Providence
formerly known as: Untitled (6)
A week later, Josie knocks on my door with the worst of timing. With a sigh, I stand and pull my pants up. "Hold on a sec!" I shout out as I adjust myself, zip my fly, and button my pants. I make my way over to the door, open it, and then retreat to the kitchen sink. Josie hesitantly allows herself in, shutting the door behind her. "What's on your mind?" I inquire as I lather soap over my hands.
"I uh..I had a plan.." she says with uncertainty before asking what's on her mind, "I wasn't interrupting anything was I?"
I look over at her and can't resist the smirk that tugs at my lips. I can feel a bead of sweat roll halfway down the side of my flushed face as well as a (now) half of an erection chaffing me. "Nothing important," I counter as I rinse my hands off and search for a dish towel, "What's your plan?"
"My well-to-do family - read: my mother and father - expect me to settle down as soon as I get over my.. little stress spell."
"MmHmm," I make a noise to indicate I'm listening as I look through a drawer for a piece of cloth. I finally find one and dry off my hands.
"They live out in the country, so here's the plan I came up with.. We travel out there with the facade to reveal some wonderful news."
I take up my previous seat and prop my legs up on the table, "And what would that be?"
"Our engagement," she answers with a completely serious face. Even her voice lacks any flare of humor.
"You're not joking," I state. Well.. anything to help Josie out. "Ok," I relent so quickly it probably surprises her, "I'll do it. If that's what it takes. What else do you got in mind?"
"I'm.. not sure yet," she admits. She's new to this. However, this game is an old favorite of mine. What's that line I've heard once? To create a plan so cunning you could slap a tail on it and call it a weasel?
"What's more cunning than a weasel?" I think aloud.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing.."
---
We plot. We scheme. We prepare.
Everyone in the building seems to know that trouble is brewing. Daily, Josie and I are seen together huddling to whisper conspiratory ideas. We're both acting different, and it's almost kind of scary. For the first time since.. that day, I've lost the will to commit suicide. I must live now, for Josie's sake. She has given me a purpose, and so the least I can do is help give her happiness.
My moods swing, but for the most part I'm pretty content. Keeping myself busy helps with this. I sort of hop down the staircase this fine Wednesday morning. I say sort of because I don't define hopping as a course of action I willingly take. People look at me and I smile and wave. I can't help but think that the next rumor I'll hear is that I'm bipolar. I hum a tune to myself and walk with a bounce into Mrs. Tarintino's kitchen. She looks at me and smiles warmly, "Good morning, Vegeta!" I give her a nod and seat myself at the table. I tap my fingers on the side of my chair and then chose to speak.
"Have you seen Josie?"
"She hasn't come down yet," Mrs. Tarintino informs me before moving onto a different subtopic, "Shouldn't you know where she is? You've been seeing her a lot recently." Even with her back turned, I can tell the old woman is grinning.
"I live above her, not with her," I calmly respond.
"For how often you two are together, maybe you should," she not-so-subtley suggests. Balancing plates with expertise, she sets the table accordingly. I invite myself to breakfast and begin to chow down. "No smart-ass remark?" Mrs. Tarintino says with mock-disappointment, "Well then, it looks like Cupid's arrow really has struck." I can't help it - I roll my eyes.
"If Cupid's arrow struck, you'd have known the instant it did," I reply truthfully. Like any normal guy, there's one way I especially like to show my affection. Poor Bulma found out the hard way what it meant to.. have my heart. To be honest, I'm surprised we only had two children. Thank goodness there's birth control. I don't think my sanity could've taken that many little brats running around. Then there would've been the issue of finding time to do it. It was hard to get the two of us secluded, what with the way she worked and I trained. Maybe busy schedules was enough form of birth control all of its own. I mean, after a long day of work what you really want to do is sleep. It wasn't like we were quiet either. Hence how Mrs. Tarintino (as well as the entire neighboring apartments) would know if I was "in love" with Josie.
"Besides, I'm too old for Josie," I firmly state. It's very true. I view her as nothing more than a child, though I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate knowing that.
"Nonsense!" my land-lady retorts, "You don't look a day older than thirty!" And she's right. Unfortunately.
