4

Indy burst out laughing so hard and so long that even his bewildered captive finally grinned and began to chuckle. "A dream journal? A journal full of descriptions of his nightly dreams? My father would never have kept anything like that! He'd never waste his time!"

Rory calmed first and waited for the older man to wipe at his watering eyes with one hand. "If it's not here, Dr. Jones, then perhaps you've moved it. This isn't your residence, but I suppose you brought some of your father's notes and journals home to pore over at a later time? To determine if they truly hold any clues or value?"

Indy burst into a fresh round of guffaws. "You're serious! That's even worse!"

"It may not look like a dream journal," the red-haired man seated on the floor continued. "I was told it could also resemble a thesaurus, a list of similar ideas, or mere practice with a pen."

Wiping at his eyes again and ending his merriment with a loud sniffle, Indy said, "You were told? Who are you working for?"

"Have you seen anything like what I'm trying to describe?" Rory pleaded. "Have you any idea what I'm talking about?"

After Henry Sr.'s death, Indy had indeed performed a quick perusal of his personal effects, selling some off, donating a couple of pieces, storing some, and taking only a few items back to his own home. Oddball notes and papers he was not immediately able to discern the purpose of remained boxed in his study, awaiting further scrutiny. "Let's say I know exactly what you're talking about. What of it?"

"Then I'm prepared to make you a handsome offer for them."

Rory's smile seemed pathetic. "How much?"

"Two hundred dollars. Cash."

Indy chuckled again.

"Three hundred."

"Not even worth the effort."

"Five."

"Instead of playing games with me, Mr. McKenna, why don't you just cut to the chase?"

The man on the floor contemplated the situation, then croaked, "I can offer five thousand dollars if you can provide exactly what I'm looking for."

Indy inhaled deeply. "Which is a drop in the bucket compared to what somebody thinks those papers are really worth. What if I eliminate the middle man and choose to deal with whoever's behind this myself?"

McKenna paled and looked absolutely miserable. He allowed his upraised right knee to droop sideways toward the floor. "I have a small son," he admitted softly.

Indy rolled his eyes and sighed. "You have the five thousand on you?"

"I have access to it," he said, brightening with hope.

"And no way to abscond with it yourself?"

The red-head wilted again.

"So whoever you work for must be a pretty tough customer."

Rory shrugged unhappily.

"How long have you worked for him?"

"Ah…now that's a story."

"I'm intrigued," admitted Indy. "I'd like to locate this alleged document or documents myself—not necessarily to sell them or to give them to anybody."

"But you're not sure you'd know what you were looking at even if you had it in your hands."

"Would you?"

McKenna nodded solemnly.

"What's the value of it anyway? I mean, aside from five grand?"

Going for broke, McKenna confessed, "Your father may allegedly have discovered the key to the Apocalypse."