’Luck or Design? Is your life all it’s meant to be?’
He thought about the question for a second then clumsily snatched it up between his bandaged fingers. Somewhere deep inside him, it struck a chord. Closing his fist over the tract he stuffed it inside the hollow of his cast where it folded over his palm, then headed toward the door. A stealthy look outside his room told him the coast was clear. He remembered the girl, Jo, and found himself wishing upon the universe that she’d be nosying around somewhere else right now. As he made his way up the corridor he caught sight of a door marked ‘Medical Personnel Only.’ Two chatty nurses emerged from behind the door and he quickly sat down on a nearby empty wheelchair. When they had left, he slipped inside.
“Jackpot!” he exclaimed under his breath.
It was the staff locker room. He hastily moved between the lockers in search of clothing, relieved when he found a pair of men’s jeans and a dark green sweater. Changing into the clothes with a broken arm proved to be much harder than he’d anticipated. Two lockers further down he slipped a pair of trainers on and was good to go.
Satisfied freedom was within reach, he helped himself to a faded yellow baseball cap that dangled from a hook on the wall on the way out.
At the end of the corridor, he turned the corner where he had just passed the nurses’ station and almost bumped into two police officers who were heading toward the nurse on duty. He heard them announce they were there for the mystery guy who’d got mugged. Lenny increased his pace, deciding to take the stairwell down instead. Once through the door, he descended two steps at a time, wincing each time his feet hit the hard surface. Another flight of stairs delivered him to an area where two paramedics burst through a double door in front of him, pushing a gurney past him into a giant elevator to his left. Caught up in the trauma they barely took notice of him as he slipped through the double doors and made his escape between several parked ambulances.
* * *
The truck driver didn’t ask any questions when Lenny begged him for a lift into the city. He knew not to. People hitched rides with him all the time. Most of them were troubled teens. The less he knew the better. As agreed, the trucker dropped Lenny at the service station a few blocks away from home. By the time Lenny got to his front door, he was totally worn out and in dire need of more of whatever the nurse had injected earlier. But at least he was home.
Lenny lived alone in a derelict two-bedroom government house in a seedy part of town on the outskirts of Atlanta. The sitting room was, as always, a mess. Old pizza boxes, some with rotten, moldy leftovers, lay scattered throughout the tiny house. A few dozen empty beer bottles were strewn all over the stained mustard-colored carpet and stale cigarette smoke lay thick in the air. As was to be expected, the kitchen had a stench so foul that, even with the window open, it took your breath away. But none of it bothered Lenny much at all. He went straight for the rusty fridge and scooped up a six-pack of beers with his one arm. As he flopped down into the sagging brown sofa he somehow knew exactly where to find the tv remote under a stack of old newspapers on the floor.
“Lucky Lenny is back, baby!” he announced out loud to the sports commentator on the betting channel.
He gulped down four large swigs of beer and reached for the cordless phone stuck between the two cushions of the couch. His thumb quickly moved over the buttons before he wedged the phone between his cheek and his shoulder.
“Hey, it’s me. Could you help out an old friend? Have I ever let you down, huh? Who was there for you when you first started out in this neighborhood, huh? That’s right, me. I don’t need much. Ten large on number three for tonight. Of course I’m sure. Call it a hunch. Don’t worry, Dutchy. Lucky Lenny is feeling very lucky tonight. How long have we known each other, huh? I told you I’m good for it. I just need a little more time. Hey, who took the heat when your son got himself into trouble, huh? I lost my job because of that. Fine, fifteen percent, but not a penny more. Attaboy. I owe you, buddy.”
Lenny hung up the phone and opened another beer. He stripped down to his underwear and settled back in on the sofa, his eyes glued to the horses as they lined up behind the gates. His eye caught the corner of the tract where it poked out from underneath his cast. As he recalled the words he sucked air through the tiny gap between his two front teeth. ‘Luck or Design?’ What did that even mean? Luck he knew all too well. He wasn’t dubbed Lucky Lenny without reason. But design? Designed by who? God? He highly doubted that. His very existence was nothing more than an accident. A product of a drunken loser who’d had his evil ways with his mother. Nothing about that was designed. He pushed the piece of paper back in place and focused his attention on the horses instead. That was something he could believe in.
The gates flew open and Lenny leaned forward in anticipation of a win. But as his luck would have it, his horse didn’t even place. He swore under his breath and tossed his bottle of beer against the wall behind the television set. That was his last chance, his only hope of getting himself out of this mess he’d somehow managed to land himself in. Moments later his phone rang. He knew who it was so he didn’t answer. Suddenly the walls started closing in on him. Just a few short moments ago he’d felt on top of the world. Now he’d sunk back into the bottomless pit he had spent most of his life in. He plucked at the bandage that wrapped around most of his torso. It felt tight and suffocating. He’d have to have another go at it. As soon as the day broke he’d head downtown. All he needed was to deliver one more package. Actually deliver it.
