Some folks find Whateley Academy on their own...
He fished the wallet out from under the seat on the bus. That made six today and this was the second one with money. Now to pick up another cell phone and he could go check some of the parks for more lost stuff.
He sighed. It'd been a lot easier before that jerk accused him of stealing stuff. At least he hadn't been dumb enough to try sending in tips directly to the cops about any of the big stuff. He shuddered at what might have happened. That news story about the psychic that some mob boss had gone after had been just in time.
Okay. The next stop was a park he hadn't worked before. He got out and sat on the bench to assemble the old metal detector he'd bought early on. It was a good cover for what he was really doing.
He got up and looked over the nearest part of the park. He thought "lost stuff" and got a lot of sparkles. "Lost money" still a fair number. Most of it would be pennies if his luck ran like normal.
He worked through the list as he headed for the nearest sparkle "Jewelry", "wallets", ...
He stopped and mentally slapped himself. He dug out the clipboard with the map. "Anything lost or unowned worth more than $100" Several spots on the map sparkled.
That was good. he made some faint pencil marks. Just for good luck he tried "over $1000". And perked up a bit when two of the sparkles stayed. He thought about money and jewelry and then tried plot plot a path in his head that'd get him to the spots without looking too suspicious.
He wasted the better part of an hour digging up scattered coins and a few rings. He stuck the coins into a coin purse he kept separate from his regular change. He'd discovered by accident that his ability while very flexible didn't extend to knowing that a rare coin was more valuable than face value unless he was searching for that particular coin. So he always kept the coins separate. Besides, nobody was going to give him grief over those. He still had the occasional problem with found jewelry.
Come to think of it, it was a bit odd. He had found the occasional gold nugget or the like, and did "know" those were valuable. Of course, that was probably because he knew gold was valuable and his ability "knew" how big they were.
The first "over $1000" made him cuss. It was a small knapsack that'd gotten buried under some leaf mold in a brushy patch. Looked to have been there for several months. That was not a good sign. He hoped it was just a stash some homeless person had made of their valuables. Since it showed when he looked for "lost or unowned" that meant whoever put it there either couldn't remember the spot or was dead. That wasn't fun.
He was afraid it was something else though. Nobody was near and he didn't think anybody could see him. Even so, he grabbed it and made a point of wiping out his footprints. He quickly stuffed it in a trash bag and tied it off.
The second "over $1000" was a problem. It was off near the edge of the park, which was pretty undeveloped because of the unbuildable slope and all the rocks. He was gonna have to shift a bunch of rocks, carefully to get at whatever it was.
When he finally got to it it seemed to be a wooden box. Not in very good shape. Probably been there for years. That was good. Less likely to be the sort of trouble he was afraid the knapsack might be. He went to try to shift it and discovered it was heavy.
Good grief. It wasn't all that big. It had to weigh 50 or 60 lbs. It couldn't weigh that much unless...
He thought "gold?" and was practically blinded by the glow. Shit.
There was a lock, but the wood was half-rotted. He used the trowel he'd been using to dig for coins to pry away the wood near it.
There were a lot of rounded objects inside. Cloth? He brushed some of the rotten wood off. Oh, good, felt like oilcloth. That might actually be fairly intact.
He was very glad he'd brought the rolling backpack today. Even hauling this load back to the paths was gonna be no fun.
The bags held together as he shifted them out of the box. He lined the backpack with a couple of trash bags just in case. Then he shifted the bags into the pack. Some felt like they had sand in them And were heavy as hell. Gold dust, most likely. Which meant that box had been here a long time. Some others felt like coins. And in the bottom, some sealed flat pouches. Money? Papers? A journal? He'd check that later.
Pity the box was in such bad shape, it might have been worth something if there was a journal to go with things.
He pulled enough rocks back over things to make it look like kids had been trying to climb the loose rock and caused a small slide. It'd have to do.
He struggled back to a hidden spot about 30 feet from a path. It was best to check that knapsack before he went any further.
He took the bag about 10 feet from his other stuff and pulled on some gloves. He hoped he was being paranoid but...
Damn. Some bundled bills. And a lot of loose bills rolled up and fastened with heavy rubber bands. He wasn't surprised when he found the baggies. He knew that if he did some digging in the files of the local paper he'd find some mid level dealer or a runner for one had died near this park a few months back.
He carefully moved the cash out of the knapsack but kept it inside the bag. Then he zipped up the knapsack and tossed it under some bushes.
Finally he retied the trash-bag. It was a pain taking all the stuff from the box out of his pack and then stuffing the bag of cash in the bottom and replacing everything. But he figured that it was the safest way. If anybody dug that deep, he was screwed anyway.
