Blind Luck (10 page)

He tongued the last of a French fry from his cheek before reaching beside him to lift two thick envelopes onto the table. He slid them towards Dave. “Start smiling. I bet that’s the most money you’ve seen at one time.”

Dave looked at the envelopes while Thorrin poured him a glass of champagne. “How much?” he asked.

“Fifteen grand.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s time you start believing in your gift. The stock you chose is D & T Amp. They happen to be the direct competition of Core Tech, the owners of the half-ton of memory sticks carried in the truck that crashed into your place of work. As a result of that crash and the subsequent bad press, Core Tech’s stock took a free fall, and D & T hit an all-time high.”

“Why are you fucking with me?”

Thorrin sipped from a half-full pint and held the mouthful for a moment before swallowing. “I can show you a report to verify the truth, but the reality is the rise was fairly predictable. We weren’t the only ones to make money. What’s more impressive is your unique connection to the stock. I want you to take a day or two to enjoy the money. Then you’ll make another selection.”

It occurred to Dave that Thorrin might be high. His eyes darted, passion glazed every word, and his hands moved from one object to the next. Those weren’t the words of a calm man, they were the words of dogma.

“Look, I’m grateful for the money, and it’s definitely a mind-fuck coincidence that I picked that stock, but I have to say no.”

“I don’t like that word, Dave.”

“The next stock I pick is going to lose money, and I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

He gave Grayson a deep look in hopes of some assistance, but the man’s eyes were locked on a waitress loading up a tray at the bar. Thorrin removed a set of keys from the same pocket as his wallet and extended them to Dave with a closed-lipped smile.

“I have a chalet an hour and a half outside the city; it’s yours for the weekend.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Find a date, put your feet up, stay in bed all day if you want.”

“Really, I appreciate the offer, but the last few days have been a lot, and right now I need some time at home to get my head straight.”

The keys disappeared into Thorrin’s cupped hand. “Fair enough, but the offer stands when you’re ready.”

Dave looked at his watch. Two thirty on the twenty-fifth of the month meant he had thirty minutes to get Otto his money. He rose from his seat. “I’ve got to get going.”

Thorrin embraced Dave in a parting handshake without getting up. “You enjoy yourself. We’ll talk soon.”

Dave examined the fifteen thousand during the entire cab ride to Otto’s. Thorrin was half right. As an accountant, he had seen more money at one time, but he had never held fifteen grand of his own money at once. He considered the odds of randomly placing his finger on the stock of the company that would profit most from the truck that crashed into his work. It couldn’t happen. He had a better chance of being attacked by a shark and struck by lightning in the same week. Thorrin had to be fixing something, but why? He looked at the fifteen thousand again, and suddenly it didn’t matter why, because he had enough to pay for seven months of his dad’s care.

He stepped out of the cab, over a puddle and into Otto’s internet café. The place didn’t have a lot of square footage, but it was packed with gamers, computer geeks, MSN junkies, and world travellers sending mass emails about their adventures. It was good business, which made it an even better cover. Dave walked through the café to the back, where he knocked twice on a steel door before entering. Otto wore a black button down shirt and black dress pants. He paced the back of his desk with a phone in hand, but he still welcomed Dave with a handshake before holding up a finger to indicate that he needed a moment, Otto’s face always looked angry.

His features were striking, but a protruding brow, large jaw and military box cut left him resembling a rugby player more than a movie star. Dave took a seat in front of the desk.

“Look,” Otto said with a scowl, “I’ve got to go. We’re going to have to finish this later. Just make sure you tell them to be polite. You understand me? Be polite. All right.”

He put down the phone. “Come here,” he said with his arms stretched. He pulled Dave in for a firm hug before sitting in a freshly reupholstered leather chair with large wooden arm rests. He tapped the desk twice with an index finger. “I heard about the accident.”

Dave nodded.

“What are the odds of that?” Dave turned his head to look at a fish tank, where a large eel slipped into a mountain of rocks. “Where were you, with a client?”

