Blind Luck (23 page)

Amy had created an opportunity to get out of his bizarre situation with Thorrin, and he hoped he could look the man in the eyes and not have his tongue betray him. He didn’t sleep a minute that night. After four hours of lying in his bed running scenarios through his imagination, he decided to wait out the rest of the night on the couch in front of the T.V. Reruns of Seventies sitcoms followed one after another, but they did little to distract him. Losing Amy worried him. He figured it was possible Grayson would retaliate by ending their relationship, so he asked himself if it came down to it, would he suck it up with Thorrin to preserve what he had with Amy, or lose Amy to free himself from Thorrin?

In the muck of his sleep-deprived mind, the question had merit, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that even if he kept working with Thorrin, eventually he would lose his money, which would put his relationship with Amy in just as much jeopardy.

Just before seven, he fell asleep. Exhaustion shut him down, and when he awoke four hours later, the fear in him made a plea that it would be better to tell Thorrin the next day, but he knew where that feeling had led him in the past, so he sprang up and headed for the shower. Thirty minutes later, he stood in front of Thorrin’s receptionist, who recognized him and escorted him to Thorrin’s office. Dave wondered how many business people in the city would sacrifice their morals for such access. With dark hair and a deep tan, the receptionist looked younger than she was. Her face was full, but an easy smile drew emphasis to her beauty. She walked Dave through the open space to Thorrin’s office.

“Here you are, Mr. Bolden.” Nobody had called him Mr. Bolden before he’d met Thorrin.

Thorrin was looking out his floor-to-ceiling windows when Dave entered the office. His suit jacket hung on his chair, and when he turned to Dave, his face wore the weight of a stressful start to the day.

“Dave.” He spread his arms. “I’ve been having a bitch of a morning, but I’m feeling better already with you here. What brings you by?”

Dave took a breath. He could feel a shift in his body, and suddenly his legs were limp and his words eager to please.

There was no time to waste, no way to set it up to make things easier, so he stepped forward and spoke. “I want to tell you to your face that I don’t want to work with you any more.”

Thorrin looked at him for a moment before sitting down in the chair behind his desk. “That’s aggressive.”

“I appreciate that you believe in me and I’m thankful for the money, but at the end of the day, I’m just not what you want me to be. Eventually I’m going to lose you money.”

“So you’re playing hardball with me?”

“I’m just trying to be honest.”

“No, no, no. That’s fine. You’re like any good businessman, you want what you’re worth.” Thorrin opened a side drawer of his desk.

“I just want out.”

Thorrin removed a stack of money from the drawer and placed it on the desk. The stack was too thick for Dave to guess its worth.

“Maybe I have been remiss. You deserve a bonus—it’s good for motivation.”

“I’m not trying to extort you.”

He pushed the stack across the desk. “Pick up the money.”

“This isn’t about money.”

“Everything’s about money.”

“Not this.”

“Pick up the money. Go on a shopping spree, get drunk, get a blowjob and stop pretending this is so strenuous.”

“I want out.”

“Let’s not forget you asked me to set up more challenges at one point.”

“I want out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Thorrin rubbed at the nape of his neck, and his face contorted in disgust before he stood up. Again, it surprised Dave how tall he was. “At this point I’m starting to
want
you out. You’re ungrateful, you’re rude and you’re a whiner. But you’re a resource, and if you think I’m going to dump someone as profitable as you, you’re out of your mind. You want out, buy your way out.”

“How do I do that?

“You pay me what you’re worth.”

“And what am I worth?”

Thorrin leaned on the window ledge. From Dave’s perspective, his body was outlined by the seemingly endless overcast sky. Dave knew there were people who never saw a view like that in their entire lives.

“Why don’t you take risks?” Thorrin asked.

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“I wouldn’t be in your life if you were a risk-taker. You would have never been an accountant, and you wouldn’t have needed me to show you your gift. I’m offering you a chance to be rich, and you’re doing everything possible to pull away.”

“I take risks.”

“When?”

“When I’m in control.”