The gloves went in a baggie and that went in a pocket on the pack. He struggled to the path and then set the pack down and extended the handle. Fortunately the path was paved.
While waiting for the bus, he dug out a city map and tried something. He'd originally gotten cell phones by looking for ones that had been tossed but still had time. Once he realized that he needed phones for sending tips and that he could toss, he'd gotten the idea of looking for phones that folks had gotten to use as "burner" phones and tossed. Sure, he didn't dare turn them on until he was sending the tip, but doing it on a bus, and leaving the phone (minus the battery) in the trash after getting off seemed to work.
This time he was trying something he wasn't sure he could do. He knew he could find who something belonged to. That was how he'd gotten accused of stealing.
OK, lets try finding who the drugs and money belonged to... Okay, that was a sparkle in a cemetery. Who did they belong to now. Ow. That hurt a bit. But he got a sort sparkle from several places. How about a just discarded or lost phone belonging to them. OK, that was easier. One that still had some time?
Bingo. He recognized the spot on the map as someplace he'd "found" a few phones before. And it was on the way home.
An hour later, he'd grabbed the phone and sent a text message to a police crime tip number. Then he'd pulled the battery and stuffed the phone in the baggie with the gloves.
30 minutes more and he had stuff locked up in the old "fort" just downslope from his house. He'd already checked and the lights were still on, so there was no point going up to the house. He locked things up and walked to the store and got some food and other things he'd need. Like more gloves.
Back in the fort, he rigged the blackout curtains and turned on the lights. At least he had some power. And the place was warm. He wondered how long it'd be this time before mom got over her mad and started to acknowledge his existence again. It'd almost been easier before he realized he was big enough that she couldn't beat him unless he let her.
He'd made keys to the house first chance he got after she'd locked him out the first time. Lucky for him, he knew a way into the house she didn't. She'd never asked how he got back in. Not that he'd have told her.
Still, it was safer to avoid her until she cooled off. The fort his former Big Brother had helped him make made a good place for that. It was a pity John had retired and moved to another state. Then again, George had never been able to tell him what living with mom was like.
Hell, it hadn't been that long ago that he still believed all the stuff that she'd insinuated whenever he complained about the way she treated him. He finally realized that the cops might not just send him back if he complained. But once he'd started finding things, he realized there were other problems. He didn't want the MCO after him.
Still, he'd learned to be sneaky having to hide stuff from mom. And some of the stories he like to read had some good points on how to avoid getting caught by the "enemy".
This wasn't the first time the "valuables" he'd found had been something illegal. Just the largest stash. Well, largest cash. He'd stick it with the other money he thought might be "hot". If there was an emergency, he had it.
He turned on the portable TV for some background as he opened the pack. The oilskin stuff got set to one side. He counted the drug money. Good grief there was almost 50 grand!
He opened the secret storage locker that not even John had known was built-in to the "fort" (OK, actually, it was more like small house but sturdier. Workroom, bunk-room, and a sort of kitchenette. Power and water, but no bathroom.).
The new money got added to the rest. George decided to close up the compartment before starting on the oilskin stuff. The strongbox he'd bought with some of his earlier "findings" would probably do for that.
He dug some empty containers off the shelves, as well as a balance. OK, the sandy stuff was gold dust or something that looked like it and seemed to weigh about the right amount according to the best guesses he could make.
He wound up transferring the gold dust to some empty pop bottles. It was a bit mind boggling to realize he had 25 pounds of gold in a 24 oz bottle.
There was a bag of nuggets, and several smaller bags of coins. Old gold and silver coins. The coins would have to go through a coin dealer. Which would be a pain. But given that the gold value of an old $20 gold piece was around $800, even if he had to sell them one at a time months apart, they'd help a lot.
Wait a second. He turned on the computer. Thank god for Wimax... he could get internet without using the router in the house.
Gold prices... OK.. And he had how much gold...
George dug out his calculator and stared at the figures. He had over a million dollars in gold. There was no way he could keep that quiet.
He put his head in his hands. Great. The biggest score of his life.. A way to get free of everything. And he couldn't use it.
What good was this power if it wouldn't let him find a way out...
Wait a second... find a way out?
He dug out a map of the US. Is there a place I could go? Several places lit up. None of them made a lot of sense.
He fired up Google maps and tried with a map again. Which is the best place? Someplace in the NE US. OK drag that to the center and zoom in. New Hampshire. Berlin? No, a bit away. Dunwich? Zoom some more. A ways outside the town.
