CHAPTER FORTY NINE

 

 

The apartment was sparsely decorated but not because he needed it to be so. It was a choice. The single chair discouraged the rare visitor from lingering. His kitchen consisted of a table, plate, bowl, one set of silverware and two glasses. The second glass he had been given for opening a bank account. It seemed a waste to throw it out; plus, he liked the logo design.

Joseph had spent much of his working life traveling the world. His particular skill set took him to every imaginable exotic spot on the globe at the expense of people who wished to remain anonymous. His extraordinary memory allowed him to sit in his apartment, to close his eyes, and to walk the streets of all the places his life had taken him. Joseph liked to take walks.

If asked, or just if he wanted to, he could describe in detail every hotel room in which he had ever stayed. They were much different than his apartment. When on the client's dime, he went first class. Joseph couldn't say if he preferred a five star hotel to his tiny apartment as he was content in either. It was the feeling of contentment for which he strived each day. Most days he succeeded. If pressed, though, he would probably say he preferred to have only what he needed to live.

This was how he viewed his life, as an existence. Joseph didn't feel he was part of the human race but was a small part of something much bigger. It was his privilege to observe the beauty of the world. And to often copy it for great reward. Owning a tiny piece of it seemed completely unnecessary. Joseph didn't drink unless it would be impolite to not do so. Though he didn't care for drink, he loved fine food. His palate was refined. He could discuss flavor and texture with the best chefs in the world and feel right at home.

His phone rang, "Yes, this is me."

"I need you to write a letter. We have samples of the handwriting and what we want it to say."

"When do you need it?"

"I need it now. I realize this isn't how you work, but it is short and not by a famous hand."

"Send a car to the usual spot. I will be there in 20 minutes."

The apartment was quiet again. Resting in the window was a pleasant little plant. It was quiet, too. Joseph didn't know what type it was nor did he especially care. Joseph and the plant seemed to be in agreement about the amount of water and sunlight required, and the plant thrived. He didn't talk to it but liked having the plant in the window. When he was out of town, Mrs. Brumfield would take the plant in. She did talk to it.

He grabbed his set of pens and inks and put them in his case and gave the plant some water before taking the short walk to the meeting place. Normally, he would draw each day using either pencil or ink. He would sit in the park and render the fountain or building in exacting detail. His deep focus blocked out the sounds of the frolicking children, but he couldn't keep them from pestering him. Children seemed to be drawn to him or maybe it was just idle curiosity, but they always asked to see the picture. He would politely show them the drawing. The children would usually say something cute and run off laughing. To say he didn't care for children would be accurate, but he still felt it was important to be kind.

The corner was three blocks from his house. A black sedan arrived a short time later. Joseph got into the car and was taken to meet the client. He didn't know it, but this wasn't going to be his typical job.