The Relic of Past

"Hey, how's your luck today? Did you strike gold?" 

Before the car even came to a full stop, the enthusiastic voice of Big Joe, the landlord and owner of Ulysses Antiques, boomed from the shop. 

"Good haul this time! We found some real treasures!" Sam waved, signaling Big Joe to come over and help unload the boxes. 

Big Joe's real last name was Kowalski, an old Polish surname, but the folks in this part of Missouri just called him Big Joe. Around here, Big Joe was as well-known as a local legend. 

This guy was a powerhouse in every sense—big, broad-shouldered, and a master of connections. Standing nearly six and a half feet tall, Big Joe's presence alone was intimidating, and few dared to cross him. His usual outfit, no matter the season, included a shaved head, a flannel shirt, worn-out jeans, and sturdy work boots. In the winter, he added a heavy vintage leather jacket that looked like it had stories of its own. 

Despite his rough appearance, Big Joe had a warm heart. 

A year ago, Sam had been in a rough spot after a bad business deal in Kansas City. He had been hired as a translator for an international firm but ended up unpaid for months when the company went belly-up. With no money and nowhere to go, Sam had been saved by Big Joe, who offered him a job and a place to stay above the shop. 

Over the past year, Sam had learned a lot about the antique trade from Big Joe. He had even been gifted a set of metal-detecting equipment and an old van to scour the countryside for treasures. 

"Don't tell me you found a Colt revolver!" 

Big Joe hefted a box as they headed toward the shop. Although Sam was relatively new to the antique-hunting game, he'd developed a knack for unearthing rare finds—enough that Big Joe's respect for him had grown tenfold. 

Sam grinned. "Better than a Colt. Check the bag in the car—it's something German this time." 

Big Joe's eyes lit up, and he rubbed his hands together. "Leave the German stuff for later. Let's see what you've got in these boxes first." He closed the shop's rolling door, grabbed a pair of gloves, and turned on the desk lamp. 

Sam nodded and began unpacking. "First up, a bottle of old whiskey—label's worn but intact. Found in a military supply box. And then there's this—an old Leica camera. Looks like it's seen better days, though." 

"A Leica?" 

Big Joe carefully took the sealed bag with the camera. "Your luck's improving, kid!" 

"Haha, I think so too!" 

Sam touched the charm bracelet on his wrist and continued unpacking. "It came with two sealed rolls of film. I figure the film might still be good—if we find someone who knows how to develop it." 

Big Joe's eyes widened. "You didn't open them, right? I'll call Old Anton tomorrow. If we're lucky, the photos might be worth more than the camera itself!" 

Sam shrugged and kept unloading. "There's also a few old coins. Nothing special, just pocket change from the era." He tossed the coins into a small tin on the bar, saving the more valuable tank coins for online sales, where he could get a better price. 

"And what's in the second box?" 

Sam opened it with a flourish. "An M1 helmet in great condition, and a vintage brass telescope—early war era, with the original leather case." 

Big Joe inspected the telescope. "Nice find. The craftsmanship on these early models is top-notch. Anything else?" 

Sam smirked. "Oh, the real treasures are in the last box." 

Removing the partition, he revealed two guns. "Check these out—a Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolver and a rare Thompson submachine gun!" 

Big Joe nearly dropped the telescope. "A Tommy gun? You're kidding me!" 

"No joke." Sam handed over the revolver and pulled out the Thompson, gleaming even in its worn state. 

"My God, Sam! These are museum pieces. How on earth did you dig these up in Missouri?" 

Sam grinned. "You tell me their worth, Big Joe. Dollars only—no funny business." 

Big Joe stared at the Thompson in awe. "This is insane. That submachine gun alone could fetch fifty grand at an auction. It's a rare wooden-stock version—there's maybe a handful of these left anywhere in the country." 

"And the revolver?" 

"At least ten thousand. Maybe more if it's in working condition. Where the hell are you finding this stuff?" 

Sam laughed. "Trade secret. Now give me your offer." 

Big Joe pulled out his calculator. "Okay, I'll buy everything except the Thompson for now. The revolver's $10,000, the Leica with the film is worth about $3,500, the telescope $800, the whiskey $100, the helmet $70, and the rest of the small stuff another $100. That totals $14,570." 

"Make it $30,000, and I'll throw in the Tommy gun," Sam countered. "But you've got to help me renew my work visa next year, and no more attic rent." 

Big Joe laughed heartily. "Kid, you drive a hard bargain—but done. That Tommy gun alone is worth it." 

"Deal." Sam extended his hand, and Big Joe shook it firmly. 

"I'll get you the cash tomorrow," Big Joe said. "And don't worry about the visa—I've got connections." 

"Take your time," Sam said with a smile. "This is just the beginning." 

As they shook hands, Sam couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. With treasures like these and the mysterious bracelet guiding him, he knew there were many more adventures—and fortunes—waiting just around the corner.