Whateley Academy? He followed a link. Some sort of prep school? how the hell could he get into that? And why would he want to?
He felt a sort of tug, like when he was searching for something out of sight. Felt like it was a few miles away. He dug out the map from his bag. It wasn't too far off. But what the hell was it?
He went back over what he'd been thinking. What was Whateley? A glimmer. Why would he want to go there? A bit stronger? How could he get there. Bingo!
OK, it was at least worth checking out.
He locked the gold in the hidden compartment, and locked the rest of the stuff in the strongbox. Then he shut things down and locked up the fort. Good thing it was so sturdy. John had been worried about vandals, but he'd had access to some pretty heavy duty stuff. Nobody was going to break in to it easily.
George managed to unlock the garage door quietly and get his bike out. Soon he was riding off to see whatever he needed to find.
A short while later he was looking at the remains of a burned out house. He remembered something in the news about a firebombing. There'd been rumors about Humanity First though a lot of folks said it was a mutant running amok.
Yet another reason he was trying to keep a low profile. And why he wanted usable cash.
Now where? Ah. There was a glimmer over by a dumpster. A nice desk, but pretty well charred.
Hmm. One of the drawers? No. He pulled them out and it was still there. A secret compartment? OK, there had to be a trigger. Something gleamed. He tried pushing. Pulling... and something grated.
It took some work, but he got it open. There was a large, thick envelope. he cleaned his hands and picked it up. It was some courier service he'd never heard of. From Whateley Academy to this address and a name that he thought he recalled from the news.
He quickly stuffed it in his pack and closed the secret compartment as best he could.
Back in the fort, he washed his hands and sat down to look at it.
He slit open the envelope. There were several brochures and a lot of papers.
Shortly after opening the brochures, he knew why he needed to go to Whateley. It was the mythical "Mutant High".
If he hadn't "found" this the way he had, he'd never have believed it.
He almost choked at the tuition listings. Then he remembered the gold. And that there had to be lots of stuff they might want found that he could trade for tuition.
The application form was really weird. Sex "complicated"????
His abilities seemed pretty tame. Being able to "find" things was listed. Range, well, he'd found Whateley so that had to be several thousand miles.
He filled it out and, after thinking about it a bit, took a few precautions.
The next day he went clear across town and used some of the drug money to buy a prepaid cell phone. Then he called the number of the courier service to arrange for delivery of the application. He'd stated he needed fast & secure delivery so he was only mildly surprised to have the courier pop up in the clearing in the woods he was calling from.
The courier had to call back to his dispatcher when presented with the heavy box. But another chunk of the drug money got that smoothed over.
Shortly thereafter at Whateley.
"Chief? Got a special courier with a special handling package. It's an application form return, but they'd rather deliver it to someone away from the offices, says the sender paid for it with cash, and added a heavy package, Could be legit, but ..."
"Right. I'd be suspicious too. I assume they soaked them for a deposit?"
"Yep. Paid it with no argument. But they also paid for some hefty insurance."
"OK, that's different. Anything else?"
"Yeah, the return code was for an app that we thought got destroyed. A few weeks back? The Westlakes?"
"Say what? Just how heavy is that package?" asked Delarose.
"They said 28 pounds."
"Right. Get Everheart out to Range 5 to meet the courier. I want folks to check that for everything!"
Several very busy hours later...
"Ms. Carson?"
"Yes, Chief Delarose?"
"We've gotten a rather unusual admission application."
"Unusual how? Most applications here are unusual."
"Well, to start with the applicant isn't the person we sent the application to. They seem to have located one that got 'lost'."
"Our applications aren't supposed to get lost, Chief."
"Well, I do believe it was excusable. It's the one we sent to the Westlakes, it arrived only hours before their house was firebombed by H1. Apparently it was in a secret compartment in a desk, and survived the fire. The applicant claims to have the ability to 'find' things and used that to find it."
Ms. Carson raised an eyebrow. While finding things wasn't that uncommon as an ability or spell or even devise, finding something that she suspected the finder had never seen or heard about before was definitely "unusual".
"You said 'to start with'? I assume that means there's more?"
"Yes. The applicant is a minor, wants help getting out of an abusive home situation, and sent us a 'retainer' with the application."
"A retainer? What sort of retainer could someone in that position give us?"
"Well, that's why Security was on alert earlier. They paid cash for a warper to deliver the application and retainer. Only they didn't tell the courier what the package was other than that it was safe with a hefty deposit attesting to that. But with a package that weighed over 25 lbs, we were rather suspicious..."
"I imagine so. But what was the package?"