I'm not sure what possesses me to ask, but right then I question her, "Mrs. Tarintino? ...Where's Mr. Tarintino?" She drops a plate which I catch with ease. I set it down for her and do not move my gaze from her face. Taking a seat, she smiles forcefully and releases a sigh.
"You've caught me off guard, Vegeta," she speaks softly and with a slight tremble, but she regains her balance, "It's been some time since I've last spoken of him. Carlos died a long time ago. Both he and Rosalind - our daughter - were in an automobile accident. And I bet I can predict what you're thinking right now. I bet you're wondering how I can stay so happy, yes?" I merely nod. "I wasn't at first. After the accident, I blamed myself for what had happened. I had wanted to make something special for dinner, but I had needed several ingredients for the recipe that we didn't have at home. Carlos said to just hold off and save the recipe for later, but I insisted on making something special for them. If they hadn't of gone that evening, they would still be with me.
"For a long while, all I could think about was that if I had just been less stubborn everything would've been ok. There where plenty of times when I said 'if only this' and 'if only that'. Then, one Sunday, after church, I realized something. A lot of people ask why God would let that happen. How could He just let my husband and daughter die? God gave us free will though. It was not my fault for what happened to Carlos and Rosalind, nor was it God's - it was with the man who acted irresponsibly and had decided to drink then drive. I had tried denying it for so long that I almost believed it. You see, if it was not Carlos and Rosalind, then it could have been anyone else. In the end, you cannot blame the innocent, Vegeta." She smiles. It is a warm, radiant smile, and she goes back to her tasks at hand.
"I moved on. Sort of. I made this house, this home that you live in," Mrs. Tarintino talks in a way that I can only describe as emotional, "And now, you are all my children." Looking over her shoulder, she gives me a tear-filled smile. She refuses to cry though. She is such a strong woman.
I finish my breakfast, thank Mrs. Tarintino, and slip out the front door.
I go walking.
I go to the mall, and to the movies.
I go to all the places Bulma, Trunks, and Bra would have loved to go.
At times, I cry. Strangers stop to console me or hand me tissues. Others stare, ignore, and even make fun of me, but I don't mind. The tears are not the same today. I'm not crying because I believe that I'm stupid or because I can't stand living. No, I cry because I love my family and miss them. For the first time I can recall, I feel better after I cry rather than just tired. I know nothing has changed, but somehow.. these particular tears make the ache ebb.
Certainly, I could've acted more responsibly. Certainly, there were things I could've done differently that may have prevented the tragedy. However, Mrs. Tarintino is right. I did not kill my family. I did not kill my friends. I had been trying to protect them, but let my own selfish motives get the way of that. Ultimately, it wasn't my fault. That bastard had a choice, just like me, and he chose the path of destruction I had given up so many years before.
For the first time since the funeral, I visit the bank. I know that Bulma has left a safety deposit box, but I've never felt that I deserved whatever she's left to me, so I've ignored it. Today is different. Today, I want to know what she has hidden away. After proofs of identification are given and verification of my status and legality are thoroughly checked, I'm allowed entrance to the vault. I am given a single, small key and a number. This feels like it should be more difficult, but it's a breeze. I find it with ease, extract it from the wall, and use the key. I don't know why, but I hold my breath before opening the lid.
Papers.
Papers fill the inside.
And on the top, an envelope addressed to me.
I nearly drop the box I'm shaking so bad, so instead I sit on the ground in an effort to prevent that. Her handwriting.. it's been so long since I've seen it. Careful, neat, and tidy.. these words could all describe the way my name had been written in her perfect cursive. I breathe deeply and evenly now to keep myself calm. With anticipation and anxiety wreaking havoc on my nerves, I open the envelope. Unfolding the letter inside, I steel myself and refuse to rush.
Vegeta,
If you're reading this, then I have already passed on.
I must say two things immediately. One, is that I love you.
