Chapter 10: A Daily Little Trick

After tidying up his room, Lynch had visitors. His house was an old four-story building facing the street. The first and second floors were a small bar, while the third and fourth floors were ordinary residences.

Many hotels or bars rented rooms on the second floor for short-term stays—three to five days, or a week, sometimes even just one day—more like a guesthouse or hotel.

This model originated from dealing with drunken patrons. Bar owners would offer them a bed for an extra fee, and soon most bars adopted this. No one complained about making money off drunks.

Alcohol is special; it can make some people unconscious and willing to pay extra to sleep in a high-end room, or make others simple and straightforward. Every bar or tavern needed some rooms.

This meant Lynch’s place wasn’t in a remote or deserted suburb. It was busy with people coming and going, day and night.

The police said no witnesses were found. Maybe professional criminals, but it was impossible there were truly no witnesses—whether neighbors on the second floor, bartenders, or a few sparse customers on the first floor, someone must have seen something.

But no one would talk. First, Lynch had no direct ties to them; second, no one wanted to attract federal tax scrutiny for a stranger. Everyone chose silence.

This misled the police and gave them room to maneuver later.

Lynch had just finished tidying when some newspaper boys came knocking.

Their leather satchels were bulging, and each looked strained, their faces flushed partly from the heavy load and partly from excitement.

Their news dealer promised them an extra bonus of no less than fifty Sol each this month if they delivered the money and noted details about the rooms.

For kids their age, that money was important. In a few years, they’d live independently and needed savings. Though only fifty Sol, the opportunity was precious.

Before closing the door, Lynch glanced outside. The bar was right on a main road, with a corridor outside and a railing beyond that. From here, he could see most of what was happening outside.

Nothing seemed unusual, but he was alert. With his years of experience fighting… he found these kids suspicious.

The recent transactions involved these newspaper boys, but their news dealer usually came too, standing outside the corridor and never entering the rooms.

The news dealer kept a close eye on the boys, handing out lots of coins to protect his money and intimidate the kids. But today, the news dealer wasn’t outside.

What did that mean?

Any abnormality pointed to a deeper problem. Two possibilities for the news dealer’s absence:

First, he didn’t want any direct link to this place or himself.

Second, he knew this place was dangerous, so even though he cared about the money, he stayed away but had a way to protect it.

This conclusion was obvious—otherwise, he wouldn’t let the boys carry so many coins for exchange.

With what Lynch had been through recently, he already had a good idea of what would happen next.

He wasn’t afraid. Instead, he felt a thrill, eager to try.

“How much money is there?” he asked, bringing a small wooden box and placing it on the cart for the boys to pour in the coins.

The kids poured while saying, “Five thousand Sol total, sir.”

“Five thousand?” Lynch chuckled, glancing at their satchels. “That’s more than I expected.”

That sum was huge—enough to incriminate him directly. It confirmed his suspicion: someone was setting a trap, and he was in it.

If tax or investigation agents stormed in and he couldn’t explain the money’s source or why it was in his room, he’d face serious charges.

If they mentioned a deal, he wouldn’t escape. He’d have to comply unless he wanted to rot in prison.

He nodded without comment. Once the box was full, he wheeled the cart inside and said, “I’m going to the bathroom. Wait a moment.”

Five thousand Sol in coins was very heavy. The lightest coins weighed 3.7 grams, the heaviest 6.1 grams, with others in between—averaging over 4 grams each.

That’s about thirty pounds total, with each boy carrying over twenty pounds. No wonder their faces were red and they struggled going upstairs.

Inside, Lynch didn’t rush out. He dragged the box into the washroom, found sturdy pants from the just-washed clothes on the cart.

He tied the pant legs tightly and stuffed handfuls of coins into them. When the box felt lighter, he dumped the remaining coins inside.

With his pants full of coins, he tightened his belt and shaped the pant legs into a stick-like form, then shoved them into the washroom’s old, straight toilet drain.

This building was old, built before modern pipe designs. No bent pipes, just a straight main pipe with each floor’s downward-sloping pipe connecting directly to it. A one-way flap at the septic tank prevented backflow.

This prevented sewage from backing up, so downstairs residents didn’t have to worry about toilets overflowing. The downside was occasional odors, but an exhaust fan would fix that.

He hung a wooden soap box on his belt buckle to keep it floating above the sewage. This way, at night he wouldn’t have to dive into the septic tank to retrieve it.

After a faint splash and the box’s wooden panel tapping the pipe, he breathed out.

Soon Lynch returned with stacks of bills. The newspaper boys were impatient.

Their attention fixed on the thick bills in his hand.

He sat on the bed, casually grabbed some newspapers, unrolled the rubber-banded bills, and handed them to the kids.

“Count once, then I’ll count.”

This was his rule, and they agreed. Counting together built trust between Lynch and the dealers.

The kids counted slowly. When the first finished a stack of ten-Sol bills, he told Lynch the total and handed the bills over.

Lynch counted again in front of him, wrapped the money in newspaper, tied it with a rubber band, and gave it back. This was his usual method.

His original explanation was that the least conspicuous items in the boys’ satchels were those wrapped in newspapers, preventing unwanted attention.

The boys accepted this. Since then, whenever the sum exceeded fifty Sol, Lynch wrapped it in newspaper before returning it. It had become a habit.

Stack by stack counted and wrapped, Lynch sent the boys off and went back inside.

From his pockets, he pulled out thick bundles of cash.

He played a small trick: he kept some of the money meant for the kids.

This was simple: while counting, he’d lift some bills with his ring finger, skipping the middle finger, then at the last moment retract the middle finger palm-down to cover the hidden bills in his palm.

At that moment, the children who had finished counting focused entirely on the stack of money Lynch placed on the newspaper, allowing him to easily slip the portion of money he had concealed back into his pocket—he needed to get a rubber band.

Then, with both the newspaper boys and Lynch having counted the money, it was wrapped in newspaper and secured with a rubber band under their watchful eyes. The whole process, from Lynch’s hand movement to the money disappearing from sight, took less than two seconds.

Because the children were young and Lynch was older, they didn’t dare challenge his authority or suggest recounting. Lynch successfully reclaimed the hidden money.

If they had the courage to resist, they wouldn’t still be just newspaper boys.

He didn’t count about two or three thousand Sol. Since they tried to trap him this way, he wasn’t going to blame himself for taking some compensation first.

Soon after he finished hiding the money, the door to the room was suddenly kicked open…