Harold Cape was a simple man. Described most often as honest, loyal and even tempered, he would have made a good mayor or barber. He craved not the power of local government or the comradeship of a barber shop, though, and instead opted for a career as a craftsman putting together perfectly constructed fishing poles.
His poles were displayed in the dens of wealthy men and women who had never sat at a lake’s shore, but that did not bother him in the slightest. He took their money and bought himself the boat of his dreams so he could catch a fish or two. He was a simple man.
Even simple men can be complex at times. For example, Harold Cape had never told anyone that he had memorized the words of Green Day’s American Idiot. He was well outside of that album’s target demographic when it was released, but he knew good music when he heard it and now whistles the melody of St. Jimmy while sailing his dream boat and catching fish.
He was no fan of puns. He once punched a stranger in a bar for making a crude play of words involving the free peanuts. When his wife picked him up at the police station following a brief holding period, he told her there was an unpaid parking ticket under with his name attached that caused the trouble. No one, not even fishing buddies, would believe that he once punched a man for something so trivial.
He hated lying about that. He hated lying in general. Harold Cape feared lies. He felt he was too dumb to keep track of the truths he said, how in the world could he keep up with the lies? This fear made him an incredibly honest person, but he likes to make others believe he is capable of lies. Usually this amounts to little more than ending a statement with “or is it?” Followed soon with a dramatic ‘bum bum bum.”
His fondness for cake once cost him a winning lottery ticket. He told the story once to his oldest son and made him promise to never tell his mother. As he told the story, he was standing in line a gas station when he saw a flash of light from the corner of his eye. He over reacted initially, thinking the light was sourced at an incoming squirrel or other threat, but when he looked quickly to his right he saw a display of cake and other sugary treats. His stomach roared and his brained pleaded for the dopamine rush of a sugar binge. He left the line and went to stare at the desserts for a solid fifteen minutes.
The store sold a winning lottery ticket that weekend at 3:58 pm, exactly one minute after Harold had left the line. The man behind him had taken home 3.5 million dollars lump sum. Harold was furious.
It was in his anger that Harold did something he promised himself he would keep secret beyond the grave. The Monday after he discovered what happened with the lottery ticket, he donned a mask and grabbed a bat. He ran, he was younger then and still believed running was a thing people should do, to the gas station and robbed the store. He took a stack of scratch tickets, five Slim-Jims, a pack of M&Ms and a cigar he did not intend on smoking. Then he ran off to the night. He was upset with how good he felt after the robbery.
When he was far enough from the scene, he began scratching off the lottery tickets to see what he had won. He never claimed the seven dollars that showed up over the 200 tickets.
Harold Cape makes fishing poles. He’s honest, loyal and even tempered. He put a lot of effort in making sure this is what people think of him. If his secrets got out, well, by golly that would be devastating.