Uncollected Evidence

A Story by Willys Watson

Based on an actual experience I had at the Laundromat one Monday afternoon.

A Short Story

Doc had spent most of his working life in professions that mocked structured environments, discouraged normalcy and demanded versatility and astute observation. But as he distanced himself from the past he began to savor the degrees of security that establishing consistency, customs and traditions encouraged, an endearing normal most people took for granted.

One of these more recent routines was his weekly late morning trip to a local laundromats. He always chose Mondays because he learned quickly this was when the place was least crowded and access to the machines required no waiting.

The first thing Doc noticed when he entered through the back door were four quarters laying on one of the unused folding tables. As a young mother was leaving, carrying a laundry basket in one hand while leading her child with the other, he called out to her, asking her if she had forgotten the money. She glanced back, shook her head no and left. Of the nine people still in the laundromat only two were recognizable to Doc and none were using machines near that unused folding table. But he called out to gain their attention and asked about the quarters. The few strangers who bothered to respond shook their heads no and returned to their wash. The two he did know, Felix and Mary, were leaning against another unused folding table while focusing their attention on the two small televisions built into the wall above the rolls of dryers. After glancing over at the quarters both shook their heads and returned to watching the screens.

Though their reasons for being in this laundromat were polar opposites he had come to like both of them. Felix was culturally aware, articulate and happened to be the only openly gay Latino he knew and Doc admired his courage to not pretend otherwise. Mary was a cheerful, naturally glib, thin black woman, probably in her early 30s, who came in regularly to use the restroom provided for the customers.

Doc started his three loads of laundry, then ambled over to Felix and Mary’s makeshift leaning post and quickly understood why these two normally gregarious people were riveting their attention on the televisions. Though one was tuned to a Spanish speaking network and the other to an English language newscast, the volume was muted on both. Still, the images unfolding on both screens were as striking as any spoken word because both stations were broadcasting the same fragments, often looped, of footage from a chaotic street scene in Boston.

“Bet you anything this was done by some crazy anti-government white boys,” Mary offered Doc as she noticed him watching.

“Because it’s some kind of Patriot’s Day thing back east? I don’t think so. I’ll bet it’s some crazy religious radical white boy,” Jose countered.

“Bet what? You couldn’t even afford what I’ve got to offer as a bet,” Mary snickered.

“As if that interests me,” Jose laughed.

“Be nice, kiddies,“ Doc playfully chastised them. “And Mary’s right about one thing, this had to be the efforts of at least two people.”

“I thought you retired, Sherlock.” Felix chided him teasingly.

“Detective brains never shut down.” Mary replied to Jose, then asked Doc “How you figure?”

“Security must have cleared the route out earlier. And the explosions were too far apart and they ignited at different times, but still too close time-wise for one person to have managed this. So they were planted during the race by at least two people.

“Yeah, a couple of crazy white boys making their statement.” Mary reiterated.

“Or a couple of very angry brothers?” Felix stated, knowing full well it would antagonize her.

Mary responded to Jose’s retort by giving him the finger as she headed back to the restroom. Moments later, as she was returning, Felix noticed her glancing at the quarters.

“Why didn’t you grab them?” Felix asked as she took her place again in front of the screens.

“I earn what I spend and don’t have to work at some foo-foo boutique to do so.”

“You really should stop by and let us upgrade your tacky attire.”

“I wear what they expect, so piss off.”

Doc and Felix both turned away, allowing for an brief unspoken armistice, and headed to their respective washers to remove their loads and carry them to the dryers. Mary was still staring at the screen images when both men again took their positions against the folding table.

“Why does s**t like this happen? I mean, the killing of innocent kids? “Mary wondered aloud.

“Because, girlfriend, it’s an evil world we inhabit and it’s only getting worse.” Felix explained.

“It can’t be that evil. I mean, I’ve known a lot of decent folks in my life.”

“Like those horn dog husbands that come sniffing at your twat?” Felix replied.

“Look who’s talking as if some of your boyfriends ain’t getting any on the side?”

When Felix returned the finger gesture Mary lifted her leg to imply she was about to kick him in the groin and Doc quickly stepped between them.

“Mary’s right, you know. There’s a lot of good out there, but good doesn’t make the money bad press does.” Doc reminded him. “So the media focuses on the bad.”

Mary smiled warmly at Doc, squeezed his arm and headed towards the front door.

“I better get back to work cause I’m expecting a regular,” she called back as she exited.

“You ever want some of that?” Felix asked as he and Doc watched her stroll across the parking lot towards the street.

“Not really,” Doc replied, shaking his head. “Like you, amigo, I prefer love attached to it.”

Both turned their attentions back to the dryers. Because Doc’s clothes were less delicate than Felix’s, because he was naturally low maintenance, his weekly chore was finished much sooner. With everything neatly folded and in the basket he nodded a goodby to Felix and headed towards the back door. As he passed the unused folding table still holding the evidence of the unclaimed quarters Doc smiled because it reaffirmed what Mary had said and he knew from experience: there is still a lot of good, honest people in the world.

© 2019 Willys Watson

My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register

Featured Review

Samuel Dickens

The Boston marathon bombing, I guess. I recall eyes glued to the TV's and people talking of who must've done it on two other occasions--the Oklahoma City bombing and 9-11. Interesting that no one claimed the quarters. I still bend down to pick up a penny when I see one. (Not so easy at my age)