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Gold, Jewels, Art, My Father

by David Rachels

About the Author: David Rachels has published short fiction in Mystery Tribune, Tough, Switchblade, and other places. As well, he is the author of Verse Noir (Automat.Press) and the editor of three volumes of Gil Brewer's short stories (forthcoming from Stark House Press).

Excerpt

My father told me that I was old enough to keep a secret.

“Sweet Jesus,” my mother muttered, “here we go.”

“This is when I was in Kentucky,” my father said.

“You were never in Kentucky a day in your life,” my mother said.

“Don’t you listen to her, David,” my father said. “I did most of my living before I ever met your mother.” He turned his body away from her, as if to negate her presence at the dinner table. “Now, do you know about Fort Knox?”

“That’s where they keep the gold,” I said.

“You’re damn right that’s where they keep the gold. There’s so much gold, they can’t even keep track of it all. That’s why I could get mine and get away. I was driving behind an armored car when a gold bar fell off its bumper, right there in the middle of the street. I jumped out of my car and grabbed it and drove away before anybody even knew it was missing.”

“Why was there a gold bar on the bumper?”

“Somebody must have set it down and forgot about it. Like I said, when you’ve got that much gold, who can keep track?”

I was young enough to believe.

“What’s it worth?” I asked.

“Probably a million dollars,” my father said, “but it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing you can do with a gold bar.”

“Why don’t you take it to the bank?”

“And then what? They’ll want to know where you got the gold bar, and then what do you say?”

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