After simply tidying up the room, Lynch received a visitor. His place was an old four-story building along the street. The first and second floors housed a small bar, while the third and fourth floors were regular residential units.
Many hotels or taverns have rooms for short-term rent on the second floor, ranging from three to five days or a week at most, with a minimum of one day for temporary lodging, similar to inns or hotels.
The idea initially came from the drunkards, where tavern owners would offer them a bed and charge extra, quickly leading most taverns to adopt the practice, as no one complained about making money from drunks.
Alcohol is a peculiar thing; it can cause some people to be unconscious in "high-end" rooms and pay extra for a night's sleep, while making others straightforward, so every bar and tavern needs some rooms.
This also determined that Lynch's current residence wouldn't be in an isolated, uninhabited suburb. The area was bustling, with many pedestrians passing by, day or night.
The police said they found no witnesses, suspecting a seasoned repeat offender, but in fact, there couldn't have been no witnesses, whether the other residents on the second floor or the bartender behind the first-floor bar or a few sparse guests; they couldn't know nothing.
But they chose not to speak, first because Lynch had no direct stake with them, and second, there was no need to get on the radar of the Federal Tax Bureau over an unrelated stranger, so everyone chose silence.
But this conveniently led the police to misunderstand certain things, granting them room for maneuver later.
Just after tidying up the messy room, someone knocked on his door, a few newspaper boys.
They carried bulging leather bags over their shoulders, each looking strained, faces flushed, partly from the heavy bags and partly from excitement.
The newspaper chief had promised them that if they delivered the money and remembered details about the room, they could receive an additional reward this month, no less than fifty bucks each.
This money was significant for kids their age, as they were a few years away from independent living and needed to save up to face the world, making this opportunity invaluable, even if only fifty bucks.
Before closing the door, Lynch glanced outside. The small tavern was right next to the highway, with a corridor leading outside and a railing overlooking the road; from his spot, most things outside were visible.
Nothing seemed unusual, yet in his heart, Lynch was already contemplating, feeling that the kids' visit was suspicious based on his years of resisting... experience.
Recently, it had indeed been these newspaper boys running transactions here, but the chief would usually come too, though they wouldn't enter the room, just stand in the corridor outside.
They handed the kids a lot of change, naturally watching them to prevent escape while safeguarding their property and deterring the kids, but today the chief wasn't in the corridor.
What did this imply?
Any anomaly suggested deeper issues; the chief's absence had two possibilities:
The first was he didn't want any direct ties here or with himself.
The second was knowing it was dangerous here; even valuing the change, he avoided the scene, yet had ways to ensure the money wasn't compromised.
This was evident without much thought; otherwise, he wouldn't have sent the newspaper boys carrying large amounts of change to exchange for cash.
Considering the past incidents Lynch faced, he was likely aware of imminent developments.
Not only was he not afraid, but there was even a trace of excitement, eager anticipation!
"How much money is here?" he asked, pulling a small wooden box from the side and placing it on a cart, instructing the newspaper boys to pour the money in.
As the kids poured, they answered, "Five thousand bucks in total, sir."
"Five thousand bucks?" Lynch chuckled, glancing at the leather bags of the newspaper boys, "That's quite an unexpected amount; I thought it would be a bit less."
The sum was hefty enough to directly incriminate him, confirming his suspicion of a setup, with himself as the target.
If Tax Bureau or Investigation Bureau officers barged in later, and he couldn't explain the money's origins or why it was in his room, he could face severe charges.
Then, if they suggested a "deal," he wouldn't escape their clutches unless he wished for a life behind bars.
With a nonchalant nod, he waited until the wooden box filled with the five thousand bucks' worth of coins, then he pushed the cart into the back room, greeting, "I'll just use the restroom, wait a moment."
The five thousand in coins were exceedingly heavy, the five-cent coins being the lightest, weighing 3.7 grams, and the fifty-cent coins the heaviest, at 6.1 grams. Including the ten-cent and twenty-five-cent coins, each averaged over four grams per coin.
Five thousand bucks, a hundred... thirty pounds, with each newspaper boy's bag carrying over twenty pounds of coins; no wonder their faces were redder than usual, feeling the exertion just to the second floor.
After entering the back room, Lynch didn't rush out; he hauled the money-filled box into the washroom, rummaging through freshly laundered clothes for a sturdy pair of pants.
He tied the pant legs tightly and stuffed handfuls of coins into them before pouring them directly once the box lightened.
With the pant legs stuffed with coins, he fastened it with a belt, forming a pole-like shape, then shoved it down the primitive toilet's drainpipe.
When this old building was constructed, modern ergonomic plumbing wasn't yet introduced.
No curved pipes even; parallel pipes could reverse-flow the upstairs sewage, so the design comprised a straight main pipe with a slanting connection to each floor, and a one-way valve where it joined the septic tank.
The benefit was no backflow; bottom-floor residents wouldn't fear sewage eruptions, but sometimes it caused odors, removable with an exhaust fan.
He hung a simple wooden soapbox on the belt buckle, ensuring it floated atop the sewage when retrieved, sparing him a deep dive into the septic tank later at night.
After a faint dunking noise and the wooden board's rebound against the pipe, he exhaled with relief.
Not long after, Lynch clutched several bundles of bills back into the room, finding the newspaper boys growing impatient.
Their focus locked entirely on the thick stack of bills in Lynch's hand!
He sat by the bed and nonchalantly pulled out a few newspapers, unbundling the rubber-banded bills and handing them to different kids, "You count first, then I'll count."
This was his rule, adhered to willingly by others; such dual counting established a critical trust channel between Lynch and the dealers.
The kids counted slowly; once the first finished counting a batch of ten-dollar bills, recounting aloud, he handed them to Lynch.
Lynch recounted under the kid's watchful eye, inserting it into the newspaper, wrapping, then retrieving a rubber band from his pocket to fasten it, handing it to the child; a consistent practice of his.
His initial rationale was that newspapers were the least conspicuous items a newspaper boy carried, deterring unwanted attention.
The boys agreed, and whenever the transaction exceeded fifty bucks, the money was newspaper-wrapped by Lynch. This habit adjusted over time.
One transaction after another completed, wrapped and banded, Lynch saw the kids off and swiftly returned to the back, extracting wads of bills from his various pockets.
He played a little trick, pocketing more from what he should've given the kids.
It was simple; while counting, he used his ring finger to lift some notes over the middle finger, concealing them in his palm after counting, ready to place the hand back in his pocket—for a rubber band.
Amidst counting, the kids' attention centered on the money Lynch placed on the newspapers, facilitating his palm's covert descent to retrieve a rubber band.
Then the mutually counted money vanished into newspaper wraps, rubber-banded under observed eyes, all within barely two seconds.
With the kids being smaller, Lynch older, they dared not challenge Lynch's authority by asking for a recount, letting him pocket the money smoothly.
Had they the courage to resist, they wouldn't be mere newspaper boys.
About two to three thousand; he hadn't counted, for if the other party used such tactics to frame him, they couldn't blame him for seeking compensation first.
After preparing and hiding the money, the room door suddenly burst open...