CHAPTER 3:
I waited until the end of the week, when I was depositing the bar's receipts for the week, to take the check down to the bank. The teller did a double-take when she saw it, but she didn't say anything about it. I almost told her that I thought it was a prank, but I decided to keep my mouth shut and see what happened.
Over the next few days, I mostly forgot all about it. It was business as usual, and the weekend was always a busy time for me. I made sure to tell my other bartenders and waitresses about the fight, and warned them that they should call the police if anything like that happened again. We got a few men from the base who came in Friday and Saturday night, but I didn't recognize any faces from the night of the brawl, and none of the military men caused any problems.
I'd practically forgotten about the whole thing until days later, when I was going over my bookkeeping for the end of the month. I booted up the computer in my office and started going over all of the daily sales reports from the bar, tallying my deposits and deducting the various expenses that had to be paid: the lease on the building, the liquor license, the beer costs, the electric bill, and so on. It wasn't until I saw the bar's account balance that I realized something was off.
There was actually $10,000 more in the account than the ledgers showed. The mystery man's check had cleared. I hadn't even bothered to record it in my books, but there it was.
“Well, I'll be.”
I sat there, staring at the monitor, unable to form a coherent thought. $10,000 was a lot of money. I could take a vacation. Pay off what was left on my car. Fix the walk-in freezer in the back so that it would stop icing over. I could do just about anything.
But more than the thought of what I'd do with the money, my mind focused on the mystery of the navy SEAL. How had he come by that kind of money? I didn't really know much about military pay grades, but I was pretty sure they didn't pay enough to cover something like this.
The question bothered me for days and days. I kept wondering who this man was, and how he had come by that kind of money. I wondered if he was up to some kind of illegal smuggling operation. It didn't seem to fit his character, but I couldn't think of another explanation. Super rich men didn't just up and join the navy. Did they?
I finally got to the point that I just couldn't stand not knowing. One afternoon while I was getting ready to open the bar, I set aside my work and sat at the computer to look up a phone number for the base. I found a contact number for concerns from the general public, dialed it, and waited until a gruff-sounding man answered the phone.
After he introduced himself, I said, “Hi, umm, this is going to sound kind of strange.”
I heard him sigh into the phone. “Yes?”
“Well, see, it's about one of the men from your base.”
“Can you give me his name?” he asked. I heard noises over the phone, as if he were rustling through a desk for a pen.
“Well, I don't know his name exactly.”
“What is this regarding?” he asked.
“Well...” I bit my lip, trying to figure out how to explain it without sounding like a nutcase. “See, there was a fight at my bar the other day...”
“Ahh. Yes, ma'am. I can assure you, the men involved in that incident have already been disciplined.”
“No, you see...” I sighed, rubbing at my eyes. “One of the men came back, to pay for the damages? And, well, he wrote me a check.”
“All right,” the man said. His tone was growing impatient.
“And, well, it was for $10,000.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“Yes, ma'am,” the man said. “That would be Rick Donaldson.”
My eyes widened. I was surprised the man on the phone would know who I was looking for, just like that. “He...he's one of your men, then?”
“Yes, ma'am. Navy SEAL, Chief Petty Officer. We call him Richy Rick.”
“You mean Richy Rich?” I asked.
“No, ma'am. Close. The boys got the name from the old cartoon.”
I leaned back in my chair, trying to get my head around this. “So...he's in the navy, and he's rich.”
“That's right, ma'am. Listen, if Rick wanted to pay you back for those damages, I suggest you just take the money and be grateful. He does this sort of thing.”
“But...”
“I'm sorry ma'am, but I really have other business to attend to. Have a nice day.”
He hung up the phone, leaving me with more questions than I'd had before. Though my mystery man at least had a name.
Rick Donaldson. I decided to Google him and see what else I could learn.
What I found out about him just blew my mind even more.
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