Young Zachary the Beginning

YOUNG ZACHARY

  The Beginning

  By Grandpa Casey

  Copyright Pending

  This short story introduces Young Zachary to you. He decides he wants to be a Private Investigator.

  Follow him as he and his friends search for gold coins.

  “Young Zachary Case of the Confederate Gold”.

  Follow the antics of Zachary and his friend while determining if Larry’s house is haunted or if it’s someone’s idea of a practical joke.

  “Young Zachary Case of Grandma Jubee”.

  Read about his quest to find the Family Jewels stolen from a schoolmate's house.

  ”Young Zachary Case of the Family Jewels”.

  He also goes after Extraterrestrials.

  “Young Zachary the Case of the Alien Encounter”

  While searching for a lost dog the group uncover a dog fighting ring

  “Young Zachary in Finding Sunshine”

  As if he hasn’t had enough adventure he uses his skills to search for ancient scrolls

  “Young Zachary in the Scrolls of Andahar”

  I turn off the TV in disgust. I’ve been watching three hours of an eight hour Mystery Marathon and guessed who done it in the first ten minutes of each episode. Although, I must say, “Ellery Queen”, presented a challenge.

  As I lay down the remote, I mumble; “why am I watching this; these programs are lame. I can do what those detectives on TV do.”

  I can’t get the idea of becoming a Private Investigator out of my mind. It makes me oblivious to what’s going on around me; enough so that I even ignore my mother’s requests to go to the convenience store for milk.

  After her third attempt to get my attention she walks into the living room, stands between the TV and me, and sternly says; “Zachary, I need you to go to the store and I need you to go NOW.”

  Stretching my neck to the right, so I can see around her, I say; “Mom, can I go in a minute, this is almost over and I want to see if I’m correct.”

  She turns around and hits the off button, “now you’ll never know.” Then she puts a note in my pocket, while saying, “I need this; now go.”

  Someday you’ll be sorry you did that, I think as I get out of the chair and head for the door. When I become a famous Privite Investagator, are you going to say, “I helped nurture his ability”? Or will you say, “I stifled him at every turn”.

  While walking to the local convenience store, I imagine myself getting requests from all over the world for my services; even Scotland Yard. When I enter the store my mind goes blank. While searching my pockets, I think, what did she send me here for? I hope she gave me a list. I grab the paper out of my pocket and look at it. Oh yeah, one gallon of milk.

  At the checkout counter, there are six people in front of me so I have to wait. Finally, my turn is next and while reaching into my pocket, to pay for the gallon of milk, reality sets in. I look at the $10.00 bill in my hand and think; forget about becoming famous, how do I make money at it? Yes, money, the root of everything that’s good and evil. Evil or not, none of the girls I know will give me the time of day unless I have some to spend on them.

  While I’m still staring at the money the clerk says; “WELL, are you going to pay for that milk or just stare at the money in your hand?”

  Hearing that, I get my head out of the clouds and pay for the milk. While walking home, with the milk in my hand; wait what milk? Oh, oh! Terrified, that I somehow lost the gallon of milk, I run back to the store. I hope the milk is there and not somewhere else. I know I paid for it, because instead of a $10.00 bill I have singles and change.

  I frantically enter the store as the clerk says, “Ah, you’re back. I put your milk in the refrigerator so it won’t spoil; it’s the one in the plastic bag.”

  After grabbing the milk, I thank the clerk and walk outside. I do my best not to think about anything else but getting the milk home. Well, that doesn’t last long. Now, instead of thinking about being a famous investigator, I recall my first attempt at financial independence.

  Last summer I told my mom and dad, “I want to quit school and get a job.”

  My mom stood there with her mouth open and my dad, never at a loss for words, said; “Zachary, if you can find one that’ll pay you enough to give me room and board I’ll agree.”

  I recall my response, “I have to do WHAT? I’m your only offspring and you want me to pay to stay here; since when?”

