Field 5

My buddy Leroy bought me a book, ‘642 Things to Write About,’ to help me hone some skills when I am facing writer’s bloc. The basic idea being to sit and write without overthinking. Here is the first of many:

(Robert Moses, August 2013)
(Robert Moses, August 2013)

Prompt: Tell a story that begins with a ransom note.

‘Field 5. Robert Moses Beach. Be there at 6pm. Friday. Bring $5000. No cops. We will have her. She is safe, for now. Make this easy. No cops.’

What the fuck is this? Becca was supposed to be with her sister, Raychel this whole week in St. Louis, but she hasn’t answered a single call. First thought was no big deal. Girls are just having fun. I rang the house there to see if she ever showed up, and Raychel said that she had never came. She cancelled. Supposedly Becca was frantic on the phone the day before, and said she couldn’t make it. She hung up before even making an excuse.

This note under my apartment door earlier today came as a real surprise. $5000?! Who takes a grown ass woman, my fiancé, first off? And for a few thousand? That’s nothing. It’s realistic. I’m dealing with a group of rational dickheads. Well obviously I’ll pay that. Who needs cops? It’s five thousand fucking dollars. I am no 1%, but I can shit out that much cash to get Becca back without questions. I didn’t both to tell Raychel about this. She doesn’t need to worry. Instead, I am calling Jerry. He’s supposed to be the best man on Saturday. This seems like it would fit in his job description. Somewhere in that contract includes rescuing the bride to be the day before the wedding. He’s already on his way over. This is insane.

It’s a 20-minute drive, but this seems like an all right occasion to be a bit early for. We pull in and the toll is up. The lot has a few cars scattered about. Maybe I should have brought more backup than Jerry. But no cops! This will be quick and easy. I’m walk-sprinting to the beach, and he’s trailing behind. I just want Becca back. I brought extra cash just in case.

I turn the corner, and there’s a crew–a crowd even. She’s there, thank god. What the hell is going on. Her parents are here. Mine too. She’s in her dress. This is the most fucked up start to a marriage I can imagine. She’s at the end of the alley smiling.

Her father is grinning as he greets me: ‘You thought I’d pay for the whole thing myself?’