Blind Luck (5 page)

He sat on top of his covers with a pair of beige cords riding too high at the ankles and a green cardigan buttoned tight around his chest. Despite thinning white hair and heavy wrinkles, blue eyes and a symmetrical face suggested he’d been handsome in his prime. An oxygen mask dangled from his neck, and an oxygen tank rested on a stand beside the bed. Dave hugged him tighter than he had in months.

“How are you today?”

Jack pushed off the hug like a kid embarrassed by his father’s affection. “Enough of that sissy shit. The Leafs won by two goals; that’s three to one you owe me.”

Dave removed a blanket from a wooden chair before pulling it closer to the bed so he could sit beside his dad. “I need you to listen to me, Pop, this is really important.”

“Don’t try that snake tongue with me or I’ll cut it off. I want my money.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

Jack’s eyes widened while his voice mocked in an affected tone.
“Look at me, look at me.”
He pulled his hand away from Dave’s. “I’m looking at you, you bloody fool.”

“I need you to focus today, I need you to see me, okay? I’m your son, Dave, not your bookie, Alex. Your son. Dave, not Alex.”

Jack shifted uncomfortably before his eyes locked back on the T.V. screen, where a Scottish mid-fielder had received a yellow card for tripping. Dave tapped his dad’s closest knee.

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah, yeah. Stop poking at me, for Christ’s sake.”

Dave couldn’t speak fast enough. He didn’t care that his dad watched the soccer game, and he didn’t care that Jack probably wouldn’t remember the conversation.

“There was an accident at work. A truck crashed into the building and killed everybody I work with. I probably would have died too, but I went to the washroom. If I went ten minutes earlier or ten minutes later, I’d be dead. If I decided to check my email or chat a little longer, I’d be dead. Fuck, if it took me five minutes longer to get a cab that morning, I’d be dead. But it didn’t. Everything happened the way it did, and I’m alive.”

Jack turned his head towards his son. He stared at Dave for a beat to ensure their eyes locked before he spoke. “I want my money. The Leafs won by two, and you owe me three to one.”

Dave couldn’t’ remember exactly when his dad had started forgetting things. The doctors were so concerned with his emphysema, they hadn’t paid attention to his inconsistencies. But Dave had noticed his dad’s random assignment of names, the way he’d called a Honda a Hyundai or a Hyundai a Harley, and his love of dialogue from
The Dirty Dozen,
even though the words he quoted were from
Spartacus.
People used to joke about his dad’s funny way of saying things, until it progressed into such random misinformation that conversations were ruined.

Dave stepped outside 29 Palson Road to see Grayson standing in front of a black stretched Mercedes limo. His overcoat matched the vehicle’s grey piping.

“Hello, Dave,” he said, stepping forward.

Grayson was the last person he expected to see outside of his dad’s building. He considered walking past the man, but before he could react, Grayson stepped forward.

“My apologies for intruding upon your personal life, but Mr. Thorrin is concerned that I was too vague when we first met.”

Dave examined him for a moment to be sure he hadn’t hallucinated the character in the muck of his sleep-deprived mind. “Look, I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept in…”

“He wants you to understand the benefits of meeting with him, so we feel it’s best to be direct. Mr. Thorrin believes you’re lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you survived.”

“Four friends of mine died, he calls that lucky?”

“Where were you when the truck hit?”

“The washroom.”

Grayson stepped closer to him as if letting him in on a secret. “Do you know the variables involved in you being out of the room when the truck entered the office? Because I deal with numbers for a living, and I can tell you that something was working in your favour.”

The close talk felt uncomfortable, so Dave took a step to the side. “That’s not luck.”

“Well, this is. Mr. Thorrin is in the limo, and he’s willing to pay you five thousand dollars to talk while we drive around the block a few times.”

“Five thousand?”

“That’s correct.”

“You’re lying. For all I know you’re crazy.”

“Have a look at the car, Mr. Bolden. This isn’t a wedding-day special.”

He was right. The six-door Mercedes looked fresh off the lot.

“What’s the name of your company again?”

