Sheer Luck

     She hears her name from the bartender out front. Probably telling her that her customer for the night is at the bar with his third drink and enough peanuts in him to make an elephant jealous. She fixes her lipstick and makes sure the mid-length black glitter dress hugs her waist more than her hips. She yells to the other girls to keep a watch on the area while she's gone. A chorus of half-hearted confirmation bathes her in indifference. She shrugs and walks out into the bar below to spot her customer.

    Once again, it's another night for Sher. She always knew that her life was going to be a bit more on the mundane side of things. Her mother told that a long time ago as Sher watched her scrounge every last penny they had for the food and books they both needed. Her mother -in a vain attempt to get out of the mundane- studied at the nearby college so she could teach. Sher chose another path; one that seemed more exciting at first.

    She spotted her customer. Rather lonely looking dude, given the drab business suit. The closer Sher got, there was more to look at on the man: black wild hair that went down to his shoulders, tanned skin from either outdoor work or the local beach. A silver watch gripping his wrist. A fading silver chain with a blue crystal pendant that looked like it came out of a fantasy novel. But there were other things that made her more curious. She pushed them aside as she sits next to her customer and raises her hand to the bartender. The bartender nods and makes Sher her usual drink. "You must be Mr. Locke." She looks him straight in the eye. To her surprise, his eyes are dark like the night sky. 

    "That is correct. I assume you're my-" He clears his throat, "-date tonight." 

    "The name is Sher. And yes, I am." She flips her hair to ease herself into her work. "So, mind telling me how a teacher like you can afford such a nice watch?"

    Mr. Locke gives her a funny look. "How did you know I was a teacher?"

    "Well, I say teacher. But it's more professor, isn't it?" She stares at him for a little longer. "Creative writing, or engineering?"

    "Creative writing. How did you guess?"

    "Not a guess, really. You have a notebook in your pants pocket, along with a pen that has left some ink on your right hand. You must write a lot to have that much ink on you. I'm guessing you are working on some sort of novel then."

    "A short story collection, but close enough."

    "Any particular genre?"

    "Not really." Mr. Locke rubs the back of his head. "Anything else you can tell just from looking at me?"

    "Besides the fact that you have more salt in you than a salt plain, no. You might want to grab some water before we leave. It will help you out."

    "How can you tell that?"

    "You keep licking your lips, like they are getting chapped. That's usually a sign that your mouth is still coated in salt. The water should at least start to get it out." Sher comments while she takes her Moscow Mule from the bartender with a wink. "Could you get a glass of water for my client?" She asks sweetly. The bartender smirks at Mr. Locke and nods to Sher. "Thanks." She goes back to looking at him. "Other than that, I have no other observations to make for the moment. Though I do have a question."

    "And what would that be?"

    "Why are you wearing a pendant that looks like the save crystal from the Final Fantasy series?"

    "Oh, that's what this is. If only I knew-" Mr. Locke stops, "Nevermind. It was something I received in the mail a long time ago from an old friend."

    "Gotcha." Sher nods. She gives Mr. Locke a moment to take a drink of  his water. "So, are you-?"

    "I heard from Detective Stewart that you were fairly skilled in figuring out problems." He says. Sher tilts her head to the side in confusion at the sudden shift in tone. He seems a little more rigid and nervous now compared to the sociable professor only a second ago. 

    "Ah, yes. That detective." Sher shrugs and takes another drink to think about the motive behind this job. "My girlfriends and I have helped him from time to time." 

    "Yeah, he mentioned that." Mr. Locke pulls out the notebook from his pocket; a black pocket notebook with several circular stickers littering the cover. "You were right that I had a notebook. But this one is not mine. It belongs to someone I thought I could- well, the rest of that thought is not important. I just thought you could take a look at it and see if you noticed something that I didn't. There is a lot in there that I seem to be missing."

    "I see. Yeah, I will take a look." Sher gently pulls the notebook into her space. "Who gave you this notebook?"

    "A friend of mine. Someone who has been missing for the last ten years. I thought I could get a chance to talk to her, but-" Mr. Locke looks down. Sher wonders how much he is hiding in that academically-jumbled brain he has. "But that doesn't matter either. What matters is if you can figure out anything that I didn't already. All that I know for sure is that it belongs to someone important, and that she sent it to me to keep in case it was needed. Her words, not mine."

    Sher flips the notebook open to see a pair of symbols on the front inside cover: a number sign and an x. There is also something written in cursive; Sher is not concerned with it. It is not meant to be read by her. She flips the next page over and finds a hoard of information laid at her feet. She doesn't really read through most of it; she skims a lot of it. Most of it is freestyle poetry about someone; what Sher assumes is the name is written in a strange code of lines and dots. "Who is Arthur?" She asks after a few minutes.

    "Arthur?" Mr. Locke repeats. 

    "That's what the name in code says." She points to the lines and dots on the page. She finds an entire page worth of text written in the same way. "Yes. I am reading that write. It says Arthur." She looks to the professor. "You're not an Arthur, are you?"

    "No, but I think I know what she's referring to. But how can you read that?"

    "Simple code. Each pair of lines and dots marks a specific letter. The symbols on the cover are a key."

    "That's why she wrote that on the top of her journal pages!" Mr. Locke covers his mouth and blushes. "Sorry, sorry, please-"

    "This journal, or another one?"

    "All of them, honestly." He sighs and musters up some courage. "She attended the same classes I did. I sat next to her a lot. She would write those symbols, then start writing in this code. Used to pass notes to a friend with that code too."

    "I take it you got too close to her, didn't you?"

    "No! Well, maybe. I-" He looks down at his shoes for a moment. "I wanted to be closer. But that's- that's something I have to come to terms with on my part." He shakes his head in a vain attempt to clear it. "But what does the code say?"

    Sher goes back to the pages of the notebook. With this code key in her mind, the coded writing reads as clear as English to her. "Most of it seems to be thoughts about Arthur. It kind of bounces around between admiring him from afar and- well, essentially whinging about her supposed 'bad luck' at not being able to catch his eye. Then there is some fiction writing here. I think it's about Arthur as a story character and-" Sher reads a name that stops her dead in her tracks. "Is this-?"

    "What?" Mr. Locke asks.

    Sher closes the book and places her hand on top of it. "This notebook. Did it belong to someone important?"

    "Someone important to me, yes."

    "No, not just important to you." Sher slides the notebook back to Mr. Locke. "This notebook belongs to one of the most popular fiction authors of the last ten years."

    "How- how did you figure that out? Are you some sort of Sherlock Holmes for our modern reality?" Mr. Locke jokes. 

    Sher stares at him. "Not entirely. Though my mother did find it amusing to give me a name that suited my skills."

    "Which was?"

    Sher laughs. "You will call me Sher. Those who know my true nature will call me Sherlock. It is sheer luck that it's a girl's name, after all."

~

    I was going to add more to this piece, but this is definitely a "throw fictional spaghetti at the wall" kind of piece. Maybe one day I will add more to do it, or do something with it.