Lions, Tigers, And Other Treasures

   

    LIKE A DEAD BATTERY, the gold cigarette case had lost its charge. It used to be, by simply holding the cold polished metal, Julian Tepper could revisit the night he had killed its owner and taken it as a keepsake.

    Closing his eyes, Julian clutched the box in his palm, his thumb randomly tapping along the smooth flat surface. And he was transported. The rain was squelching in his shoes, dripping cold wet tendrils passed his collar, down his back. There was a man dying at his feet; the smell of his sweat corrupting the otherwise fresh scent of the storm.

    On that night, as the scene played out in the spotlight of Julian's headlamps, the world was very small, predator and prey it's only inhabitants.

    The dying man was like a failing battery himself. His own energy draining out of the long gash on the side of his neck.

    He had originally planed on taking the mans ID; knowing his birthday and street address would lend a resonance to the times in the future when he would want to relive this moment. He would even know the mans name. But looking down, Julian realized it was the golden cigarette case he wanted. He would add it to his collection the way an African Hunter takes as his trophy the heads of the beasts he has slain.

    The dying man, was semi conscious and fading fast. He had managed to lay his hand on the cigarette case he had dropped when Julian's car had struck him. His thumb was tapping weakly on its smooth flat face in a gesture his killer would later mimic while reminiscing about the murder.

    With mild amusement, Julian realized his victim (by now almost completely exsanguinated and undoubtedly seeing stars) had mistaken the cigarette case for his cellphone. He was trying to call for help.

    Yes, the cigarette case would do just fine.

    Before he could bring the case to his ear (an action that was futile in every conceivable way,) the man passed out and died in the rain.

    Julian reached down and plucked the golden case from the corpses hand before climbing into his car and driving away.

    He no longer cared to know the man's name.

    But now, as Julian sat sipping coffee at the all-night diner he'd begun frequenting over the passed few weeks, he reflected on how his trophy had lost its charge. All of its power, used up satisfying an urge that at best would diminish but never truly disappear. The cigarette case no longer colored or lent vibrancy to his memories; whatever power it once had was gone.

    Reaching under the greasy chipped table and into his pocket, Julian gripped the dead relic. Squeezing the sturdy flat box, hoping to capture even the faintest spark, like a desperate drunk, upturning an empty bottle for the sake of single burning drop. Absorbed by his desire, Julian hadn't noticed his waitress approach. When she spoke, he snapped to attention, a glimmer of shock in his wide sunken eyes.

    "That gonna do it?" She noticed his startled expression and smiled kindly, "Sorry Hon, didn't mean to spook ya"

    "It's fine. I'm fine. I'll take the check now."

    The waitress seemed to notice of his tone, clipped and unfriendly. She suggested no dessert. Plucking a stub of pencil from behind her ear, she produced an oil stained pad of checks from her similarly soiled apron. She chewed the end of her pencil, performed some quick math, and scrawled a total across the bottom of the pad. A quick whisper of tearing paper and the check was laid upon the counter.

    "Cash or charge, Hon?"

    Julian did not answer. His expression had flattened to a blank, distracted stare that was both upon and beyond her.

    "Feeling alright sweetie?" her voice was coarse but caring.

    Her customer came around slightly.

    "Oh yes, please," he was still distant, "just the check please."

    The waitress, somewhere between annoyed and bewildered, proceeded carefully.

    "Okay, well it's right here," she said, tapping the table for emphasis "so do you want to pay with cash or a credit card?"

    Julian did not answer but only produced a wallet from his coat pocket and handed his waitress a single bill in a slow deliberate manner.

    Taking the money, she felt suddenly relieved that she had not suggested dessert. There was something she did not like about this man and she was happy he was leaving.

    "I'll be right back with your change."

    "Okay," Julian responded, but he hadn't really been listening to her. Something else had gotten his attention.

    While Julian sat, wondering what time the woman's shift ended, the golden cigarette case sat in his pocket unnecessary and forgotten. It was now one more trophy, a stuffed lion or mounted tiger to adorn the hunters lodge while he stalked the planes. The real treasure was the hunt itself.

    As Julian waited for his change he thought of his waitress and the little tooth marks in her pencil. He wondered how his own bite would line up with the small impressions. He felt quite certain they would line up very closely and wondered if he could smell her breath upon dimpled wood.