rather than go into Starbucks, I sat in my car.  I’d know Max when he emerged from his car.  Talking to him on the phone, I could picture him.  He’d be a tallish, stoop-shouldered man, in his mid to late 50s, possibly Chinese, with a permanent ring around his head where his hair was matted down due to wearing his translucent green-brimmed baseball-style cap.  Glasses.

       I scanned the parking lot like a terminator, my head swiveling back and forth, back and forth.  The yardwork had tired me more than I realized.  The scanning was rocking me to sleep.  I hate when you know you’re dozing off, and you’ve reached the point of fatigue where you can’t stop it from happening.

       Coming to, I looked at the car clock.  2:30.

       Where was Max?  I called the number.  The phone rang for a long time again.  Then, “Coin Connections, this is Max.”

       “Hey, Max, this is Chris Lee again.  I’m sorry, I think I missed you at Starbucks?”

       There was a long pause.  “Who is this?” Max said.

       “Chris Lau.  The gold coin.  We were supposed to meet at Starbucks Nu‘uanu at 2:00 today.”

       “Huh?”

       This conversation wasn’t going the way it should have.

       I said, “Are you Max?”

       “Yes.”

       “Max Asai?”

       “Uh-huh.”

       “And didn’t we talk about my gold coin this morning?”

       “I’m sorry,” Max said, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

       Exasperated, I tried one more time.  “This morning, about 11:00, I called you, and we agreed to meet at Starbucks so you could look at my gold coin.”

       “I’m sorry,” Max said, “but you must have been talking to someone else.”

       The phone went dead.  Now the twinge I felt was the one you get when you’re a little po’d.

       I’d put the coin in a little plastic bag and had it on the passenger seat.  Glancing over, I didn’t see the bag.

       I felt another kind of twinge.  This wasn’t the finding gold kind of pleasurable twinge.  This was the very unpleasant shivery twinge of losing gold.

       Looking down the side of the seat I found nothing.  I bent over and scanned the floor in front of the seat.  Nothing.

       I got out, went around to the passenger side, and opened the door.  Nothing down the side of that seat, and again, just to be sure, nothing on the floor mat.  Flipping the seatback forward, I found nothing.

       It couldn’t be.  Had Max found me sleeping in my car, seen the bag, and taken it?”

       “Hey, Chris.”

       I turned around.  It was my friend Keoki.

       “What you doing here?” he asked.

       “That gold coin I called you about, I was supposed to meet Max here in the parking lot.  He was going to take a look at the coin.”

       “Oh,” said Keoki, “that’s cool.  What time’s he coming?”

       “It was supposed to be at 2:00.  I fell asleep.  I just woke up.”

       Frowning, Keoki looked at his Apple watch.

       “Brah, that was two hours ago.”

       “I know, I know.  And you know what?  I think while I was sleeping, he came by and took the coin.  I had it right here on the seat in a plastic bag, and now it’s gone.

       “You looked good?”

       “Yes, I did.  It’s not here.”

       “Try call ‘um up?  Maybe he never showed.”

       I explained that I had called and described the way the conversation had gone.

       Keoki shook his head.

       “Dude,” he said, “even if that’s what happened, you’re gonna have one helluva time proving it.”

       I looked at Keoki.  He was smiling at me.  I was glad someone was happy.  

       “Ah,” I said, “what brings you here anyway?”

       “Coffee, Chris.” He took a sip.  “I had to get my Starbucks fix.”

       I felt a kind of twinge.