Two, is that I'm sorry. I don't think I got to tell you enough how
much you mean to me. I think you were always worried that I
thought you as second to Goku, but in my mind, you were
always number one. I think it's unfair that you compared your-
self to Goku so often when you two were nothing alike. Well,
I love you Vegeta, and that's that, and I'm sorry because I've
left you alone. I know you're strong, but I know you can be
lonely too. In essence, I'm sorry to leave you in the state in
which we first met.
In this box are all the important documents regarding
the family and the business. I know Trunks can take care of
these items, but I want you to know that you are in possession.
I'm sure you'd be excited to hear that you are now the proud
owner of Capsule Corperation via 51 shares in stock. Also
regarding stock, I've put some down in other companies. All
the information needed to collect, if that is the case, is in this
box as well. Please, don't ignore the bonds and other goodies
I've placed in here.
Try to smile a little, okay, Vegeta? I know it's hard
for you, especially at this time, but the only thing I can leave
you with is my money and my memory. Just try to view this
as me treating you like the prince you are. You're the wealthiest
and most powerful man on the planet now, which I hope you
won't soon forget.
Send my love to Trunks and Bra.
Love,
Bulma
I'd started crying the first time she'd written "I love you", but I don't think I've ever felt more uplifted in my life. She loved me, trusted me, and believed in me. Instead of feeling as if she's wrong, I know that she's right. Instead of thinking she shouldn't have loved me, trusted me, and believed in me, I know that she was the most intelligent woman on this planet. She loved me even though I had cursed, ranted, and raved at her. She trusted me even though I initially came to this planet to destroy it. She believed in me even though Kakkarot was stronger. Why? I do not know exactly. What I do know is that Bulma was capable of seeing something in people that others could not. She saw something in me, so instead now of trying to refute myself, I will put my faith into her. I read over the letter again.
I love you, Vegeta, and that's that.
I yearn for her companionship.
Try to smile a little, okay, Vegeta?
A smile comes to my face, for her.
You're the wealthiest and most powerful man on the planet now.
What will I do with this wealth? This power?
Another piece of the puzzle fits into place and a smirk comes to my lips. This is an expression I haven't made in a long time, but I like the feel of it again. Satisfaction washes through me - warm and fulfilling. Getting up off the floor, I head outside the vault and approach a teller. After my request is given, I'm ushered into an office where a man in a very expensive suit greets me. His name is "Kenneth Henslin", or so declares the name plaque on his desk.
"Mr. Vegeta," he greets me while standing and extending his hand. I shake it firmly and look into his eyes; he does likewise. "Please, take a seat," he offers and gestures, and I accept. While sitting as well, he gives me a little grin, "You have me at a loss, Mr. Vegeta. It seems you a requesting to transfer funds from a fifty-eight year old claim to a personal account?"
"Yes, that is my intention," I respond.
"You realize that Bulma Briefs had left her will in a safety deposit box so that only a family member could retrieve it?"
"Yes, sir."
"And that that will is fifty-eight years old?"
"I would be led to believe that age does not make it any less legitimate or less legal."
"I understand, Mr. Vegeta," I hear him enunciate my name differently this time, "but do you also realize that Bulma Briefs had been married for thirty-one years?"
"Thirty-two years, sir," I correct him, "and yes, sir. I should know, as I was married to her."
He grins again, but this time it's a little more sarcastic than before, "Please, sir. Records prove that Bulma Briefs was married to a man named Vegeta, but our records also show that that man was forty-two when they were wed."
I merely nod to him.
"Sir, many would applaude you for getting this far, but we are not that.. easy to manipulate. If Vegeta were still alive, he'd be-"
"-132-" we say as one.
He pauses to.. look at me before continuing, "and frankly, you do not look 132. Granted, you have a striking physical similarity to him, that does not gain you access to this poor woman's money."
"Well," I say calmly, "I'd hardly call her a poor woman, but I'd have to admit that a man called Vegeta coming in fifty-eight years later to finally claim her safety deposit box and her will is a bit suspicious. However, I think if you look over my credentials you'll find that-"
"Sir, please," Ken implores, "don't make this any more difficult on yourself. The proper authorities have been notified and will be here shortly." Oh great, the yuppie called the cops. This is about to be ten time more interesting - and complicated - than it should of been. I relax in my chair and give a small shake of my head.
