SECRET SPOT #2

Benjamin Drye of Apartment 1B in the Uxbridge Apartments on Ruby Street, was the sort of fellow that everyone was aware of, but nobody knew. He had a sticky smile and greasy hair. He tended to talk to himself as he walked along. Sometimes, late at night, a sudden, shrill burst of laughter would tell his neighbors that he was walking past, and if they had bothered to go to the window they would have seen that he was walking quite alone, engrossed in animated conversation with an invisible companion.

Another oddity, In good weather or bad, and in every season, he always wore a tired, old Red Sox jacket. In the four years since he had taken up residence on Ruby Street no one had ever seen him separated from his jacket. There was little doubt that he was soft in the head, but he seemed harmless enough, so he was left alone.

Inside Apartment 1B, Benjamin Drye double checked to make sure the door was locked and the curtains were drawn. He turned off the lights and retrieved a flashlight, which had been attached magnetically to the side of the refrigerator, and with one more furtive glance toward the windows and door, he opened the freezer and removed a shoe box, wrapped in tin foil, which had been carefully hidden beneath boxes of frozen, french-cut green beans. He set the shoe box down reverently on the counter next to the refrigerator, and, with flashlight in hand, he opened the lid. Wide-eyed, he gazed on the precious treasure which he had painstakingly accumulated over four years on Ruby Street. Bottle caps, hundreds of them, filled the box two-thirds full. A broad grin spread across his face as he took it in. Then, fishing a grubby hand into the pocket of his Red Sox jacket, he produced three more, which he let drop into the box one at a time.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.