A smirk filled Thorrin’s face. “Then you don’t take risks at all. When I started in this business, I was making a hundred thousand a year at the top investment company in this country, and I risked the immediacy of that money in pursuit of one hundred million. And do you know what I found out? I discovered that the money’s great, but in the end, the rush of the risk is even better.”

“Not for me.”

“Not for you? Okay, you want out? Pay me a million dollars and leave the city. I don’t want anyone else around here benefiting from you.”

Dave felt his throat tighten. “I’ll leave the country, but I can’t pay you a million. I have six thousand dollars in the bank.”

“Then you keep working with us.”

Dave thought of owing Thorrin money, losing Amy, and stress eating at him every day. The combination gave him the strength to hold his ground. “I didn’t come here to ask you. I came here to tell you I’m out.”

Thorrin’s head snapped straight, and his eyes opened larger than Dave had ever seen them. “Don’t be brash. It’s not good for your father’s health.”

“Are you threatening my dad?”

Thorrin stood again, removed his suit jacket from the chair and put it on. “Directly. I’ll have him dragged into an alley and shot in the back of the head like a junkie, if it comes to that. And don’t even think of looking at me like a desperado because you’d be dead before you gathered up the nerve. But it doesn’t have to be that way.” He sat back down in the chair. “I’m going to write down an address. Do you remember Senthur?”

With his mind still stuck on the talk of his dad, Dave offered Thorrin a blank stare. Thorrin snapped his fingers twice to get his attention. “You remember Senthur?”

Dave thought of guessing the woman’s name, the men racing from the pit bull, and the sound the man had made when the pit bull tore into his back. He nodded.

“Good.” Thorrin passed him a piece of paper. “Now you have two choices. You can be civil, meet us and make more money than you will in the next year, or…” He couldn’t help but smile, for these were the type of moments that charged him. “Or you can buy your way out. Either way, I expect to see you tomorrow at noon.”

Twenty-Nine

After Thorrin’s threat, Dave needed to see his dad, even if his dad didn’t particularly want to see him. With his shoulders slouched, Jack wiped at a glob of oatmeal that had dried to his shirt while he stared at a soccer game on the T.V. as if Dave weren’t in the room. Dave didn’t mind, though, because if anyone could set him straight about luck, it was his dad. The man had floated on the highs and sunk in the lows, and if there are forces that control outcomes, Dave was confident his dad knew about them. He sat in a chair adjacent to Jack’s bed. A bag of baseballs leaned against the dresser, and he traced the seams of one while he spoke.

“In all your years of gambling, did you ever meet anyone who was really lucky?”

Jack didn’t answer, so Dave tickled his feet until he pulled away.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Have you ever met anyone who was really lucky?”

A question about gambling surprised Jack enough that he turned from the T.V. before answering, “I saw a few guys go on some runs.”

“But were they lucky? Was there anyone winning every time?”

“The casino’s the only one that wins every time.”

Jack erupted into a coughing fit that forced Dave to rub his back. Coughing as violent as that would unsettle most people, but Dave had watched it so often that the back rubbing response had become routine. Once the coughing stopped, Dave removed a coin from his pocket and put it in his dad’s hand. “Flip this for me?”

“Why?”

“I want to see if I can guess what’ll turn up.”

“Don’t be a jackass.”

“Humour me.”

Jack sat up. “You’re being weird.”

“I’ll bet you a dollar I pick it right.”

“Make it five.”

Jack’s fingers struggled to manipulate the coin, but this was competition, so he focussed. Dave watched every detail as the coin flipped through the air. “Heads.” He rushed over to the far corner, picked up the coin and smiled. “It’s heads.”

“Monkeys can do that, boy.” Jack had already turned his attention back to the T.V.

A rush surged through Dave that led him to a shelf, where he removed a pack of cards. “Do me another favour?” he said, taking the cards from the pack.

“No.”

He put the deck of cards in his dad’s hands. “Pick a card for me.”

“No.”

“Just pick a card for me, see if I can guess it.”

Jack tossed the deck across the room sidearm, and the cards scattered over the ground. “Luck’s for losers. You hear me? A winner makes their luck. Study the odds, learn the best plays, work your craft. That’s how you profit. There isn’t a man alive that got rich by crossing his fingers. I made every bet with that mentality. And if you embraced that more, if you weren’t so afraid of what could happen, maybe you’d be pitching curveballs for a living instead of counting other peoples’ money.”