"Don't worry," I tell him ahead of time, "I understand why you've done this."
"Thank you for your cooperation," he respectfully replies. At least he isn't a huge asshole about it.
It seems like hardly any time has passed when the police do arrive. I turn in my chair to greet them and a stupid smile breaks out across my face. The officers halt in surprise as well.
"Vegeta?" Officer Kimbell inquires.
"What are you doing here?" Officer Greenly asks, "They said they had a.. situation in here."
"That's apparently me," I respond with a chuckle.
"This gentleman," Ken interrupts our reunion, "is attempting to transfer money from a coporate account to a personal account by impersonating the person the claim was left to."
"Who was the claim left to, and by whom?" Greenly instantly springs into action.
"He's impersonating Vegeta, the widow of Bulma Briefs," Mr. Henslin explains. Both of the officers look at me as if to say with their expressions alone, Say it ain't so..
I recline in the chair and make myself comfortable, "Ask Mrs. Tarintino how long I've lived with her. Then ask her for the name of the last psychiatrist I saw - Dr. Reilly, then ask that the good ol' doc who my previous shrink was, and just go down the line. Don't worry, I have all day."
---
It takes all day. They also had to take me down the station. You know, in case I really was just trying to steal money. Needless to say, I've left several people completely flabbergasted from this whole ordeal.
Before I lived with Mrs. Tarintino, I did see a shrink called Dr. Reilly. Her records showed that I'd seen several doctors over the course between three and four decades - I've forgotten how long exactly. Before that, I have a medical file from West City Hospital detailing how I wasn't injured in a forty-car pile-up. Better still, thanks to my little prior hospital visit, my DNA was on file. A short trip to the hospital later proved my identity and I was able to leave custody as the richest and most powerful man on Earth. I am also the oldest and healthiest.
I can't help but wonder though...
After Josie gets better and moves on, what will there be for me?
I know I'm going to have to say good-bye eventually, but what happens after that?
Where will I go? What will I do?
Stay with Mrs. Tarintino..?
Maybe.
Move on?
I can only hope.
formerly known as: Untitled (6)
A week later, Josie knocks on my door with the worst of timing. With a sigh, I stand and pull my pants up. "Hold on a sec!" I shout out as I adjust myself, zip my fly, and button my pants. I make my way over to the door, open it, and then retreat to the kitchen sink. Josie hesitantly allows herself in, shutting the door behind her. "What's on your mind?" I inquire as I lather soap over my hands.
"I uh..I had a plan.." she says with uncertainty before asking what's on her mind, "I wasn't interrupting anything was I?"
I look over at her and can't resist the smirk that tugs at my lips. I can feel a bead of sweat roll halfway down the side of my flushed face as well as a (now) half of an erection chaffing me. "Nothing important," I counter as I rinse my hands off and search for a dish towel, "What's your plan?"
"My well-to-do family - read: my mother and father - expect me to settle down as soon as I get over my.. little stress spell."
"MmHmm," I make a noise to indicate I'm listening as I look through a drawer for a piece of cloth. I finally find one and dry off my hands.
"They live out in the country, so here's the plan I came up with.. We travel out there with the facade to reveal some wonderful news."
I take up my previous seat and prop my legs up on the table, "And what would that be?"
"Our engagement," she answers with a completely serious face. Even her voice lacks any flare of humor.
"You're not joking," I state. Well.. anything to help Josie out. "Ok," I relent so quickly it probably surprises her, "I'll do it. If that's what it takes. What else do you got in mind?"
"I'm.. not sure yet," she admits. She's new to this. However, this game is an old favorite of mine. What's that line I've heard once? To create a plan so cunning you could slap a tail on it and call it a weasel?
"What's more cunning than a weasel?" I think aloud.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing.."
---
We plot. We scheme. We prepare.
Everyone in the building seems to know that trouble is brewing. Daily, Josie and I are seen together huddling to whisper conspiratory ideas. We're both acting different, and it's almost kind of scary. For the first time since.. that day, I've lost the will to commit suicide. I must live now, for Josie's sake. She has given me a purpose, and so the least I can do is help give her happiness.