"A box with a lot of bubble wrap around a 24 ounce soda bottle. The bottle has 25 pounds of gold dust in it."
"25 pounds. That's quite a 'retainer'. I think I'd better look at this application. Amelia is apt to have problems with the irregularities."
"I imagine you are right about that. I just happen to have it with me. I'll just leave it here and go make sure that the retainer goes into a high security vault for now."
Mrs. Carson looked over the application. As the cover letter warned her, there were some serious gaps in the personal information. But they were actually not that significant at the moment. He'd realized he couldn't hide the city, so he'd just listed the school district for the school. She had to admit that for anybody going to a public school that was usually all that was really needed short of actual transcripts.
The info on his powers was woefully inadequate. But what he'd given was good enough to justify checking things out if it was true. And that "retainer" justified a fair bit of risk, especially given that he had stated in the cover letter that he was willing to find things for the school, as long as doing so wouldn't get him into any sort of trouble.
The way he'd put that was interesting. He seemed to have a fair bit of sense to go with a decently developed sense of paranoia. Let's see "no legal, ethical, physical or spiritual risks, as well as the right to decline jobs for other reasons" essentially, if the school thought it was a risk or if he felt there was a problem. Not bad for a teenager.
Hmm, he suggested a percentage of value for things he located for the school and offered a percentage of things he found on his own while at school.
He wanted to become an emancipated minor. And help recovering/keeping his personal possessions if his mother was difficult about it. Plus help with storage or transportation of his things.
Hmm. He noted there was another possible legal problem he couldn't discuss until things were settled. Civil, not criminal. He just noted that it involved something he wanted that couldn't be discussed until then because it'd give away his identity.
Well, they'd have to see what that was about before she could offer anything.
On the whole what he'd revealed about schooling was adequate. If his talent checked out, he was quite correct that he'd be at a lot of risk if the wrong people found out.
Re-reading his contact details, she had to admit that he was being fairly careful. She'd leave him a short voice mail, as requested and marked the time she'd given him to call her back on her appointment book.
***
Meanwhile George had been working out how to best deal with getting operating cash and some gear.
He first went over the "questionable" money. First step was a standard one he'd been too busy to bother with the night before. He "looked" for counterfeit. He wasn't surprised to get a few. Those went in the burn bag with the other things he needed to dispose of.
Next he tried for anything with serial numbers being looked for by the authorities. He didn't care if those were stolen, or if they were being used to trace drug buys or something. He didn't dare spend them. They got tossed in a small box to be dealt with later. He figured that if he got into Whateley, he could pay them with those without any trouble. But until then, they were a liability.
He still had plenty of money left. Good.
Not enough for a car, even if he had a license. His bike was OK for local stuff, and a scooter wouldn't help. Fortunately he'd been moving most of the stuff he cared about into the fort for months. There was still stuff he hadn't moved. A lot of clothes that weren't important and some stuff that he figured mom would notice.
He was glad that even though mom's ideas about his property rights (and privacy rights) were mostly that he didn't have any, she didn't believe in maliciously destroying his stuff. That at least made her better than some parents he'd read about on-line.
On the other hand, that didn't mean that she wasn't likely to just give away or throw out his stuff if she thought he'd taken off.
"Enough wool gathering... I need to get some food."
The energy bar and coke that'd been breakfast had been a while ago. And he had other stuff to do as well. He stuck some money in his wallet and grabbed his pack along with the bag with the jewelry and coins he'd accumulated recently.
He stuffed the bag in the pack and locked things up. Then he walked up the stairs from the lower bit of the back yard and quietly checked the back door of the house.
Drat. Still locked. He snuck back to the fort and unlocked his bike. He decided that with the house still locked up, it'd be a bad idea to risk getting his mother's attention by taking it through the yard. So he went downslope a bit to the shelf on the hillside and rode along that. It was almost as good as a road. Heck, John had used it as one to haul the heavier stuff for the fort.
In few minutes, he was at a point where the shelf was more or less even with the top of the slope. there was a gap between houses there and George rode through it to the street.
Some time later he locked his bike to a rack in front of a storefront that proclaimed they bought gold and jewelry. Entering the shop, he waved at the owner.
"Good morning Mr. Katchurian."
"Ah, if it isn't young Mr. Kelly. I take you've found more rare treasures for me?" joked the older man.
"Well, hopefully rare and precious."
"One can only hope, young sir."
With that George opened his pack and took out the bag. Mr. Katchurian spread the contents on a cloth under a light and magnifier.
In a short time, the two were haggling over the worth of the pieces. It was a friendly exchange. The old man rarely had the pleasure of a good haggle. So few Americans understood how to haggle. And not only had the boy picked it up quickly, he was a worthy opponent.