“No, I was in the washroom.”

“The washroom?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s some timing.”

“Yeah.”

Otto smiled for the first time. It wasn’t a pretty smile, but a “we’ve known each other since we were kids and you’ve seen me do some crazy shit” smile. “Well I’m glad you’re still with us. You’re early though, it’s only mid-month.”

“I’m giving, not taking.”

“Really?”

Dave passed him a thick envelope. “There’s fifteen grand in there.”

Otto looked at the envelope, clearly surprised, before smiling again. This was what he loved about life. The average person didn’t understand that he lived for what ifs, the unexpected, and the absurd.

“What? You got settlement money for this crash already?”

“It just came to me.”

Otto nodded in approval of Dave’s cryptic answer. “Well, that’s good. And I hope it comes to you a lot more too, because I don’t like seeing you in this position.”

“I appreciate that. And everything else you’ve arranged, really.”

“As far back as we go, I wish I could just give it to you.”

“Getting it for me is more than enough; I should be able to get it for myself.”

“Well, you just did, right? Maybe surviving the accident is a sign of good things to come.”

Dave nodded in agreement, but his face showed that the comment had made him uncomfortable. If five people dying was a sign of good things to come, then he wished he’d died with them.

Twelve

Dave found out about Mr. Richter’s funeral by scanning the obituaries. He knew one of Mr. Richter’s many long-term clients would put out the notice, and that despite being an only child and having mentioned no living family in the past, and despite not having a wife or kids, this was a man whose death was felt. The crowd of people at the funeral didn’t surprise him either. There were at least five hundred chairs and another three rows of people standing. The attendees included clients, friends, golf-club members, people from the numerous charities he had been involved with, local politicians, the parents of the little-league soccer team he’d sponsored, and every store owner in a two-block radius from the office. This was a man who had made a difference. Dave wondered how many people would attend his dad’s funeral.

Mr. Richter’s funeral made him think of his mother’s death. The day his mother had died, his dad had disappeared for four days. He didn’t leave a note, he didn’t call, and he never mentioned where he had gone or when he would be back. Dave sat in his apartment numb when the phone calls started, inquiries about the arrangements from second cousins, friends he didn’t know his mother had, and even her neighbours. He didn’t know why he was getting all the calls until he asked his cousin Bonnie, whom he hadn’t seen since he was twelve.

“There’s a message on your dad’s answering machine directing anyone with questions about the funeral to call you,” she said.

He paged his dad right away, but he never heard back that night. The responsibility hit him hard. He had to organize the funeral, and he had to pay for it too.

The thought of paying for his mother’s funeral with the three hundred and seventy-five he had in the bank made the muscles in his jaw clench so hard they hurt. He had only been working at Richter’s accounting firm a few weeks past six months, and he was still living cheque to cheque.

The task was overwhelming. He wanted to plan it the way his mother would have, only he had no idea what she’d wanted. He didn’t know what to put on her gravestone, what type of gravestone to get, what type of flowers to order, or what the priest should read at the ceremony. Without a will, every answer was reduced to his best guess. The thought of disappointing her made him pace until a wave of dizziness forced him to sit back down.

For the first time in his life, he went without sleep that night. He went to work the next day, but he couldn’t think about anything except the funeral. Nobody knew his mother had died. He chose to keep her death to himself, because he didn’t want to share such a private moment with people he hadn’t known very long, and because he didn’t think he would be able to keep it together if he was showered with condolences. Just before lunch, Mr. Richter approached his cubicle.

“Are you ready to eat?”

“I don’t think I’m going to take lunch today, sir.”

“I think you should, it’s on me,” Mr. Richter said, passing him his jacket from the coat rack.

Dave couldn’t say no to Mr. Richter’s warm ways. They sat in the front window booth at the local pub and ordered two club sandwiches, then Mr. Richter unfolded his napkin over his lap.

“Is everything okay?”

Dave nodded unconvincingly.

“Are you sure?”