My moods swing, but for the most part I'm pretty content. Keeping myself busy helps with this. I sort of hop down the staircase this fine Wednesday morning. I say sort of because I don't define hopping as a course of action I willingly take. People look at me and I smile and wave. I can't help but think that the next rumor I'll hear is that I'm bipolar. I hum a tune to myself and walk with a bounce into Mrs. Tarintino's kitchen. She looks at me and smiles warmly, "Good morning, Vegeta!" I give her a nod and seat myself at the table. I tap my fingers on the side of my chair and then chose to speak.
"Have you seen Josie?"
"She hasn't come down yet," Mrs. Tarintino informs me before moving onto a different subtopic, "Shouldn't you know where she is? You've been seeing her a lot recently." Even with her back turned, I can tell the old woman is grinning.
"I live above her, not with her," I calmly respond.
"For how often you two are together, maybe you should," she not-so-subtley suggests. Balancing plates with expertise, she sets the table accordingly. I invite myself to breakfast and begin to chow down. "No smart-ass remark?" Mrs. Tarintino says with mock-disappointment, "Well then, it looks like Cupid's arrow really has struck." I can't help it - I roll my eyes.
"If Cupid's arrow struck, you'd have known the instant it did," I reply truthfully. Like any normal guy, there's one way I especially like to show my affection. Poor Bulma found out the hard way what it meant to.. have my heart. To be honest, I'm surprised we only had two children. Thank goodness there's birth control. I don't think my sanity could've taken that many little brats running around. Then there would've been the issue of finding time to do it. It was hard to get the two of us secluded, what with the way she worked and I trained. Maybe busy schedules was enough form of birth control all of its own. I mean, after a long day of work what you really want to do is sleep. It wasn't like we were quiet either. Hence how Mrs. Tarintino (as well as the entire neighboring apartments) would know if I was "in love" with Josie.
"Besides, I'm too old for Josie," I firmly state. It's very true. I view her as nothing more than a child, though I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate knowing that.
"Nonsense!" my land-lady retorts, "You don't look a day older than thirty!" And she's right. Unfortunately.
I'm not sure what possesses me to ask, but right then I question her, "Mrs. Tarintino? ...Where's Mr. Tarintino?" She drops a plate which I catch with ease. I set it down for her and do not move my gaze from her face. Taking a seat, she smiles forcefully and releases a sigh.
"You've caught me off guard, Vegeta," she speaks softly and with a slight tremble, but she regains her balance, "It's been some time since I've last spoken of him. Carlos died a long time ago. Both he and Rosalind - our daughter - were in an automobile accident. And I bet I can predict what you're thinking right now. I bet you're wondering how I can stay so happy, yes?" I merely nod. "I wasn't at first. After the accident, I blamed myself for what had happened. I had wanted to make something special for dinner, but I had needed several ingredients for the recipe that we didn't have at home. Carlos said to just hold off and save the recipe for later, but I insisted on making something special for them. If they hadn't of gone that evening, they would still be with me.
"For a long while, all I could think about was that if I had just been less stubborn everything would've been ok. There where plenty of times when I said 'if only this' and 'if only that'. Then, one Sunday, after church, I realized something. A lot of people ask why God would let that happen. How could He just let my husband and daughter die? God gave us free will though. It was not my fault for what happened to Carlos and Rosalind, nor was it God's - it was with the man who acted irresponsibly and had decided to drink then drive. I had tried denying it for so long that I almost believed it. You see, if it was not Carlos and Rosalind, then it could have been anyone else. In the end, you cannot blame the innocent, Vegeta." She smiles. It is a warm, radiant smile, and she goes back to her tasks at hand.
"I moved on. Sort of. I made this house, this home that you live in," Mrs. Tarintino talks in a way that I can only describe as emotional, "And now, you are all my children." Looking over her shoulder, she gives me a tear-filled smile. She refuses to cry though. She is such a strong woman.
I finish my breakfast, thank Mrs. Tarintino, and slip out the front door.
I go walking.
I go to the mall, and to the movies.
I go to all the places Bulma, Trunks, and Bra would have loved to go.