“SBT Global Investors.”

“Five thousand in cash?”

“If you like.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Grayson smiled, nodded and reached for a door while using the other arm to wave Dave inside. Dave ducked his head and sat down on a cream leather high-back at one end of a horseshoe couch. A quick glance around proved it had all the amenities-a bar with drinking glasses and decanters displayed, a flat-screen T.V., DVD player and fibreoptic lighting. Thorrin sat at the other end of the couch. He extended a hand while Grayson made his way past Dave to the next seat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dave.”

Though he looked to be in his fifties, nothing about Thorrin looked past his prime. With full hair, a defined frame and eyes alive with intensity, his body seemed to shun aging. The air smelled of leather, but he smelled of sweet cologne. He wiped at his upper lip, where a small scar in the shape of a half-moon ran down to the right corner of his mouth. Dave wondered whether it had come from sport, an accident or a fight.

Thorrin passed Dave a wooden case.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for those you lost; some things are too important to insult with words.”

Dave opened the case to find a fiventy-year-old bottle of scotch. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he said as he closed the case.

Thorrin spread both arms over their respective rests. He probably drove around so much in this limo that it was more a living room than a luxury automobile.

“I know about loss, Dave, and I can tell you that the only thing that moves past the sorrow is the pursuit of gain.”

He picked up an envelope from the seat beside him, tapped it twice on a knee and extended it to Dave. “You earned this just by showing up, but this is tip money compared to what you’re capable of. I think you’re blessed with the power of luck. I’ve made millions anticipating new trends in the marketplace, cultivating new resources, and you, you are a new resource. You can’t buy luck.”

Dave shifted in his seat, and his eyes darted between the two men before settling on Thorrin. “You think I’m lucky because I survived an accident? Hundreds of people survive accidents, probably thousands.”

“Not tragedies as odd as yours, they don’t. Do you know the odds involved in this happening on the day I was scheduled for a meeting?”

“Tragedies happen every day.”

“Maybe, but a look at your profile suggests this isn’t a one-off.”

“My profile?”

“Research is key to any investment. You had a twin brother who died at birth, correct?”

“So you’re saying it’s lucky that my brother died?”

“No, I’m saying it’s lucky that you lived.” Thorrin spoke without notes or prompts, which made Dave look at Grayson to see if he would reveal an explanation.

“You’ve never had a serious illness, you avoided all common childhood diseases like chicken pox and the measles, and there’s really no mention of injury at all in your medical history.”

“How did you get information about my medical history?”

“I paid for it.”

“Well, you didn’t pay enough. I broke my arm the spring of sixth grade in the middle of baseball season. There’s no luck in that.”

“No, but there was luck in breaking it falling from a school apparatus. Didn’t you use the twelve thousand dollar settlement your mom sued for to buy your first car while most of your classmates were still cramming into buses?”

The limo hit a series of potholes, causing everybody to bob in their seats. Dave leaned forward for the first time.

“I don’t understand what you think I can do for you.”

Thorrin held up a folded newspaper, which he unfolded to the business section. “I want you to select stocks. The return on your selections will be fifteen per cent, just like a good agent.”

The analogy pried a smug smile from Grayson, who sat with his hands in his lap.

“Stocks?” Dave asked.

“That’s right.”

“You don’t want me to pick stocks. I don’t know anything about the market.”

“It won’t be the knowledge that makes us money.”

Dave knew enough about risking money not to be blinded by the lure of possibility. “And what happens when I lose your money?”

“You won’t.” Thorrin passed him the newspaper with his business card clipped to the top. “Take a night to absorb what I said, then pick a stock. Any one you want.” He dug into his suit jacket, removed another envelope and tossed it into Dave’s hands. “There’s another five thousand in there. Consider it an advance on your selection.”

“This isn’t a good idea.”

The limo stopped back in front of 29 Palson.

“Go out for a nice meal, get yourself in a good mood and come by my office tomorrow afternoon with your selection.”

Before Dave could respond, a driver opened the door. Dave wanted to return the envelope, but five grand has a way of deflecting instincts. Grayson extended his hand.