  I’ll never forget that look on his face, when my dad said, “Zachary, if you quit school and get a job, as long as you stay here, you will pay for room and board.”

  His statement irritated me, so I told him, “I’ll move out.”

  Before returning his attention to the TV my dad says, “Son, that’s your choice.”

  I recall becoming furious, he has some nerve wanting some of my hard-earned money. He can’t do that, I’m still in Grammar School. After two days of negotiating, Dad agrees to no room and board for the first year. I wanted two years, but he said I was pushing it. When I looked to my mom for support, she refused to get involved. Each time I asked for help, she got this strange look on her face, as if she was trying to hold something back. When I handed her a bottle of antacids she put her hand over her mouth and ran into the bathroom.

  Then I recall my fruitless search for a job, for two weeks, I looked, but no luck. Some laughed as they shooed me away and others simply said “no”! Finally, I found someone who would hire me. That night at the dinner table, I plop the company’s brochure on my dad’s plate. My dad looks at it, looks at me, then without saying a word sets it aside as my mom pours the stew on our plates. I figure the fact that I found a job left him speechless. Yes, it must be a shock to realize your son will become a millionaire before you. Well, that’s what the brochure states.

  I can recall the job as if it was yesterday. The job was direct sales. Each day, for two weeks, twenty-three others and I get into a van. The driver would drop us off in groups of six, in different neighborhoods. Then, as instructed, we separate and go door to door trying to get people to subscribe to various magazines. After a few hours, the driver would pick us up and we’d give him the orders, along with the deposits.

  I’ll never forget when payday came. With a, in your face attitude, I told my dad I’m going to collect my $250.00. I arrive at the rendezvous point and wait. At 6 P.M. I finally give up and head for home. For the next two days, I did my best to avoid my dad. I was hoping, in time, he’d forget about how I acted on payday; actually, I was hoping he’d forget about my job.

  On the third day, he finally corners me, “Zachary, I haven’t seen you for a couple of days, are you avoiding me?” When I don’t answer he asks, “I hope you didn’t spend all of your hard earned money. You should put some in the bank.” I still don’t respond; “as per our agreement, before I let you quit school I need to see your paystub.”

  With that statement, I realize I can’t avoid the inevitable. After I told him what happened, he patted my shoulder and said to caulk it up to experience. That’s when I decided no matter how tempting; first I need to finish school.

  While still trekking home, I recall when I told my parents I want to become a Private Investigator., I get up one morning, resolved that somehow I’m going to make this investigator thing work; not like that direct sales fiasco. At the breakfast table, my mother surprises me with my favorite morning meal, bacon and eggs, with an English muffin.

  I smile and look her straight in the eye and say, “I want to be a Private Investigator.”

  Without blinking an eye, she says; “that’s nice dear.”

  Refusing to be patronized,
I continue, “I am and I’m going to make money at it.”

  Dad walks in and says; “so, you want to be a Private Investigator. When I was your age, I wanted to be a rock star.” He continues as he’s buttering his toast. “What type of investigator do you want to be?” I look at him surprised. “Yes son there are different types of investigators. It’s very difficult to be an expert at everything. Let me think, what was that old saying; now I remember, ‘being a jack of all trades makes you a master of none’.”

  My mother walks out of the room; she must be feeling sick because she has her hand over her mouth.

  I lean back in my chair and say, “I never thought of that. What do you suggest?”

  Dad controls his urge to smile as he says, “Zachary if I were you I’d start by finding things for people. There’s no way the police will let you investigate a crime.”

  I clasp my hands behind my head, “hmm, finding things. I can do that. In fact, I’m good at that. After all, I found Uncle Joe’s glasses last Christmas; never mind that he had too much eggnog and didn’t realize they were on his head. Yes, I can do this.”

  Dad, unable to hold it any longer, leaves the room and joins my mother in the bedroom. Later I found out that they put pillows over their face to muffle their laughter. After a few minutes, they regain their composure and walk out of their bedroom and into the kitchen to finish their meal. I’m still