The Moneyscope

By J. N. Sadler

First impressions can be deceptive as in the case of Butch,
a sexy, extroverted trash man and Cassie, a swanky
sweetie with a mysterious job in the big city. Underneath
the surface of a person’s facade is the real story. A trust is
formed between this unlikely couple who hook up to solve
a family mystery and fi nd a missing fortune.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479760961

J. N. Sadler

Janet Sadler is a resident of Havertown, Pennsylvania. She has published two volumes of poetry with her illustrations: Headwinds and Full Sail and has been published in many small literary magazines. Once member of the Mad Poets Society in Media, PA, and also the Overbrook Poets in Philadelphia, she reads her poetry at local venues. She was the former poetry director at Tyme Gallery in Havertown, PA and at Baldwin’s Book Barn in West Chester, PA. She has authored thirty flash fictions novels. Twenty-seven titles have been published through Xlibris and can be found at Xlibris.com, under J. N. Sadler Author’s email address: [e-mail]

Book preview

The

Moneyscope

J. N. Sadler

Copyright © 2012 by J. N. Sadler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/30/2021

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Drifter

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 1

Amid the sounds of a fog horn, traffic, and sirens in the distance, a trash truck rumbled down the street. It was morning in the suburbs of New York City. The driver, tall, buff, missing a tooth in front, green-eyed, with stubbly beard, just made every light, passing tenements on a narrow street. School children were chasing each other; a bum lay on the sidewalk; a woman beat a man with her umbrella, kicking at him for trying to steal her purse. A dog formed a tri-pod, straining to defecate on a downed sign that said, No Dumping. A husky butcher in his fifties, wearing an apron, stood outside his shop and took a bold step toward the dog.

Get outta here, you mangy mutt! He raised his fist and took another step forward, and the dog ran off.

In the home of the Lowenstein’s, a thirty-something Butch Lowenstein, muscular, handsome, dark hair, wearing a tee-shirt, had his head bent over an old kitchen sink, attempting to unscrew the washer in the spigot by pounding on it. Thwack! It came off in his hands, and he fell to the floor, water spurting all around him. The air was filled with the sound of water gushing. It squirted his face and collected on the kitchen floor.

The muffled shouting of Stosh Lowenstein, Butch’s elderly uncle with whom he lived, was heard as he approached through the dining room.

Butchie! Butchie! Butchie! Stosh shouted in a Yiddish accent.

A little old man, wearing a robe, stumbled into the kitchen, adjusting his thick glasses. He grabbed each side of the doorway, and his mouth dropped open.

Butch looked up and asked his uncle, Where’s the water valve?

Looking quite flabbergasted in his thick, large-frame glasses, he shouted, In the basement! Go down and shut it off! Get up off that floor, and move before the house floats into the Hudson!

Stosh plopped down in the chair, breathing heavily. Butch pulled himself up into a standing position and held his hand over the shooting water while he reached for something in his pocket.

Stosh muttered to himself, I wish Myra was here. She’d have that thing fixed in a minute.

Butch ripped open the foil on a condom and fit it over the spigot. It quickly started to fill up. He ran down the basement steps, yelling Where is it?

What? You dumb . . . My God! He looked over to see a quivering rubber growing rapidly in the sink. It was the size of a watermelon. Butch, you idiot! Turn off the big yellow knob with the E on it!

Stosh poked at the jiggling atrocity in the sink with the tip of his cane and punctured it. Water flew around the kitchen, and splashed him in the face with the noise of a slow fart. The condom flew around the room. Stosh was driven back into his chair against the wall. Water dripped down his glasses. His face was tight with anger, eyes closed. I’m childless until eighty years of age, my darling wife dies, and I inherit my dear dead brother’s man-child.

Butch danced around in bare feet, looking for the yellow knob marked E. He quickly turned it off and wiped his brow. When he looked around, he saw big E’s on other valves in other locations in different colors. He stuffed a new fitting into his pocket.

The water stopped. Stosh heard dripping from the sink to the floor, then the bang of a pipe from the basement.

Yee-ouch! Son-of-a-bitch! Butch yelled.

Oy! More brain cells damaged, said Stosh.

Butch ran up from the basement, unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it on the wet floor, moving it around with his feet. He wrung it out in the sink and repeated the action. When the floor was dry, he leaned against the sink and looked over at Stosh, who stared at him with lips pursed, glasses sliding down his nose. Butch picked up a sweatshirt from the wash basket in the kitchen, pulled it on over his head, and slicked back his hair while approaching the sink. So, Stosh, there’s E’s all over this dump; on the toilet, on the windows . . .