“Good day, Mr. Bolden.”

For the second time, he held the shake longer than he should’ve, until Thorrin’s look suggested that he wanted Dave out of the vehicle. Dave stepped onto the sidewalk, unsure of what to say next.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dave,” Thorrin said.

Dave stood on the corner for a few minutes without moving before raising the newspaper to eye level. He hadn’t picked a stock since a high school business project.

Six

Dave went to his first funeral when he was eleven. In the morning, he stood beside his mother as she poured a cup of tea.

“Maybe Dad wants a cup,” he said.

“I don’t think so, dear.”

She stirred in the sugar without looking up. Her eyes were defeated and devoid of any spark. Dave thought it was at least the third day in a row she had worn her green sweater, and he hated seeing her so dishevelled.

“Can I ask Dad if he wants breakfast?”

“You shouldn’t go in there.”

“I can make him banana pancakes.”

“You shouldn’t go in there.”

His dad had been in bed for two days, the drapes were drawn, and he hadn’t come out for any meals, to watch the Leaf game or to take Dave to baseball practice.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Is Dad sick?”

She didn’t answer the question. Her silence told Dave his dad
was
sick, which increased his anxiety. She was supposed to say he was just tired or that he had been working too hard, but the silence felt worse than specifics.

His mother turned to face him. “Dave, I want you to look at me.”

He locked eyes with his mother’s.

“I don’t want you going into your father’s room. Do you understand me?”

Dave didn’t blink.

“It’s very important you give him space right now. I don’t want you to see him like this.”

Dave looked at her like he didn’t want to see her worried, disappointed, or ashamed. He promised himself he would never look that way. The weight of that promise held his thoughts as he picked at a bowl of bran cereal until he heard the T.V. in the living room. The sound of the deep-voiced newscaster meant his mother wouldn’t be moving for an hour, so he crept down the hall and up the stairs, confident that he had some time.

He ran the bathroom tap for a minute to make sure the water was cold before filling a cup. Entering the room with something to offer relaxed him. His dad was sleeping in the fetal position with his large back facing the door and layers of blankets covering most of his head. Dave knocked on the now-open door.

“Excuse me, Dad, I don’t want to bother you, but I thought you might be thirsty, so I brought you some water.”

Every second that passed made him more nervous, so he waited a moment. Two deep breaths led him to take two steps closer to the bed.

“Also, I’m going to make breakfast, so if you want some banana pancakes, I can do that.”

There was still no response, so he reached out to touch his Dad’s back. Suddenly the man spun around with a monstrous growl, grabbed him by the arm and tossed him into the bed, which sent the water splashing over the covers. Dave released a primal scream. His dad then moved to the boy’s ribcage, where tickling fingers and a more playful growl freed Dave from shock.

“I got you there, didn’t I?” Jack said.

Dave mouthed “yeah” as he caught his breath.

“You should see the look on your face.”

“You’re not sick?” Dave asked.

“No, I’m not sick. I just needed to refuel, and there’s no better time to get back up and going than when my boy offers to make me breakfast.”

“Are you going to get up?”

Jack tapped him on the shoulder. “I certainly am. And you’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see. But right now I need you to do two things. I need you to go downstairs and get me the sports section, then I need you to change into your suit.”

“My church suit?”

“That’s the one.”

Dave hopped out of the bed to see his mother standing in the doorway.

“With all the noise you made, I thought you hurt yourself.”

Dave knew better than to respond. She stepped into the bedroom as Dave slipped by her. Jack now lay on his back.

“Did I hear you say you’ll be joining the waking world today?”

“I am,” he said as he sat up. “I’m going to take Dave out this afternoon, but when I get back, we should go shopping.”

“Where are you going?”

“Boy’s stuff.”

“I told Dave not to come in here.”

“It’s okay, I’m glad he did.”

They were in the car ten minutes before his dad said a word. Dave knew this wasn’t going to be an ordinary outing. He hadn’t worn his suit since the previous Christmas, and he hoped he looked as cool as his dad—businesslike, powerful, someone people listened to.