“You’ll be swimming with the fishes before the nights out unless you come clean with the goods,” and he slammed the trunk shut, plunging Joel into darkness.
Joel’s first thought was, “Did he really just say that? ‘You’ll be swimming with the fishes . . “ how on earth have I ended up in a low budget mob show?“ His second thought wasn’t so much a thought as it was an involuntary reflex to the dark, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone and clicked on the flashlight mode with one practiced gesture. The trunk of the car lit up, nothing too surprising, a spare tire, a crow bar, an overwhelming musty, oily odor with a hint of some sort of cleaning fluid, a bundle of rope, a few tarps, a cinder block. A cinder block.
“You’ll be swimming with the fishes . . . “ the mobsters words echoed back to him, rope, cinder block, all the bits and pieces one might need to send someone to the bottom of the Hudson.
Joel, paused, scanned the trunk contents again. “I am going to be fish food and I cannot even bring myself to panic.”
“Where would it get you?” he heard himself responding out loud?
The car dipped forward slightly with the weight of one or more people and the car doors shut. Joel could hear them talking to each other. With a wave, he shut off the flashlight on his phone and tried to find a comfortable position, settling for something like the foetal, with his legs tucked up near his chest and his back braced against the wall of the trunk From here, he could more easily hear the voices from the front of the car and he could manage his phone with both hands. For now, he listened.
“He didn’t have the book. Boss is gonna go nuts.”
“We did all we could, searched him, gave him a good scare. If he’s not willing to talk by the time we get to the docks we can rou“You’llgh him up a bit.”
“Right.”
He could hear the starter and the hum of the electrics putting the car into gear.
“Fish food,” Joel thought, gripping his phone tighter, “I’m gonna be fish food.”
They were looking for the diary and they assumed, from the sound of it, that it was a book. When they searched him, they expected it would be a journal, a notebook, a ledger or something. He remembered his student, sending him the electronic reference for where to get the files, with some cryptic message along the lines of getting it to the authorities if she didn’t show up to class, or if her dad showed up in the obituaries. Grim stuff. He’d planned to talk it over with her, but apparently they had overheard her talking about it to someone . . .
He flipped through the pages of the diary on his phone, trying to find something substantial that would give him leverage over the mobsters. The fact that he had the diary could buy him some time when they got to wherever that was, as long as he could prove that he had it. He opened his phone and flicked through to the app with her father’s diary and scanned through entries, lots of self reflection, the power of positive thinking, no trade secrets, some dream journals. He was going to be fish food. Until . . . one of the titles caught his eye . . .
30 April – Swims with Sharks
Last night I dreamt that I swam with sharks. There was a lot of build up to the actual moment and it culminated in a full body hug with my arms and legs around a large slow swimming shark. The shark was not pleased with the arrangement. To be honest, neither was I, but I pushed through the fear and the panic to a calm tension of timid trust that was somehow communicated through the contact of skin on skin. The shark begrudgingly acknowledged the relationship and there was a sense of trust when I released.
Released myself.
Released the shark.
I could see the blue black shape as a shadow beneath the surf, as it pushed away and turned testing its freedom, briefly, considering delving into its nature to devour, it passed by me closely before swimming off. The currents churned around me as it passed by, providing a kinaesthetic adieu as the shark swam on its way.
Swims with sharks.
What on earth, or in the sea, is the world telling me? Push through your fears and swim with sharks – dive into danger and . . What?
He flipped through some other entries, some of them equated the shark swimming with jumping into the rough waters of a failing relationship or challenges at work, the remaining entries told a story of triumph over adversity, winning back his wife and daughter, getting a promotion at work, gaining the respect of his peers. Why on earth would they be interested in all of this? There were no secret codes, no diabolical secrets revealed, no mention of the mob or criminal activities.
The car made a few twists and turns, finally backing up slowly and pulling to a halt. The map of the surrounding area glowed from Joel’s phone not only illuminating the trunk and but shining a light on their location out in the world. They had just pulled up to the docks, with the trunk facing the bay at the end of a pier. Two doors slammed and the car elevated ever so slightly. Joel, gave the phone a click, plunging the trunk into darkness. He shoved it into his coat pocket and brought the crowbar forward, now clutching it with both hands. He braced himself, squinting his eyes in anticipation of the sudden brightness. He took in a deep breath. There was no fear only a quiet calmness. He would not be swimming with the fishes today, no, today he would be swimming with the sharks.
© 2019 Samir Malak
18 July 2019
Imagine Anew 