Besides, nothing he'd ever brought in had ever turned up on the stolen property list the police circulated to pawn shops and others who dealt in small valuables. That alone would have been worth giving the lad a better deal. But being able to actually haggle...
After the jewelry and a couple of watches, George brought out a few old coins.
"I'm sorry, but I think you'd do better with a coin dealer. Especially for that double eagle."
George shrugged, he'd half-expected to be told that, but sometimes the old man would want something for himself. He collected the money after doing the expected amount of complaining about having been robbed.
George smiled as he biked off to the coin shop that Mr. Katchurian had recommended shortly after he'd started selling things to him.
The coin shop bought a few of the coins and said the others weren't worth anything special. They even offered a decent price for the gold coin, but between the way they looked at him and the papers he had to sign, he knew that it'd be a bad idea to try selling any of the other coins from the hoard to them.
He ducked into the restroom at the burger place and slipped most of the cash from the jewelry and coins into his shorts. Uncomfortable, but the best he could do in a hurry.
He got a chicken burger and rings for lunch. He read some while he ate.
Once he was a mile or so farther down the street, he turned on the "clean" cell phone.
Huh. He had voice mail already. He listened to the message from Mrs Carson and noted that there was a callback number attached. He turned off the phone and put it away.
He got back on the bike and rode another mile before stopping at a park to pull out a map. He was glad he'd read up on cell phones. Knowing how the system worked, he looked for cell coverage for the clean phone. A bunch of triangles appeared.
The ones downtown and near the malls were way too small. They'd be able to locate him within a few yards, even on a phone without GPS. There were some big cells near the edge of town he lived on, but he wanted to avoid that.
Hmm. Come to think of it, if he never called from around there, that'd be a flag too. This was messier than he'd thought. Not like the "use once and destroy the phone" bit he normally did for tips.
Let's see, he'd done the courier bit yesterday from NE of town. There were good spots NW of town. but the hills would be a pain. West wasn't so bad....
He finally marked eight spots on the map and flipped a coin three times to pick one. It was going to take almost an hour to get there. But he could make it with some time to spare he thought.
He made it with time to spare and hunted around for a comfortable spot with some cover. Once he found one, he sat down dug out his book again. He did take the precaution of setting his alarm.
It seemed almost no time before the alarm went off. He crossed his fingers and called the number.
A short time later he turned off the phone and looked at the notes he'd written. A lawyer's name and contact info. And the bones of what looked to be a fairly decent agreement with this Whateley place.
With a sigh he turned the phone back on and called the lawyer. The secretary wasn't very interested until he mentioned Mrs. Carson. All of a sudden there was an appointment slot for him. After hours no less.
Oh well, it gave him time to take care of a few things.
***
Back at the fort, he put away some groceries. Then he dug out the "burn bag" and went into the workroom. He switched on the exhaust fan for the small forge/furnace. Then he turned on the propane and hit the igniter.
Once it was going OK, he adjusted it so there was a hot flame. Then he took a medium sized crucible and emptied the bag into it paper first, then the phones he needed to destroy. He topped it off with some scrap copper, chunks of limestone and pieces of coke.
He got out a heavy leather apron and a safety shield for his face. Then he pulled on some heavy gloves. Using tongs he lowered the crucible into the furnace.
Before it could smoke much he took an odd sort of pipe with a valve and stuck the end in the crucible. When he cracked the valve, the contents of the crucible flared up. As he increased the flow of oxygen it burned with a glaring white, smokeless flame.
After a couple minutes, he turned off the oxygen and used the tongs to add more coke. Then he covered the crucible and waited patiently When he lifted the cover the crucible was half-full of glowing liquid.
He set the cover down on some firebrick to cool. Then he shut down the furnace. He'd take the crucible out later when everything was cool.
He straightened things up and put what he could away. Then it was back into the main room. He undressed and used a sponge and the sink to clean up as best he could. He dried off with a towel and got dressed in the best looking clothes he had handy.
Not that they were that great. A button up shirt and slacks instead of jeans. A sweater and matching jacket finished it off. Pretty much what he'd worn for his last school photo.
He checked the time and figured he'd need to leave in about an hour and a half.
"Guess it's time to do some homework..."
His talent wasn't that great with homework. If he needed a fact in the book, he could find the right page. But he could remember that sort of thing before he'd started finding stuff. And it wasn't like he needed it that much for facts. His memory was a lot better these days.
Best it could do with other stuff was let him figure out which section of a book (or which book for some classes) he needed to go over.