Dave looked at him, and his eyes screamed,
And look where it got you,
before he bent down to pick up the cards. Two weeks before, he would have nodded while his dad ranted against luck, but something had changed. He would never admit it, but it felt good to believe he had a gift. He turned to his dad with the cards extended.

“I believe that worked for you, but there might be another way.”

“And there might be a golden egg in my shit, but I wouldn’t want to be the one checking my drawers.” Jack watched his son for a moment. He had always loved the way Dave’s brow furrowed when he had to control his temper and wished he was capable of the same look. “You’re a good boy,” he said with a wheeze. “You need to smile more.”

Dave looked at his dad, and the longer he looked, the more what he had to do became clear. He needed to visit Otto one more time. He looked at his watch. Otto was never in the office past eight, which meant that Dave would have to go to his loft.

Otto didn’t like anyone coming to his home, but with every hour counting, Dave decided to rely on the vintage of their friendship. Fifteen minutes later, he stood in Otto’s lobby, which was located in a former bread factory converted into luxury lofts that housed twelve very wealthy, very private owners. He looked straight into the surveillance camera for a beat, took two deep breaths and keyed Otto’s number into the buzzer.

“You’re late,” Otto’s voice sounded from the intercom.

Dave looked at the intercom for a moment. “It’s Dave.”

“Dave? What are you doing here? I thought you were my Thai food.”

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but I have to see you.”

“Okay. I mean it’s you, you’re welcome here whenever you want. I’m going to buzz you in, but give it a five count before you pull, or it won’t open.”

Dave didn’t get a thanks out of his mouth before the door buzzed. He waited for five and was opening the door when he noticed a delivery man jogging up the steps behind him.

“Is that going up to the fourth floor?”

The man squinted to examine the bill stapled to the top of the bag. “Four-ten?”

“Perfect, that’s me.”

He hoped paying for and arriving with Otto’s food would put his friend in a good mood, but with two full bags in his arms as he stepped in the elevator, he began to worry that Otto had company.

Otto was half in the hall as Dave stepped off the elevator, and his face contorted into confusion at the sight of the delivery bags. “You’ve got my food?”

“I do.”

“Did you tip him?”

Dave followed him inside the loft. “I did ”

“You shouldn’t have. Fucker’s late every time. And I mean every time.”

He took the bags from Dave’s hands and opened them. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Are you sure? Because there’s a lot of food here.”

“Positive.”

Too much adrenaline was speeding through Dave’s body for him to eat. Otto pointed a chop stick across the room at a white pool table with blue felt. “What do you think of that?”

“It’s amazing, the place looks great.”

“Slowly though. Once I decided to stay here for awhile, I started dressing it up.”

With fifteen-foot ceilings, one wall of windows, and three thousand square feet of open-space concept, the loft was every bachelor’s dream. He had five T.V.s. There was a sixty-inch in front of a horseshoe of leather couches, three twenty-seven inchers by a desk in a far corner and a twenty-two inch in the kitchen. All of them were wall-mounted, and all of them were plasma. A cricket match played on the sixty and three different baseball games on each of the twenty-sevens. Each of them earned flashes of Otto’s attention between bites of cashew-nut chicken and glances at Dave.

“So what’s up?” he asked, shooing a large hot pepper to the other end of the container.

“Do you ever remember me being lucky as a kid?”

“Lucky?”

“Yeah.”

Otto smiled a toothy smile as he leaned back. “No.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Because you had to be the most unlucky guy I ever saw around girls.”

“I’m serious. Do you remember me winning a lot in games or getting good grades without trying very hard?”

“You did both of those things all the time, but that had nothing to do with luck. You were the best athlete I knew, and you always were smarter than the rest of us.” Otto washed a bite of food down with a swig of beer. “Why are you asking me about luck?”

The question shamed him. Put so bluntly, it robbed the recent events of their magic. “I don’t know. I’ve been on a bit of a streak.”