Seven Stud by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 15
When we got to my house we cleared our pockets on the kitchen table. Further inspection would indicate that the moldy, well-handled morsels amounted to $695,000.
We split it and we were so elated, that we celebrated with glasses of ice tea. Not wanting to risk ruining the good feeling, I put on the Eagles’ Desperado album. I knew that happened to be one of his favorites, too. Maybe it’s a guy thing, because I’ve heard women deride the album somewhat, saying; “Isn’t it a bit pretentious to fancy yourself a desperado?” I put some credence in their observations, but I wondered what they would think if the word desperate was substituted. He didn’t stay long, saying he was anxious to tell Alice, who would obviously be thrilled and at the same time, continue her dialog about quitting.
He was right on both counts and this time Butch unequivocally agreed to quit while ahead. Alice said she would get the process on the stone house purchase going in the morning and Butch raised no objections.
I called Diane for the first time in a few weeks, telling her that I won and that it looks like the game is over. She asked if I made enough to last a long time and I said; “No, but I can pay off the mortgage and have $100,000 left over.” She
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was impressed with that, saying; “That takes a few years off of how long I need Seattle.”
I guess I wanted to share my limited success story with someone in person, so I called Acheron, who answered the phone saying; “Federal Reserve Bank, Money Printing Division.”
I said; “You can shut down operations. Butch and I won a small fortune. How about we go somewhere and spend some of it?”
I found the rest of her conversation disjointed and somewhat indirectly derisive. What was clear was that there would be no celebration tonight and that she was getting busier recently, starting some new project she was very interested in.
It had something to do with artistically depicting the current state of the entire world, juxtaposed with her current state, both obviously moving, gigantic targets.
The Eagles album had ended and I put on the television out of habit. I really just wanted to lay down on the couch and it just happened to be there, that’s all. I thought about the next problem in which I might have some involvement: taxation. I knew that if I deposited the money in a checking account, I’d run the risk of a meeting with the IRS man. I decided to continue the original plan; pay off the mortgage in cash and burying the other $100,000 in the backyard woods. If I get in trouble and am required to provide information as to the source of the money, I could pay the possibly resultant tax liability
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with what was in the ground. I foolishly wondered if the IRS
worries about where their income came from. I must have fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of this conundrum, because the next thing I knew it was morning and fat boy was in the process of describing some caller as stupid, hanging up on him and proceeding to articulate the finer numerous points of the stupidity displayed, now, conveniently, with no possible rebuttal. I decided to attempt to end my own stupidity, getting up and pushing the appropriate button.
Later in the day I brought the money to the bank, where I was surprised to meet approving smiles and no problems paying off the mortgage, excepting minor annoyance from the girl stuck counting the cash three times.
I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I decided to return Butch’s gun as an excuse to barge in on him. I walked the deer paths in the woods, wanting to feel the day. It was now early fall and a strong gusty North wind was blowing the red, yellow and brown leaves off the trees, swirling around the ground and many blowing in my face. The deer paths became less clear, but I made it to Butch’s house, at times using the sun’s location, keeping it behind me and moving further away.
I saw no signs of activity, but quickly noted a car with which I was unfamiliar. It would have gotten anyone’s attention, unless they had been around bright orange Lincoln
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Continentals on a regular basis. Garishly sitting there displaying its mock lack of conformity, beyond criticism and advertising its conformity with numbers; lots of bucks. It immediately reminded me of Charlie and further, that if it was Charlie who was here, he was probably not on a mission of mercy.
I approached the house quickly, the wind and blowing leaves camouflaging any noise I might have made. When I got to a shadeless window, I saw that two geniuses had my friend Butch tied to a chair. There was no sign of his parents. My wild guess turned out to be right. Big loser, punky Charlie brought a relative. I couldn’t see if the new “friend” was carrying his calculator. In fact, no weapons were in evidence. This struck me as strange. How could they possibly get Butch tied up without a weapon? I’ll have to assume something was around somewhere. I wish I could see it. Butch didn’t show any signs of having been roughed up -- yet. You can never predict what non-professionals are going to do. “Time is of the essence” was my guiding principle and I forgot about unanswered curiosities.
I’d love to get in the front door. It’s near the family room, so, I can easily get the drop on the two nerds. I hoped it was open as I didn’t want to make noise breaking it down, which I probably couldn’t accomplish anyway. I said; “Shit” when I got there and found the door bolted. I noticed a number of outside windows were only protected by screens.
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I remembered an old trick Butch showed me when he popped a window on my neighbor’s house, about six weeks ago. Picking the window furthest from the action, I took out my key, inserted it where the screen met the wood, pushed it in as far as I could and twisted it. Quick success made me think; “Christ, this is easy.”
I climbed in, pulled out my gun and proceeded as quietly as I could through the carpeted house. Luckily the two geniuses had their backs to me talking something at Butch. I walked in the room silently and fired a shot into the ceiling, or so I thought. It left a mark. They all turned toward me, showing more surprise than anything else. One started to bend toward the floor, possibly trying to retrieve a weapon, so I said; “You move and the next one is up your fucking ass.”
It worked. Butch said; “Get over here and untie me.”
I said; “I’ll do you one better than that.” I pointed my gun at Charlie’s buddy and said; “Untie him.” When he hesitated a bit too much for my taste, I added; “Now, motherfucker.”
When he got the ropes loose enough, Butch burst out of the rest, like Hercules breaking his chains and proceeded to pop his dutiful friend in the eye. Then he retrieved the two guns, which were put under the couch seat, ostensibly for safety, I guess. Butch put them in his pockets and opened a closet door to get his own.
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I said; “Okay, Charlie, pay good attention. I could kill the two of you and get away with it if I wanted to, but I’m a good guy and I don’t want to. So, what’s the problem? You’re obviously not hold up men.”
Charlie said; “I suspected you two were partners and now I’m sure.”
I said; “So?”
Charlie said; “It’s against the rules and I want my money back.”
I said; “Charlie, you know there’s no written rule against playing partners.”
“Yeah, right, but it’s just not done,” he said.
“How can you be sure of that?” I brightly retorted. “Look, Charlie, the bottom line is, no law was broken. The biggest thing that hurt you was getting a virtually unbeatable hand when someone else got a higher virtually unbeatable hand. There’s nothing worse that can happen to a card player. And besides (I swallowed my tongue to say) you’re a good card player. I bet you’ve won more many times than you lost last night.”
Charlie sighed and said; “Yeah, I guess.”
I said; “Okay. The way I see it, you guys just lost your head a bit. Sportsmen sometimes do. Why don’t you guys just walk right out of here and drive away. No harm, no foul.”
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Charlie nodded at me and he and his friend did exactly as I hoped. When they took seats in their orange Lincoln Continental, Butch said; “Wait.” He removed the bullets and gave them their guns back.
When they left, Butch said; “You did a pretty good job.”
“Thanks.”
“You know that I had them right where I wanted them already and was soon going to accomplish the same thing.”
“Oh yeah. I just got this nasty habit of being impatient and bored.”
“Let me see your gun.”
I said; “Why?” as I handed it to him.
“I didn’t like the way that shot you fired sounded.” He rolled the barrel and carried it to the garage and proceeded to change bullets, handing the gun back to me, saying; “This’ll work fine now. Keep it, it’s yours.” I never would know that it was only now that he chose to give me the real stuff.
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