From Winamop.com

No Jake Brake
by Jon Moray

 

 

I was going on a morning run, taking advantage of the breezy seventy-five degree, sunny weather when I noticed a homeless man lying on the grass just outside a wooded area. The man was panting, struggling for air as I approached.

"Are you okay," I asked as the man cupped my face in his hands.

"No jake brake," he slurred and kept murmuring the phrase.

I uncovered my phone from my arm band and called 9-1-1.

The man pointed at his front jeans pocket and I retrieved a wrinkled photo of him next to a 'No Jake Brake' sign, wearing a tool belt, and holding up five fingers on his right hand, and four fingers on his left hand. The backdrop was woodsy and off in the distance. The back of the photo read Mr. Rucker.

 

An ambulance arrived as the man kept whispering "no jake brake." I answered a few questions and ascertained what hospital he would be transported to.

Watching the paramedics work and haul him off was a blur, so much that I forgot to return the photo.

Later that day, I drove to the hospital and learned Mr. Rucker had died a few hours after he was admitted.

 

There was now the mystery of the 'no jake brake'  phrase and the photo. I could've googled the phrase, but I enjoyed the charm of gathering information face-to-face.

The next day, I hit a local diner not far from my home.

I sat at a booth overlooking the main road as a heavy set, frizzy haired server waltzed over. I ordered a cheese omelet, hash browns, and orange juice.

I risked a shot in the dark question to her regarding the 'no jake brake' sign.

"I have no idea, hon," she cackled and went to check on another table.

"Compression release engine brakes on diesel powered vehicles," a man sitting behind me grumbled between bites of his breakfast. I turned to see a man wearing a baseball cap with a mesh back, squinted eyes, and a thick mustache that tickled his upper lip.

"No jake brake?" I asked, my face wrinkled.

The man nodded and went on to explain the sign is an effort to reduce engine noise, especially in a residential area. "I used to be a trucker," he winked.

I showed him the photo of Mr. Rucker. "It looks like that could be on State Road 54," he offered.

My eyes widened the size of the silver dollar pancakes he was eating, as I noted the fingers he was holding up.

"Could be, but what's with the tool pouch?"

I was wondering about that myself. I noted a tool that may be a small shovel.

"State Road 54 isn't too far away, I'll check it out," I announced. The former trucker asked if he could tag along, and he followed in his truck, trailing my sedan to the location.

We pulled to the side of the road, and by judging the background, we both confirmed the sign in the photo.

"What now?" asked the man.

"The shovel in the photo intrigues me. Perhaps he buried something," I surmised. The man agreed, surveying potential hiding spots.

"And maybe the fifty-four has a double meaning, perhaps five paces down and four paces to the left or right," I added.

The man smiled at the likeliness and retrieved two shovels from the bed of his truck. We both descended five paces down the decline in the muddy terrain and split off four paces. He went left, and I went right.

We worked the spades for about five minutes when a metal clink of my shovel aroused our interest. The man stopped digging on his side and helped me uncover a rusted steel box. Opening the box revealed twelve gold bars, each worth one-hundred grand, staring us in the face. A note accompanied the buried treasure.

"To whoever finds this, spend it wisely. The gold given to me by my father was too risky to me to carry, and I don't trust anyone, including banks, so I hid them here. Homeless was a choice for me because I rejected society."

"Looks like we solved the mystery. What's say we split it fifty-fifty," I reasoned. The man agreed with starlight eyes at the gold.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" came a woman's voice from the shoulder of the road. We both turned to find a meek, ragged woman.

"Like in who took the photo?" she smiled as she eyeballed the treasure. The woman explained she was ambling along the road when the homeless man approached and asked her to snap the picture.

"I forgot about that photo until I learned he passed away yesterday. We split the gold three ways!" she exclaimed with a glow on her face.

 

 

 

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