An Unexpected Discovery
I wasn’t ready for it. The pry bar tore through the plaster hitting something solid. Not the wooden lath, more substantial, unmovable by the teeth of a crowbar. Casey and I had been doing this all day and had not run into anything this stubborn. I called for Casey. “Hey, come up here. I need a hand.”
She clomped up the steps. “Yeah, whatcha need?”
I pointed to the wall. “I’m having trouble with this section. It may take both of us.”
We both started pounding on the wall and finally exposed a metal box wedged between the studs. There was some printing on it. I rubbed away the dust to see if it I could read it. All I could make out was “Property of Fed.” The rest of the letters were worn off. It had to be put there when the house was built, in the ‘30s.
* * *
But before I get too deep into it, let me give you some background.
“Always be prepared, sometimes life surprises you.” That was my dad’s advice. He’sthe one that guided us into home renovations, even worked with us on our first few houses. Dad’s gone now, but I’m sure he’s watching from above.
This was the third house we bought for reno. Dad recommended this one right before he passed away. Taking on this project was bittersweet because of that. It happened one hot summer day in July. We live in St. Louis and the summers are blast-furnace hot and dripping with humidity. Renovating a house without air conditioning in the summer is never recommended. But it was the first one we would be doing without Dad’s help, and we were too excited to wait.
We brought in a few box fans to keep us cool and then proceeded to tear into the plaster and lath walls on the first floor. They stopped building houses with that type of construction when drywall was introduced, but this was a house built in the ‘30s. It’s a messy process, but better to deal with it now rather than later when we have a family. For the most part all the work was done by my wife, Casey, and myself. I’m Chance, but she calls me Boss or Bossman. Which totally confuses me, because I rarely boss her around.
“Hey, honey, can you bring me that breaker bar and my soda over there on the steps.”
“Okay, Bossman.”
It was a two-story house, which meant there was a lot of grunt work required. We’d worked three full days and pretty much completed the tear-out on the bottom floor. We were making good progress. I ripped down the last piece of lath and dropped the wrecking bar on the floor. “Hey! Let’s knock off for the day. We can start on the upstairs tomorrow.”
“Sounds good, Boss. I need something to eat.”
“We can stop on the way home and get some take-out.” I stood up and heard my bones creak and crack. “Let’s stop at that new barbeque place. It’s on the way home. I think it’s called Heavy Smoke.”
“Sweet, that works for me.”
After we picked up the barbeque, we crashed at home, knowing tomorrow was going to be another long day.
* * *
We were at it again at daybreak. That’s when we discovered, the box, wedged between two studs, a metal box approximately 20” square with government padlock securing the contents. This validated my guess that it had been put there when the house was built because stud distance varied back in the 30s, unlike today.
Once we got it out of the wall, Casey and I debated whether we should cut the lock off since it was owned by the U.S. government. Ultimately, we succumbed to the temptation and cut the lock. I pried it open and gasped. “What the hell!”
“Holy crap!” A wide smile appeared on Casey’s face. “Can you believe what we’re seeing?”
I reached in and picked up a key, which I immediately recognized as a safety deposit box key. They have a distinctive look. A tag on the key said Property of First National Bank and scribbled on the back, was the name Vince Larcen. Casey pulled out a velvet bag and when she opened it, I thought she was going to faint. I grabbed her arm to steady her and said. “Whatcha
got there Sweety?”
She looked over at me and whispered. ”D. . . diamonds. A bag of diamonds.”
“Diamonds! Holy hell. What was Grandpa Vinny in to?” I leaned over and looked in the bag. “He owned Larcen Fencing Company but maybe he wasn’t just fencing yards.”
“Your family is way more interesting than mine.” Casey set the diamonds down and pulled out a bag of coins. “Maybe he was a collector?”
“Yeah, of other people’s stuff.” I reached in and pulled out a plastic envelope with six comic books, two first editions, Marvel Comics #1 and Action Comics #1, plus three more, but they were all significant in some way.
Casey smirked. “Grandpa Vinny had a great eye for rare and valuable stuff.”
“Yeah, for sure.” I held up the last item. “Only this Cracker Jack box left.” I wiped the dust and dirt away. “It was opened then taped shut but the tape was peeling off.”
“Well, I guess the Cracker Jacks are stale?” Casey asked.
I opened the lid then looked closely but shuddered once I realized what it contained.”
Casey fidgeted with her hair. “Come on! What’s in the box?”
“No Cracker Jacks . . . just the prize.”
“I’ll take it.” Casey held out her hand.
“Really! Are you sure? It’s not the typical prize you normally find.”