I did that so Myra would know what to do if the pipe acted up when I worked late. I wasn’t home much. Life was a little bit tougher then. Everything was a big emergency to her, and when Myra got upset, she always did the wrong thing. She would just carry on until someone else fixed it. ‘E’ stands for emergency. She got real good at fixing things.

Butch pulled a wrench from a drawer and wrapped it around the new fitting then wiped his brow with the back of his arm. He picked up the broken rubber and flung it into the trash can. You want some breakfast?

Stosh’s eyes were shut; he pretended to snore. Butch looked out the window over the sink. Heavy rain drummed on the roof. Their large red Mastiff rescue dog, Bongo, had backed himself into his dog house.

Stosh opened his eyes and said, Myra, now there was a woman. Met her at temple, in Teaneck. Oy, what eyes, what legs!

Butch hopped around, pulling on his boots. I’ll be back later. I’ll exchange the videos, too. He turned and exited through the back door.

His co-worker, Moose McVey, threw Bongo a bone as he drove the big, old rumbling trash truck to the front door of Butch’s house. He fit his gloves to his hands, snapped his slicker shut, and attached his walkman to his ears. He waved as he made a wide U-turn over the Lowenstein’s lawn. The rain was starting to freeze. They were about to make their rounds through the upper class neighborhoods of New York’s suburbs.

CHAPTER 2

The trash truck turned the corner. Snow fell lightly. Moose drank coffee from a big thermos while Butch rode on the back, drinking his coffee from a convenience store cup. When he was done, he threw the crumpled cup into an approaching can. The truck slowed down. Butch waved to children waiting for the school bus. They shouted and waved back. He waved to the old lady at the door and to bums against the alley wall. He made the Rocky Balboa champ sign with his arms over his head and blew kisses then jumped down and pulled a flesh-colored bra from the trash.

He saw an attractive twenty-something woman, Cass Undle, running down the walk from her house to her car at the curb. She had trouble on the ice, wearing high-heels. The truck approached slowly. Its noise of grinding gears was deafening. The lady turned to look at the vehicle heading towards her car. Her trash cans were neatly lined up, lids, securely shut. Butch tipped his baseball cap with the flesh-colored bra fastened around its crown. He extended one leg and bowed from the waist. She turned away.

Butch called out, Hey, good morning! Brr . . . it’s cold out here! How about a little kiss? He shut his eyes and puckered his lips as the truck rolled to a stop. The air brakes hissed.

Moose stuck his head out the window. Don’t mind him, lady. He gets this way every time it snows; you know . . . horny. Moose blasted the horn on the truck. He smiled, revealing missing front teeth and lifted his cup in a toast, as the truck slowly slid by. Cass turned her back.

Butch persisted, as he walked along the sidewalk. I don’t know anyone who would throw out this perfectly good undergarment. What? You don’t wear them anymore?

She toppled to the ground after sliding over the icy sidewalk. He jumped down to help her to her feet. She shrugged him off, struggling, finally succeeding in righting herself. I can manage on my own!

He stepped away from her. What are you clumsy or something? Were you born this way? I’m sorry, lady.

Cass looked him full in the face, angry.

Why are you bothering me?

Butch looked sideways to Moose who had his hand cupped over his ear, waiting for Butch’s reply. Butch turned his back to him.

I’m not a man to beat around the bush . . . uh, how about you and me go to a movie tonight?

No, thank you! She turned, got into her sports car, and drove off, skidding on the ice.

CHAPTER 3

Butch sat in the back of the theater. The movie had begun. He had a large tub of buttered popcorn on his lap. A woman slid awkwardly down the row until she got to the vacant seat next to him. She felt for the seat, groped his thigh, and sat down. He looked at her brazenly. It was the woman on the block with the sports car. She didn’t notice him and took off her coat. Butch offered her some popcorn. His chin and fingers glistened in the dark with the residue from the popcorn spray. She sniffed and turned to him. He stared at her with the tub of popcorn extended out in her direction.

So, you couldn’t stay away. Changed your mind about the movies? I knew you would. Popcorn? He smiled, and she saw that it was in between his teeth.

Cass was horrified to see him there. I didn’t come here to be with you! I’m here with . . .

He looked at her expectantly. A small older woman, Arianne, her sixty-year-old mother, felt her way down the aisle and plunked down on the other side of Cass. She leaned over, a frown of disapproval on her face. Who are you talking to?

Butch pushed across her daughter’s lap and said, It’s me, your trash man. Now, listen, Mom, there’s a bald-headed guy sitting by himself down in front. Why don’t you go and keep him company. Maybe he’ll buy you some popcorn, too. I want to be alone with your daughter.

Arianne answered, indignantly, She wouldn’t give you the time of day!

He drew back, chuckling. Arianne stood up and grabbed at her daughter’s arm for her to get up, too.

Cass stood