He still had to work out things himself, but it definitely helped to be able find what would let him figure out the answers.
***
All too soon the alarm went off. He checked the workroom and the furnace was cold. He still used the tongs to lift out the crucible and place it on the firebricks. He tilted it on its side and gave it a couple of sharp raps with a chunk of wood. After the second a slug of metal and slag popped out.
He carefully reached for it. It was barely warm. Good enough. He set it aside with some others. He'd remove the slag and melt them into an ingot when he had some more. Copper didn't bring much, but it still sold.
And it made a good way to get rid of stuff he didn't want to just throw in the trash.
He put away the crucible and cover and grabbed an overgrown messenger bag he'd packed earlier. After locking up he was off on the bike again.
He arrived at the lawyer's office with 15 minutes to spare. He locked up the bike and went to the door.
He took a couple of deep breaths and reminded himself that his talent had started him on this path. He had to trust that. Then he opened the door.
"Mr. Kelly?" asked the receptionist.
"Um, yes..."
"Mr. Dixon will be with you shortly. If you'd like to take a seat?"
George sat down a bit nervously.
It was only a few minutes before a man in a suit came out.
"Mr. Kelly? I'm Morgan Dixon. I hope I can help you."
"Um, George, George Kelly. Just call me George, please?"
"Certainly."
Dixon led George to an office. He waved George to a chair in front of the desk as he sat behind the desk.
"OK, I'm told that you are in a bad home situation and want to be emancipated. Mrs. Carson said it would appear that you can support yourself. There are other points, but those will do for a start."
George swallowed. "Y-yes. Things are not good at home. I'd rather get a few other things settled before we go into details. And yes, I can support myself if I am allowed to deal with money as if I'm an adult. It's rather hard doing so if you have to worry about someone deciding you aren't allowed to have the money."
Dixon nodded. "Yes, that can be a problem. My first question is if you are breaking the law to get money. If you are, I won't turn you in, but I can't help you either."
"No. At worst, I owe the state some taxes. At least as far as I know.."
George paused. "I know that it's going to cost money if you can help me. And while I sent Whateley something that I assume they are paying you out of, I'd rather pay you directly."
"We can do that if you'd like. And it would avoid even the appearance of a conflict of interest."
George opened the bag sitting next to his chair and reached in.
"Which would you prefer? Cash or gold?"
So saying placed a rubber banded bundle of bills on the desk and then took a paper wrapped cylinder out and set it next to it. He unfolded the end of the roll and shook some gold coins onto the desktop. He slid seven of the coins over next to the bills.
"That's five thousand cash. The double eagles are worth around $800 each for just the gold content as of yesterday."
Dixon's eyebrows tried to disappear into his hairline.
"You got this legally?"
George sighed. "Yes, given that you know about Whateley, you must know I'm a mutant or something. I 'find' things. I stick to stuff that's been lost or that doesn't have an owner."
George looked around the office.
"There's some change under that table." He pointed.
"And there's something in that file cabinet over there..."
George squinted a bit and moved sideways a little.
"... I think it's some papers or something that fell behind a drawer. Looks like papers or a file folder, but it's at the back and a bit under the bottom drawer."
Dixon looked startled. He gave George a speculative look, then he went over to the cabinet and with some effort managed to get the drawer out. He fumbled around and drew out a dusty file folder from inside the cabinet.
After looking at it and checking the inside, he sat back at the desk.
"Well, that was definitely a lost item. I think it's something that's been there since one of the senior partners died."
Dixon sat back and thought for a minute.
"Some lost items may not actually be legal for you to keep if you find them, but that gets fairly technical. For now, I think I can accept your money, as long as you aren't digging in people's yards or something."
"Uh, no sir."
There ensued a discussion of George's home situation. With the bills and gold sitting on the desk untouched all through it.
***
"No, no!" George objected. "I can't risk you not being able to get me out. It's bad now, but endurable. If we try and fail, mom will take it out on me. That'd be a lot worse."
"Well, there are ways of doing that, but it'll take a lot longer. It might be months."
"I can handle that as long as I know I'm getting out."
More discussion ensued. Much more discussion.
"OK, let me get this straight. You'd like to find a way to actually own this 'fort' of yours?"
"Yeah, and the land it's on. Being able to add some stuff to it as well would be good. I've got a lot of good memories of it, and I'd like to keep it if I can."
Dixon looked thoughtful.
"Well, that's not my area, but I can think of a couple of folks to check into it. "
George sighed. Oh well, he hadn't expected it to be easy.
"How about the agreement with Whateley?"