At times, I cry. Strangers stop to console me or hand me tissues. Others stare, ignore, and even make fun of me, but I don't mind. The tears are not the same today. I'm not crying because I believe that I'm stupid or because I can't stand living. No, I cry because I love my family and miss them. For the first time I can recall, I feel better after I cry rather than just tired. I know nothing has changed, but somehow.. these particular tears make the ache ebb.
Certainly, I could've acted more responsibly. Certainly, there were things I could've done differently that may have prevented the tragedy. However, Mrs. Tarintino is right. I did not kill my family. I did not kill my friends. I had been trying to protect them, but let my own selfish motives get the way of that. Ultimately, it wasn't my fault. That bastard had a choice, just like me, and he chose the path of destruction I had given up so many years before.
For the first time since the funeral, I visit the bank. I know that Bulma has left a safety deposit box, but I've never felt that I deserved whatever she's left to me, so I've ignored it. Today is different. Today, I want to know what she has hidden away. After proofs of identification are given and verification of my status and legality are thoroughly checked, I'm allowed entrance to the vault. I am given a single, small key and a number. This feels like it should be more difficult, but it's a breeze. I find it with ease, extract it from the wall, and use the key. I don't know why, but I hold my breath before opening the lid.
Papers.
Papers fill the inside.
And on the top, an envelope addressed to me.
I nearly drop the box I'm shaking so bad, so instead I sit on the ground in an effort to prevent that. Her handwriting.. it's been so long since I've seen it. Careful, neat, and tidy.. these words could all describe the way my name had been written in her perfect cursive. I breathe deeply and evenly now to keep myself calm. With anticipation and anxiety wreaking havoc on my nerves, I open the envelope. Unfolding the letter inside, I steel myself and refuse to rush.
Vegeta,
If you're reading this, then I have already passed on.
I must say two things immediately. One, is that I love you.
Two, is that I'm sorry. I don't think I got to tell you enough how
much you mean to me. I think you were always worried that I
thought you as second to Goku, but in my mind, you were
always number one. I think it's unfair that you compared your-
self to Goku so often when you two were nothing alike. Well,
I love you Vegeta, and that's that, and I'm sorry because I've
left you alone. I know you're strong, but I know you can be
lonely too. In essence, I'm sorry to leave you in the state in
which we first met.
In this box are all the important documents regarding
the family and the business. I know Trunks can take care of
these items, but I want you to know that you are in possession.
I'm sure you'd be excited to hear that you are now the proud
owner of Capsule Corperation via 51 shares in stock. Also
regarding stock, I've put some down in other companies. All
the information needed to collect, if that is the case, is in this
box as well. Please, don't ignore the bonds and other goodies
I've placed in here.
Try to smile a little, okay, Vegeta? I know it's hard
for you, especially at this time, but the only thing I can leave
you with is my money and my memory. Just try to view this
as me treating you like the prince you are. You're the wealthiest
and most powerful man on the planet now, which I hope you
won't soon forget.
Send my love to Trunks and Bra.
Love,
Bulma
I'd started crying the first time she'd written "I love you", but I don't think I've ever felt more uplifted in my life. She loved me, trusted me, and believed in me. Instead of feeling as if she's wrong, I know that she's right. Instead of thinking she shouldn't have loved me, trusted me, and believed in me, I know that she was the most intelligent woman on this planet. She loved me even though I had cursed, ranted, and raved at her. She trusted me even though I initially came to this planet to destroy it. She believed in me even though Kakkarot was stronger. Why? I do not know exactly. What I do know is that Bulma was capable of seeing something in people that others could not. She saw something in me, so instead now of trying to refute myself, I will put my faith into her. I read over the letter again.
I love you, Vegeta, and that's that.
I yearn for her companionship.
Try to smile a little, okay, Vegeta?
A smile comes to my face, for her.
You're the wealthiest and most powerful man on the planet now.
What will I do with this wealth? This power?
Another piece of the puzzle fits into place and a smirk comes to my lips. This is an expression I haven't made in a long time, but I like the feel of it again. Satisfaction washes through me - warm and fulfilling. Getting up off the floor, I head outside the vault and approach a teller. After my request is given, I'm ushered into an office where a man in a very expensive suit greets me. His name is "Kenneth Henslin", or so declares the name plaque on his desk.