Dave felt his eyes burn. “My mother died a couple of days ago.”

“And you’ve been coming to work?” The silence confirmed Dave’s confusion.

“I want you to go home, Dave, take the rest of the week off, be around your family.”

The food came, and Mr. Richter thanked the waitress as fast as possible in an effort to preserve the conversation’s privacy. When she left, he pushed his food to the side. “When is the funeral?”

Dave winced. Just hearing the word made his head hurt, but something about Mr. Richter’s tone compelled him to share his situation.

“I’m not sure. My dad’s pretty shaken, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with him. He directed all my relatives to call me about the arrangements, so I think I’m going to have to pay for it.”

“Can you afford that?”

“I’m going to have to.”

Richter looked closely at Dave’s eyes and saw that he was unsure, dazed and scared. “I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“No.”

“I understand why that’s your response, but I’m going to pay for the funeral. You don’t need to be worrying about money right now, and I can afford it, so let’s leave it at that. I’m going to give you a blank cheque, and that’s the last we’ll ever talk about it.”

Dave wanted to say no, but the weight he felt leave his body just hearing the offer made him accept the cheque. “I promise I’ll pay you back.”

“I just said not to talk about it.”

Dave’s dad resurfaced in time to prepare for the funeral, so Mr. Richter never had to pay for anything. But the fact that he had been willing to stayed with Dave ever after. They never spoke about the funeral or his mother’s death again, but every time he looked at Mr. Richter, he remembered the gesture and wished there was a way to return it.

Dave had to admit that Mr. Richter’s funeral was impressive. Listening to so many people speak about the man made him feel better, and the honesty and passion that the stories were told with made him hope he would leave such a strong impression on people. Seeing Mr. Richter appreciated was soothing, but it was still devastating to watch him be buried. Dave left the graveyard with slow steps as though he was unsure about the ground’s stability. A woman with shoulder-length brown hair appeared beside him.

“I’m Jody,” she said with an extended hand.

Dave shook it to be polite and withdrew his. Instinct told him this was a journalist, so he picked up the pace to make it clear he wasn’t interested in a conversation, but she kept up.

“You’re Dave Bolden, right?”

He stopped walking. “Are you a journalist?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know me?”

“I run a website.”

“A website?”

“That’s right. It’s about miracles.” Dave’s eyes narrowed again with disgust, but the look didn’t deter her. “We share stories about miracles so everyone around the world can be inspired by them. It’s important that people know when amazing things happen.”

“So you’re a cult.”

Her faced washed with genuine hurt. She’d approached him the way a football card collector would a Hall of Famer, and he’d dismissed her as a freak. “It’s not a cult. I just think you should share your story. You’re an inspiration. We had half a million visitors this year. Think about how many people they shared the stories with.”

A website. He couldn’t get past the imagery. “How did you find out about me?”

“One of our members emailed your story in.”

“How did they know?”

“I have no idea, but I want to interview you for the site so that people can read your story from your point of view. You’ll get a thousand emails in the first week.”

“No thank you.”

“Your story can change peoples’ lives.”

“No thank you.”

“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars.”

A bribe? Five hundred to pimp the story of his dead colleagues? The muscles around his eyes twitched with anger. “Don’t try to contact me again.”

The idea of a website made his blood boil.

He was at a funeral to commemorate the most gentle man he had ever met, and she wanted him to explain how an eighteen- wheel truck had killed everyone he worked with on a miracle website. He wished he could tell Mr. Richter how twisted she was.

Thirteen

Dave woke after only a few hours sleep. He looked at the clock to see seven ten and decided against trying for more rest. He craved a coffee, so he grabbed his winter jacket to bear the sprinkle of snow blowing outside his window and headed out. Three storefronts before the coffee shop, a series of posters stuck to the plywood surrounding a renovation caught Dave’s attention. The MC5 was playing a one-time only concert the following evening. Suddenly coffee felt irrelevant. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in Otto’s number. Otto answered on the second ring, and his hello sounded like he had a mouthful of food.