Chapter Three
He pulled the collar of his black leather jacket over his mouth and tucked his left hand into the pocket. The icy morning air on his skin had turned his fingers bright pink. His broken arm throbbed with pain. He had removed the sling to better hide his injury. Showing weakness and being vulnerable would only stunt his chances.
When he was almost at the usual meeting point under the bridge near the station, he stopped. He briefly threw his head back and closed his eyes. It was now or never. His last chance. He’d beg if he had to.
He smoothed his greasy hair back and took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then set off down the path toward the bridge.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the snake with the itchy fingers.” A tall dark-haired man in smart jeans and a black wool coat greeted him under the bridge.
“Hey, Diaz,” he said sheepishly.
“You have quite the nerve showing your face here, Lenny.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah well, sorry ain’t cutting it. Get lost.”
“Please, I need this.”
“You stole, Lenny! From one of my top clients. Not to mention that you stabbed me in the back. You nearly cost me my reputation.”
“It won’t happen again. I was stupid.”
“You’ve got that right. Now scram. I have loyal runners arriving any second now.”
“Please, Diaz, I need one more job. A big one. I owe a lot of people money.”
Diaz threw his head back as he bellowed a sadistic laugh then ejected a ball of saliva at Lenny’s feet.
“You’re scum, Lenny! They should’ve killed you. I should kill you!”
“Oh they tried, believe me. Where do you think I’ve been the last week? Fighting for my life in the hospital, that’s where,” he answered his own question in an effort to conceal his nerves.
Diaz didn’t say anything. He just stared into Lenny’s eyes.
“So you’ve finally run out of that luck you keep talking about. Desperate then, aren’t you?”
Lenny nodded.
“Very.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“Look at me, Diaz. I have nothing left to lose. I almost died, man. I have every bookie between here and Vegas out to get me. I need this job. This is my only hope of staying alive. I need the money.”
Diaz drew the mucus in his nose to the back of his throat, his eyes never leaving Lenny’s.
“How much are
you in for?”
“Quarter of a million.”
A smug look in Diaz’s eyes preceded a wide grin that displayed a mixture of pleasure and surprise. Seconds later he pulled out his mobile phone and pulled one leather glove off with his teeth before gliding his thumb up and down the screen, glancing Lenny’s way every few seconds.
“Let’s see how lucky you really are, Lenny. If you can pull this one off you’re in for a cool million payday. Mess it up and I’ll be spitting on your grave.”
“You won’t regret it, Diaz, I promise! You can count on me. Thank you… thank you. I won’t let you down.”
“Yeah, whatever. Spare me the soppy gratitude. Get on with it. You’ll find your burner at the pickup. Your keywords are strawberries and champagne. And, Lenny, if you get caught, you keep your trap shut, understand. Or I’ll make sure you won’t live another day this time.”
Lenny nodded and quickly turned to walk away.
En route to the pickup, he had a newfound spring in his step. He had done it once again. Somehow he had managed to talk his way into another opportunity. He found himself smiling as if he had already collected the million-dollar payment. Mexico was one drop-off away from happening. He’d pay off everyone he owed and hop on the next plane out of there.
“Who’s designing now, huh?” he shouted up toward the heavens.
* * *
The pickup was a newsstand in Downtown Atlanta. He waited until there were no customers and walked up to the girl who sat behind the glass window. Looking over his shoulder he used their code phrase.
“It’s a great day for a picnic, isn’t it?”
The girl with the bleach-blonde hair looked up from her gossip magazine and blew a bright pink bubblegum bubble between her dark purple lips. She popped the bubble with one matching purple fingernail before twirling the stretchy candy around her finger.
“Oh yeah? And what would you have in your picnic basket?”
“Strawberries and champagne.”
The girl stopped playing with her gum midway between twirls and looked at him as if she’d just seen a ghost. She sat like that for at least five seconds, not saying a word.
“Strawberries and champagne,” Lenny repeated, looking over his shoulder again.
“I’m not deaf, you know. I just can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“You don’t know. Boy, then you’re an even bigger fool than you look.”
“Know what?”
She snickered as she reached for a newspaper and quickly buried the disposable mobile phone between the layers before she slid it through the opening in the window.
“Know what? Tell me,” Lenny pushed again.
“Have a great picnic. I would have said you should let me know how it goes, but it’s pointless. You won’t make it back here.”
There was no time for Lenny to get her to explain what she meant before a fat, bald guy suddenly stood peering over his shoulder.
The girl’s comment had Lenny somewhat on edge as he made his way back to his apartment to wait for further instructions. What didn’t she tell him? Why did she think he was a fool?