"Mr. Vegeta," he greets me while standing and extending his hand. I shake it firmly and look into his eyes; he does likewise. "Please, take a seat," he offers and gestures, and I accept. While sitting as well, he gives me a little grin, "You have me at a loss, Mr. Vegeta. It seems you a requesting to transfer funds from a fifty-eight year old claim to a personal account?"
"Yes, that is my intention," I respond.
"You realize that Bulma Briefs had left her will in a safety deposit box so that only a family member could retrieve it?"
"Yes, sir."
"And that that will is fifty-eight years old?"
"I would be led to believe that age does not make it any less legitimate or less legal."
"I understand, Mr. Vegeta," I hear him enunciate my name differently this time, "but do you also realize that Bulma Briefs had been married for thirty-one years?"
"Thirty-two years, sir," I correct him, "and yes, sir. I should know, as I was married to her."
He grins again, but this time it's a little more sarcastic than before, "Please, sir. Records prove that Bulma Briefs was married to a man named Vegeta, but our records also show that that man was forty-two when they were wed."
I merely nod to him.
"Sir, many would applaude you for getting this far, but we are not that.. easy to manipulate. If Vegeta were still alive, he'd be-"
"-132-" we say as one.
He pauses to.. look at me before continuing, "and frankly, you do not look 132. Granted, you have a striking physical similarity to him, that does not gain you access to this poor woman's money."
"Well," I say calmly, "I'd hardly call her a poor woman, but I'd have to admit that a man called Vegeta coming in fifty-eight years later to finally claim her safety deposit box and her will is a bit suspicious. However, I think if you look over my credentials you'll find that-"
"Sir, please," Ken implores, "don't make this any more difficult on yourself. The proper authorities have been notified and will be here shortly." Oh great, the yuppie called the cops. This is about to be ten time more interesting - and complicated - than it should of been. I relax in my chair and give a small shake of my head.
"Don't worry," I tell him ahead of time, "I understand why you've done this."
"Thank you for your cooperation," he respectfully replies. At least he isn't a huge asshole about it.
It seems like hardly any time has passed when the police do arrive. I turn in my chair to greet them and a stupid smile breaks out across my face. The officers halt in surprise as well.
"Vegeta?" Officer Kimbell inquires.
"What are you doing here?" Officer Greenly asks, "They said they had a.. situation in here."
"That's apparently me," I respond with a chuckle.
"This gentleman," Ken interrupts our reunion, "is attempting to transfer money from a coporate account to a personal account by impersonating the person the claim was left to."
"Who was the claim left to, and by whom?" Greenly instantly springs into action.
"He's impersonating Vegeta, the widow of Bulma Briefs," Mr. Henslin explains. Both of the officers look at me as if to say with their expressions alone, Say it ain't so..
I recline in the chair and make myself comfortable, "Ask Mrs. Tarintino how long I've lived with her. Then ask her for the name of the last psychiatrist I saw - Dr. Reilly, then ask that the good ol' doc who my previous shrink was, and just go down the line. Don't worry, I have all day."
---
It takes all day. They also had to take me down the station. You know, in case I really was just trying to steal money. Needless to say, I've left several people completely flabbergasted from this whole ordeal.
Before I lived with Mrs. Tarintino, I did see a shrink called Dr. Reilly. Her records showed that I'd seen several doctors over the course between three and four decades - I've forgotten how long exactly. Before that, I have a medical file from West City Hospital detailing how I wasn't injured in a forty-car pile-up. Better still, thanks to my little prior hospital visit, my DNA was on file. A short trip to the hospital later proved my identity and I was able to leave custody as the richest and most powerful man on Earth. I am also the oldest and healthiest.
I can't help but wonder though...
After Josie gets better and moves on, what will there be for me?
I know I'm going to have to say good-bye eventually, but what happens after that?
Where will I go? What will I do?
Stay with Mrs. Tarintino..?
Maybe.
Move on?
I can only hope.