“Is it valuable?”
“Yes, it’s valuable . . . to someone.” I shook the box and then turned it upside down so the prize would fall into her hand. “It’s a thumb.”
She jumped then yanked her hand back and said, “No, nope, no way.” Casey
shivered. “Do you think it’s real?”
“It’s mummified, but it looks real.” I scratched my forehead. “Why would anyone put a fake thumb in a metal box and hide it in a wall?”
“To scare someone?”
“So sometime in the 1930’s someone put a fake thumb in the wall to scare a stranger in 2025. Not likely.” I peered closely at the thumb. “I’m sure it’s real, but more concerning is who it belongs to and why someone saved it.”
Casey crossed her arms. “You mean why your Grandpa saved it.”
“It might be a good time to knock off for the day and see if we can figure out what to do with this stuff.”
“Do you think we can keep it?
“The thumb? Yes, of course. I’m sure no one wants the thumb, so you can have that.” I laughed. “But the other stuff we need to find out more about. Google should be of some help.”
“I don’t want the thumb. Yuck! Why would I?”
“You can put it on your keychain, you know, like a lucky rabbit’s foot.”
“You think you’re so funny.”
“I do what I can.” I smiled. “Let’s get outta here. We can research this stuff on the Internet tonight.”
“That’s the first smart thing you said.”
We headed straight home. No time to stop for take-out. We would eat leftovers and peruse the Internet for information on our treasures.
Casey immediately grabbed the diamonds and opened a search window on the computer. She typed in stolen diamonds from the 30s in Missouri. The first thing to pop up was a bank robbery in St. Louis. “Damn, I knew it. The Grand National Bank was robbed in 1930. Items stolen included cash, jewelry, diamonds, precious jewels and other valuables.” That was almost
one hundred years ago.
“So, you really thought they were Grandpa Vinnie’s own personal diamond collection?”
“Well, no, but I can dream, can’t I? Maybe these diamonds aren’t from the Grand National Bank.” Casey smirked. “It was like a hundred years ago. Nobody’s looking for them anymore!”
I shrugged. “You could be right, but what’s the chance they belong to Grandpa V.
Legally?”
“There could be a reward.” Casey nodded. ”For returning stolen property.”
I laughed. “That my Grandpa stole? Yeah! I don’t think so.” I put my hands up like I was surrendering. “I think it’s best if we call the FBI for advice.”
“Chance, you’re such a Donnie Downer.” Casey opened the laptop. ‘I’m going to do more research. I think they might be legit.”
“Good luck with that.” I held up the comic books. “These could be worth something. They might have serial numbers on them. Each book is in a plastic bag, but I can’t tell if they were serialized. They’ll have to be shown to an expert. I’m sure Steve could lead us in the right direction.”
“What if those were bought with dirty money, Chance?” Casey crossed her arms.
“Now, who’s being the Donnie Downer?”
* * *
Casey checked the internet for stolen diamonds from the 30s and as she suspected found that the stolen items from the 1930 bank robbery were never recovered and the bank eventually failed. This is when she knew we had to call the police.
While Casey did research on the diamonds, I took the safety deposit key to First National Bank of St. Louis. As the closest living relative, I was given access to the box. The moment I opened it, I heard a ticking sound. Looking down, I saw a clock with wires coming out of it that went to an enclosed cylinder. A note attached to the clock read, “This is your chance
to make history. Take action now.”
The clock had thirty minutes on it. I froze. My mind took off in four different directions. Do I close the box and leave now hoping for the best? Randomly pull the wires out and find out if it stops the clock? Call the police and try to explain what I found? Call Casey and tell her to bring the car and wait outside with the motor running. None of these seemed like a viable option, but I had to do something.
Twenty-nine minutes left on the clock. It would keep ticking away no matter what I did or what I didn’t do. I might die today, and I haven’t even been to Comic-Con. I decided to take a closer look at the device. I gently picked it up, and rotated it to see all sides. On the back I spotted a hole big enough to fit a thumb. This set my brain in motion. Maybe the mummified thumb will fit in the hole and stop the clock. I called Casey. “Bring the thumb. No time to explain. Just bring it and hurry.”
Twenty-seven minutes left. She was only ten minutes away, so I’ll had plenty of time as long she didn’t dilly dally. My mind drifted, I told her to hurry, but she doesn’t always listen. I hoped she doesn’t stop for lunch, although all
these decisions are making me hungry. I turned the device over and over, looking for other possibilities to shut it off, but I didn’t see any. I felt the thumb hole was the only reasonable option. My mind was still reeling with
thoughts, then I wondered what if sticking the thumb in the hole would set the bomb off instead of stopping it. Oh! No, that would be horrible. No, I’m sure he wouldn’t do that. Eighteen minutes left on the clock. Casey should be here any minute.