"They faxed me something this afternoon, I assume it was after your call. I've worked up a contract of sorts. Until we get you emancipated, you can't legally sign it. But as a dodge, I'll hire you as an office assistant. I think we can get your mother to sign that."
George nodded. "Yeah, as long as she thinks it's not much money she won't care."
They finally agreed that for now he'd be listed as an employee, but he'd have a "company" card that would tie back to the "retainer" he'd sent Whateley. And ID so he could say he was buying it for "the boss".
"Once we get you emancipated, we'll set up a company of your own and move things over. It'll make taxes and things easier on everyone. Meanwhile, we should have the card and ID for you in a couple of days."
He handed George a form. "Get your mother to sign this and that'll cover the legalities for now."
"OK, it may be a few days."
"As long as it's before the end of the month, things should be fine."
They covered a few more things and Dixon showed George to the door.
George had a lot to think about on the way home.
George got home from school and checked the front door of the house. It was unlocked. He thought to himself that this time hadn't been too bad. Only four days.
As usual, his mother acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He sighed to himself and went to his room. He changed and did his chores, then went down and hauled dirty laundry up from the fort. Laundry and showers were things that he missed when he was stuck in there.
After dinner he crossed his fingers and dug out the form.
"Mom, I've got a part time job lined up, I just need you to sign this."
She asked a few questions, but fortunately wasn't interested in details that could have been a problem, just in whether or not it'd interfere with his schoolwork.
He'd had long years of practice at spinning things so she'd believe them so it wasn't too hard to get her to sign and not ask inconvenient questions.
He took the signed forms to the lawyer after school the next day. Mr. Dixon looked them over and nodded.
"OK, these will do. And here's a bit of a bonus for you. The card and ID arrived yesterday. They should be enough for most things you buy. But for anything odd or pricey, you can print up a purchase order."
That led to being shown how to log in on the computer in a spare office and create a PO.
George wasn't sure if he'd ever need to do that, but he figured it was better to be ready. So did Mr. Dixon.
Mr. Dixon was still working on finding a way to get George emancipated that wasn't riskier than George was willing to deal with.
George knew he was probably overly paranoid about it, but a lifetime of dealing with his mother told him that a failed attempt would be really bad for him.
Things were a bit odd on the property front. Seems that the county records for that area were messed up.
"That's why there are so many oddly placed vacant lots in your neighborhood. Ownership of some places isn't clear. Most of the records are good enough for the tax folks, but not good enough for a title search to come up clear. So folks won't buy places with a title that's as uncertain as some of these are."
Mr. Dixon continued, "It's rather odd. The city and county are losing out on property taxes because of the houses that got torn down after being unoccupied for years. You'd think they'd want to get things cleared up."
They went on to deal with some things George needed help disposing of, and more guidelines on how to stay within the law while "finding" things.
The next couple of weeks settled into a routine. School, spending time at the law office actually helping a bit with filing and other things as Mr. Dixon thought it best that George actually be able to perform the tasks he was supposedly being paid for, and expeditions to "find" things.
He was still amazed that he'd actually contacted the school, much less the lawyer. It was way out of character. He was usually a lot more paranoid than that. With reason.
He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been betrayed by "friends". Or by his mother.
He couldn't bear to remember the details of the worst. The bitch in seventh grade had taken several weeks to become his good friend and get him to trust her enough to tell her his innermost thoughts.
Then the next day, she was back with the bunch of "in-crowd" girls that she'd formerly hung around with and they were all using what he'd told her in confidence to humiliate him.
It hurt so much he couldn't even remember what it was he'd told her. It didn't matter anyway.
He'd found a few people he could trust. A few teachers and the shrinks he'd had to see after some problems in school.
Hmm. Maybe that was why he'd given this Whateley place a chance. And Mr. Dixon reminded him of the good teachers and the shrinks. He knew he still needed to be careful though.
***
Then came the day that he overheard a conversation between Mr. Dixon and a private eye he sometimes used.
"Well, Paul? Any luck?"
"Morgan, I know it's in there somewhere. We both know it has to be. But I'll be damned if I can figure out where he hid it."
"If we can't locate that will, his family is going to take everything from his partner."
"Oh, it's like that, eh?"
"Yes, he figured they'd try to go after things and since they threw him out for being gay back when he was a teen, he didn't want them getting a cent."
"So why are we looking for the will? I thought you lawyers always kept copies."
"I normally do. But Adam was kinda paranoid. He was afraid it'd get stolen from my files."
George knew he shouldn't be listening, but the office door was open, and the cabinet he was re-filing some folders in wasn't that far away.
