Frank's bulletproof vest

The rain has been drizzling all day. At the entrance of the G train Nassau Avenue, Brooklyn a middle-elderly man looked around without an umbrella. He glared his eyes over the thick magnifying glasses and looked at each person coming up the stairs the subway entrance during the rush hour. The two thick lines of the forehead under the white baldness further deepened. Both eyes shook anxiously, and the small mouth was tightly closed as if angry.

 

"Hi, Frank," said Charlie. Frank didn't pretend to hear. Rainwater came down his forehead, blurred the magnifying glasses, and the lenses of the glasses were covered with raindrop. The suit, which seemed to have been bought a long time ago, was greasy, whether it had not been changed or washed. Rainwater rolled over old jacket that looks as if the waxed. A black vest was seen in the black suit, which clung to him as if he had never taken it off.  He wore a shabby shirt inside a vest. Looking at him wearing a diamond-patterns tie on a dark red background and Charlie murmured, "Even if the suit old, but he has gotten everything he need!'

 

He had a bad smell on a rainy day. In contrast to the short, slender legs, the upper body had a bulging chest as if it were wearing a bulletproof vest. His arms hold his chest, as if he was anxious that someone would steal something from the inside of his suit,s pocket.

 

The meeting place with him was the Greenpoint Saving Bank, a neoclassical structure built in 1906. Standing under the high dome ceiling inside the magnificent building, he looked even more dwarfed. But he seemed more confident as if he were the owner of the bank.

 

He carefully unbuttoned his suit and slowly took a notebook out of his inner pocket, as if to find a precious treasure. The notebook was as old as his suit. The edges are rounded and the paper color was yellow. The notebook was tied vertically and horizontally with a rubber band. Carefully loosened the rubber band slowly. Then he put it closed to his eyes trying to find the record. After confirming that there was no record, he wrapped the rubber band vertically and horizontally several times and put it in his inside pocket. He patted his chest a few times to make sure if he put it in well. This time, he took out a notebook from the pocket inside the vest. He repeated the same behavior he did first. After checking his name again to see if he found the record, his lips were slightly distorted and he made eye contact with Charlie. Charlie, who was waiting with his hands on his nose to block the smell, took off his hands and responded with a smile as a strange smile spread around Frank's mouth.

 

"Well, you've paid off well for five years. Okay? How much more do you need?" At that word Charlie sighed, "Thank god!" and his anxious and complicated mind became relaxed as if it were flying in a balloon.

 

Six years ago, January 1986, Charlie searched the local weekly newspaper Greenpoint Gazette, thinking about how to earn money and live. A building that came out of the sale stood out. Where did he get that courage? He opened the real estate office door and went in. An older woman sat sitting tired and raised her disheveled face. “Can I see a house that says it is selling it in this newspaper?” he asked politely. “I cannot go together. I'll give you an address, so if you go see it and come back and talk.” She gave to Charlie a business card.

 

It was a red brick 4-storey building. He turned the first door handle. It opened. On the left wall, brass mailboxes were lined up and attached to the wall. He scanned the tenant's name written under the mailboxes. Last names are polish names ending in ski. The second door was locked. He looked into the entrance of the first floor for a while through the glass door. The ceiling was very high. ‘Not bad.’ He muttered, biting his lips, and worried.

 

He walked in the direction of the real estate office. 'No way,' he muttered, and turned back. 'It may not be.' he mumbled again, and walked to the direction of the real estate office. 'It opens when tap it. It does not always open.  However, have to tap.' He peeped into the real estate office and hesitated, pacing back and forth front of the door. 'That's a piece of cake! Let's go as far as I can.' He pushed the door in. “I like the building. But there is no money at the moment. Give me some time to make it.” The real estate agent looked with blue eyes at Charlie from head to toe and thought for a long time "Good. The landlord has already died, heirs have not appeared. It will take quite a while to find all six heirs. In the meantime, raise funds. Also, I'll introduce to you for the shortage of funds, as there is a local debtor who deals with us for a long time. But you have to give me the binding money." "How much? "If you give me $100, I'll hold the building." He came out after accepting the receipt after paying $100 as if he thoughts lose his money on gambling board. Charlie's footsteps, wandering through a hard life, suddenly became busier as if he had a motor.

