A Darkened Veterans Day

Written by Nicholas LeVack

They stood in a circle—their eyes darting around wildly in their sockets, briefly meeting to exchange uneasy glares. The intensity in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Everyone who had come to the celebration (or had some involvement in it) had been called to the City Hall’s main room, where they all stood growing into cynics as each person sized up the others in the room.

It certainly wasn’t the most comfortable moment in the world, and it got only more stressful when a police officer strode into the City Hall, breaking the silence. “Now what’s the trouble here?” By the look of him, he wasn’t pleased to be there.

The question hung in the air for a long time before someone finally answered. “There was a theft here, sir,” said Frank Thompson, who had been hanging outside the circle of celebrators. He was the head custodian and overall caretaker of the City Hall, and had a very haggard appearance; his gray jumpsuit was patched in several places, and the key chain at his side, heavily burdened with keys, was rusted.

The police officer grunted, displeased at such a vague response. “Give me specifics, sir.”

“Someone stole the Veterans’ pins,” broke in Mr. Landry, the son of one of the veterans. His father, who had served since before Vietnam even, had grown too old to speak up for himself and quietly sat in his chair barely looking perturbed.

The officer blinked, surprised. “What pins?” The veteran’s son gave a brief description of the pins: they were pure gold, decorative pins that were given out every year at the town’s Veterans Day celebration. Except this year, according to Mr. Landry, they were especially important, because they not only highlighted the services of the veterans (which they always did), but they also celebrated the town’s tenth successful Veterans Day celebration. In the past, the small town had been without the funds to throw such events. But beginning a decade ago, they started doing better financially, and the party seemed more extravagant every year.

“Why would someone want to steal the pins?” asked the officer, eying the empty box that he presumed had once contained the ceremonial objects.

“I assume they’d be worth a significant sum,” answered Colonel Abraham in a curt tone. Colonel Abraham, a well-known member of the community, had also served in Vietnam. He was among the minority who actually enlisted in the army rather than being drafted. He was a very strong looking man, even in his old age, and he had never seemed to be very nice. There was always a scowl sewn onto his face.

“Probably,” agreed the officer, who had stepped through the crowd to examine the box more closely. It was a simple cardboard box, with no corporate insignia on the outside. “Who was the one who brought the box?” he asked.

A small, timid delivery boy stepped forward. He shivered as he looked up into the officer’s eyes. “That would be me, s-sir,” he stuttered.

“I reckon it was that boy who took ’em,” spat the colonel, glaring at the delivery boy. “He was the first person to be in contact with them. Selfish punk trying to earn a quick buck, huh?”

“N-no! It wasn’t me, I s-swear!” he answered.

“Quiet, kid,” said the officer bluntly.

“Well what about the Landry boy?” yelled the custodian, key chain jangling. “I bet because of how highly he thinks of his daddy, he stole the pins to give them all to him!”

“I would never do that,” Mr. Landry responded. “My father would rather not be given a pin, I have to talk him into coming to this celebration every year. You probably had one of the best opportunities to steal the pins, Frank. Or maybe it was you, Colonel?” He turned to the rugged veteran, cheeks red. “We all know about how highly you think of yourself and your services; who’s to say you didn’t do it?”

The Colonel, who had grabbed the delivery boy out of anger while Landry spoke, opened his mouth to speak before he was interrupted by the police officer. “Enough. All of you go into the other room until I call you back in. I’d like to speak to the Colonel, the delivery boy (“Ryan Smith,” the boy muttered, feeling resentment when his name was not acknowledged), Mr. Landry and Frank Thompson right now. Gentlemen, please remain here with me.”

When everyone else had scurried out of the room, the police officer took a deep breath. Before he addressed the men, he noticed a plug of tobacco near the cardboard box. He picked it up and pocketed it.

“So earlier today, Ryan Smith here, the delivery boy, brought the box of pins to City Hall to be handed out to the veterans. Is this correct?”

Ryan, along with Mr. Landry, nodded.

“What happened to the box once it arrived here at City Hall?” asked the officer.

“We opened it to check that the engraving on the pins was correct, and then we went to lock them up,” answered Mr. Landry. “Only the custodian has the key to that room.”

The officer asked, “So the missing pins were locked away, until ...?”

“Until I was sent to get them,” finished Colonel Abraham, whose statement was punctuated by the sound of the custodian spitting chewed tobacco into a nearby cup.

“Did you get the key from the custodian?” asked the officer.

“Yes,” he answered. “And when I unlocked the room, the box was empty.”

The police officer grimaced when the custodian spat more chewed tobacco into a cup. “Will you stop that, sir? It’s disgusting. Not to mention very unhealthy, you know.”

“Sorry sir, the Colonel here got me into the habit. I don’t normally chew, all I have is what’s in my mouth, which the Colonel gave me a little earlier,” the custodian said, slightly digressing.

Struck by a sudden revelation, the police officer smirked. “I think I know who did it.”