He could understand why the guy they were talking about wouldn't want his family to get anything. They sounded worse than his mother.
Pity about the will though. He suddenly realized he could feel the "pull". Something was off in that direction. Oh, it must be the will...
George had a dilemma. He knew he could find the will. And it was the right thing to do. But he wasn't sure if the private eye could be trusted with his secret.
Finally, he stuck his head into the open doorway and knocked on the door.
"Mr. Dixon? I couldn't help overhearing. I..." He ran down, not sure what to say.
Morgan realized what was going on. "Mr. Drake is very trustworthy. I assume you are thinking about offering to help?"
Paul started to say something, then stopped an instant before Morgan held up his hand. Morgan smiled at that.
George was torn between a desire to help and his long habit of keeping secrets. At last he shook himself a bit and spoke.
"Yes, I think I can help find the will you were talking about."
Morgan turned to Paul and explained, "George is a mutant I'm doing some work for. He 'finds' things."
"I'm forgetting myself. George, this is Paul Drake. He's a private investigator and a friend."
George found himself shaking hands with Mr. Drake, "Call me Paul"
"So, how do we do this, take you out to the house and have you poke around?"
George had thought about this before he'd made the offer to Whateley to find things for them, so he had an answer ready.
"I'd rather not do that if I can avoid it. Do you have pictures? A floor plan? Anything like that?"
Both of the men looked a bit surprised. "You can work from stuff like that?"
"Yeah, I tried it after reading something about dowsers who could work from a map."
Morgan said, "Well in that case, lets start with a map just in case I'm wrong about it being in the house."
George grabbed his map from his bag.
"What exactly am I looking for? Details usually help. Like what's his name? Adam something?"
"Adam Rockford. It's a will. A dozen sheets of legal sized paper..." supplied Morgan.
George pointed to a spot on his map.
Mr. Drake looked surprised as he said "That's where the house is all right."
"I may be able to get it closer."
George brought up Google maps on Mr. Dixon's computer and zoomed into the right part of town. He got the map zoomed in all the way then switched to the satellite image.
A few minutes later they were looking at the images he'd printed. An overhead shot, plus several angles from the street level view. George had carefully drawn small Xs on each image.
Shaking his head Mr. Drake left with the pictures.
***
The next day, Mr. Drake was back.
"I still couldn't find anything, but I took some photos and even have some video."
They looked at the photos and George finally pointed at a patch of floor in the den.
"You sure that's where it is? That's a hardwood floor and I don't see any way to hide a panel in it without the seams showing."
"No, it's there."
"Then how on earth do we get at it?"
George blinked. When Paul asked, the glow shifted.
"Um... When you asked that it shifted to here..." George pointed at a wooden grating set into the floor a short distance from where he'd pointed before.
"Oh. Of course. The cold air return. But I checked that already. I'll give it another check."
An hour later Paul was back in the office holding a odd plastic envelope.
"This is a neat trick, I'll have to remember it."
At their inquiring looks he explained. "Most folks when they hide something in an air duct, just lay it on the bottom a ways inside. That's what I checked for."
They nodded and he continued.
"But this envelope has a sheet of that stuff they make magnetic signs out of glued to the inside. So it sticks to the top of the duct. And you can't see it. Not only that, it's the same width as the duct. So you don't notice the edge either if your arm brushes against it while reaching in to check for things."
With that last comment he offered the envelope to Morgan, who opened it and withdrew a document.
"Yep, this is the will I drew up. Adam's relatives are going to be very disappointed."
George couldn't help muttering "Gee, I'm so sorry for them."
That got a chuckle from the other two.
"They aren't very likable at that,"commented Morgan. "But that reminds me. I'm going to tell Adam's partner that we had to call in a special consultant to find the will. That should get you a nice bonus out of this. We'd likely not have found it without your help."
Paul chimed in, "You certainly deserve it. And I think I could use you on other things as well, if you're willing?"
George thought about it. It was the sort of thing he'd expected to wind up doing anyway. He sighed.
"OK, I suppose so. But I've thought about this a lot. And I've got some conditions. I figure there are things I can look for safely, and things that'd be liable to get people upset enough to figure out what's going on. And once that happens I'll either be dead or locked up somewhere doing this for the government or criminals. Either way, no thanks."
"So, I've come up with a few rules. First off I won't look for criminals. Lost people, yes. Kidnap victims, maybe. And if I find out that someone is lost because they want to be away from the folks looking for them, I'm likely going to offer the money back."
"Looking for things, I want to be sure the person actually has a right to whatever I'm looking for. Don't want to find something then have it turn out the person I found it for shouldn't have had it in the first place."