 

A year later, on January 17, 1987, rain-swept snow fell. Charlie walked slowly the muddy road. He carefully opened the door of the lawyer's office and went in. Sellers, title companies and lawyers intertwined with real estate brokers gathered. Frank appeared decently around the time he had to give the seller a check. As soon as he opened the door and walked in, suddenly the smell of Homeless was swept in with the wind. As time went by, the smell became more and more disgusting. People in the attorney's office seemed to have no disturbance of smell because there had already quite connections with rich private moneylender. Charlie didn't know what to do, so he turned his head, hoping that the window would open. A young woman sitting at the front desk winked as if he had to endure a little bit.

 

At that time, it was about 13% to get a commercial building bank mortgage rate without credit. Frank got 10%. Rather, it was better than the bank rate. "Once you borrow money and pay it back well, you will always lend your house as collateral," said the real-estate broker who was next to him.

 

Since childhood, Frank has saved a penny and a penny in his job in a local theater. Then, he started private loan business. A small amount of money was raised to a large sum of money by interest, and then bought buildings. The taste of money called for money and the old black suit chest gradually swelled as if in a bulletproof vest.

 

The accumulations of wealth were his joy and hope to live. As if the gear rotates steadily and continuously, private loan business became his inertia. His five senses were only focused on the money that would come in and the money that he had to lend. When met his eyes, his eyes were blank as if he were in a money world.

 

Those who needed the money found him, and he devoted himself to thinking and acting to find people who would pay off interest and principal on time. Other than Frank being a money, interest, and private lender, the image of him was like a blank sheet of paper. I knew from seeing him wandering on the street that he had worries, too. If he didn't get the money he lent on time, he wandered around at the Greenpoint intersection, glaring his eyes and looking around in a haggard to catch the debtor.

 

At first he would have amassed wealth to live happily. And he was going to get married. But he was afraid of losing his hard-earned fortune. "Women are a machine for swallowing money," he said with a relieved expression, "How fortunate he is that he was not married," as if he were telling Charlie to manage the property well. Of course, he has no close friends or relatives. He became a habit to collect money without knowing the fun of wasting, and became a money-raising machine that never stopped as if living forever without love, loneliness, or sadness.

 

From one day, even if Charlie sent a check to pay back the borrowed money, the money didn't cash out of the bank. Six months later, a letter came from a lawyer asking Charlie to write 'Frank Estate' on the check and send it to the attorney's office. It was said that Frank was dead. A younger sister of a distant relative in Philadelphia, who was not even close to him usual, inherited it. When the moneymaking cog suddenly stopped, the younger sister of a distant relative embraced a considerable fortune. He heard there are someone who makes money and someone else that spends money!

 

Frank would lie in a coffin in a new suit. Were there notebooks in Frank's new suit inner pocket? How could he goes to heaven with a flat chest without wearing his beloved bulletproof vest? Charlie couldn't help imagining Frank so unfair that he couldn't go to heaven and went to Bardo and was looking down at whether Charlie was paying back the money he borrowed from Frank.

 

Charlie used to be surprised to see a man similar to Frank in an old black suit standing, turning his head from side to side, and glancing his eyes at the Greenpoint intersection. His legs were shaking and his mind was blank. 'Being tricked by a lawyer, is the check sent to ‘Frank Estate’ really going to Frank? "Isn't it?' he muttered, regretting that he wasn't convinced Frank's death by his eyes. After a few years of surprise, the Satisfaction of Mortgage was held in his hand to acknowledge his death.

"Hallo, Frank," was it a coincidence to meet you? Charlie left Manhattan, where rents are soaring, and among those many places, he crossed the Williamsburg Bridge to choose Greenpoint in Brooklyn. When he saw Frank looking for a debtor, "Crazy guy, why are you standing in the middle of the road with your eyes rolling?" if he muttered and pass by, it was just a coincidence. However, Charlie knocked on Frank's door to live, and Frank opened the door to Charlie. If Frank hadn't lived in Greenpoint, if he hadn't collected a penny and a penny to run a private loan business, if he didn't lend money to him whenever he needed it, where and what would Charlie be now? Frank went, but meeting him gave Charlie his life a root.