Just then the phone rings. I answer, it’s Casey. “Hey, I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving now.”
“What the hell! You should’ve been here by now.”
“Sooorrrry, but Mom called and wanted to talk, so you know I did.”
I slapped my forehead. “Of course, but get your butt moving. It’s important.”
“Okay, okay, but do I have time to grab lunch?”
“No! no lunch. Get your ass over here.” I hung up.
I thought to myself, she can still make it. If I get out of this, I’m going to Comic-Con next year. The time was ticking away. Ten-minutes left on the clock. I peeked out to see if she’s in the lobby, but there’s no sign of her. I’m freaking out now. Then it dawned on me I could use my own thumb. I decided it’s time for me to take some action. Without much thought I thrust my thumb into the hole. The clock sped up. “Shit, shit, I’m gonna die.” I yanked it out. but it didn’t slow down. It was six minutes now. Sweat beads formed on my bald spot and my temple then ran down my face. For some crazy reason I believed the clock will stop if I put my thumb in the hole
a second time. Again, without thinking I jammed my thumb in the hole, but it doesn’t stop it only goes faster. “Shit, shit, I’m dead! Dammit!” It was now at the two-minute mark spinning like a top. The numbers looked like flash cards. It was down to ten seconds. I pulled my thumb out and got ready for the blast, but at three seconds the clock stopped.
My phone rang. It’s Casey. “I’m here . . . but I forgot the thumb.”
“Great, just great, Lucky, I don’t need it anymore.”
I told Casey to hang for a while. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Now, I had to figure out what to do with this box. Was it a bomb that might start ticking again or a fake that was never meant to go off? This stuff was way over my head. Without notice the clock started again. 3….2…. 1…. then out of the top of the cylinder a small rod popped up with a flag that read BOOM!
My body started shaking uncontrollably, but then I realized what happened and started laughing. I placed the box in a bag I brought with me to carry all the gold I expected to find. As I exited the vault, I held the bag up. “You won’t believe what Grandpa Vinnie left us.”
* * *
The diamonds turned out to be poor quality with bad color, low clarity and many flaws. They weren’t worth any more than costume jewelry Steve was able to get a price for the comic books. Unfortunately, none of them were
serialized. The money was a lot less than we would have hoped but enough to pay for a nice weekend at the lake.
The thumb was real. It belonged to someone named Johnny Diamond, a well-known jeweler in the 30s who dealt in stolen goods and sold substandard jewelry. It was highly likely that the diamonds we found were from him. You might ask what the story was on the thumb. Did the jeweler cross the wrong person when he sold one too many fake diamond rings? Could be any number of reasons, but I just can’t put my thumb on it right now.
The house was completely renovated within six months, and we decided to keep it. We moved in and scheduled a dinner party. The room was decorated with antique furniture, but the prize piece was the end table with the fake bomb device and the thumb in a glass covered case. We had a sign printed that read, “In Case of Emergency Break Glass”. It never failed to bring up questions.
* * *
I stood on the balcony, which overlooked the pool. An hour had ticked away, when my phone rang. I’d left it on the end table or as I like to call it the bomb table. I picked it up. Casey called to tell me she was running late, but our guests would be there in fifteen minutes. I told her no problem I would handle it.
Just then the clock came alive, 3…. I dropped the phone and ran. The stairs were too far so I headed for the balcony, stepped on to the railing and leaped as far as I could believing I could reach the pool. 2…. As my body sailed through the air, I imagined a spectacular death and fabulous funeral. 1…. On target for landing in the water when I heard Boom! Crash! I could see the debris racing me to the deep end of the pool. My arms flailed in a pitiful attempt to fly myself to the deepest part of the pool. I made it to the pool about the same time as the bomb debris, but I was not in the deep end. The story of my escapades garnered many visitors at the hospital to view my broken bones, cuts and bruises which gave me street cred with special treatment.
As I laid in the bed my mind drifted to the possible escapades of Grandpa Vinnie. His life must have been exciting but dangerous. I’m sure he had stories that could never be shared until he exited this world. Who was the bomb for? Certainly not me, I was the unexpected participant. Johnny Diamond, maybe, or someone who betrayed him, maybe a relative. It seems unlikely that his enemies would know where to look, but a close relative with a devious mind might. It could be an exciting tale.
What I’ve learned is life is nothing but a series of stories. Make sure yours are heard, loud and clear. Make it Explosive!