* * *
A few short blocks from his house he had forgotten about the stupid girl’s comments. What did she know anyhow? She was just the contact who handed out the burner phones. His mind was firmly focused on Mexico. That’s all he cared about right now. He’d wait at his apartment for the instruction to come through, deliver the package, and collect his money. Nothing a regular courier guy didn’t already do. How hard could it be? This time next week he’d be on a Mexican beach soaking up the sun.
He popped into the drug store down the street from his house and bought some painkillers. When he exited the shop he spotted the black SUV with the gold gorilla sticker on the rear. It was Dutch’s boys. They’d come to collect the ten grand he had lost the previous night. So he popped back into the shop to wait it out.
“If you’re not buying you need to get out, please.”
The man behind the counter shouted at him.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, son. You’re either planning to shoplift or you’re hiding from someone. I don’t want any trouble in my store. Get out before I call the police.”
“Fine, cool it, old man. Can I slip out the back?” Lenny nervously peered out into the street and saw they had parked outside his house. His eyes begged the store owner to cut him some slack.
Relieved to have the man push his chin up in the direction of the back exit, Lenny dashed toward it and hid in the alley behind the dumpsters.
When he was certain Dutch’s men had left and it was safe to go home, he slipped in through the bathroom window at the back of his house. Beer in hand on his sofa, he flipped the burner phone’s cover open to reveal the screen, hoping to find a message. Dutch’s goons would be back by morning. Of that, he was very certain. They and the other dozen goons that were after him. His body hurt terribly so he washed two painkillers down with his beer and rested his head back against the couch. The cast made the inside of his arm itch and he grunted in annoyance. He remembered when his father threw him against the wall when he was thirteen. It was the first time he had fractured his arm. It was summertime and his arm had itched like mad. His sister had stuck a knitting needle between the cast and his arm to help him get rid of the itch. It was a genius idea. He hadn’t seen her since their mother died. She was always the smart one. Talk about planning. She had it all worked out. When she first started entering beauty pageants he had made fun of her. But then she started winning and it became harder and harder to hide it from their father. So, in exchange for helping her keep it a secret—and taking most of the punishment that came when their father did find out—she shared the prize money with him. They used to pretend he was her bodyguard. But unlike Lenny, she had stashed all her prize money away until she finally had enough, and ran away the moment she turned eighteen. They had remained in contact. She’d even helped him out a couple of times with a few small loans. Loans he never paid back. And when he finally got caught and was put in the slammer, he never heard from her again. Apart from the time their mother died and she personally delivered the news to him in prison. That was the last time he’d seen her. A couple of years later he happened to spot her photo in the newspaper. She had married some local councilman in an over-the-top soiree in Charleston. She looked happier than he had ever seen her look before. True happiness. The kind he would only know once he sat on that beach in Mexico.
Lenny’s mind was still on his sister and the meaning of true happiness when the burner phone in his hand suddenly vibrated against his cast. But, as his eyes took in the message on the phone, an entirely different emotion overcame him. Instead of feeling excited over the opportunity that now knocked hard and fast on his door, the feeling in his gut said otherwise. Deep down in the pit of his stomach, something told him his route to happiness wasn’t going to be an easy one. One that might very well end up in disaster or, at the very least, finally take his life.
Chapter Four
If there was one thing Lenny wasn’t, that was a coward. Except when it came to facing the loansharks. That was a fight he knew he would never win. He slept with one eye open that night and made sure he was out the door before daybreak.
He had decided to wear his stolen hospital attire since the package had to be collected from an address on the more posh side of the city. It was important that he blended in as much as possible so he added a black dress jacket he had once bought when he managed to weasel his way into a private poker game. He even shaved. Yes, Lenny had it all planned out.
The message on the cell phone had told him to wait outside a tall, glass office building in the main business district. So he did, for almost forty minutes after the stipulated time. He checked one final time to see if he was at the correct address. He was. Just as he decided to head back home, another message buzzed on the phone. As if they knew he was about to leave.
The messag
e told him to look for the park bench marked with a small white X in the nearby park where the package would be waiting for him.
It didn’t take him long to locate the mark and he soon found a manila envelope stuck to the bottom of the seat. He quickly snuck it inside his jacket and waited for further instructions, but almost two hours later he still hadn’t received a new message.
At the end of the path, he spotted a hot dog cart and finally gave in to his growling stomach. When he’d stuffed the last half of his second hot dog in his mouth, he stepped into the shadows of a secluded spot at the edge of a nearby office block and continued to wait. But another fifteen minutes later he had still not received any new instructions. It dawned on him that the address might have been marked on the envelope so he pulled it from his jacket and skimmed over the crumpled folds. Until then it hadn’t even occurred to him that it might be written on the envelope. When he spotted the faint pencilled address written on the back his heart gave a jolt he was certain might have been a mini-stroke. His cheap gold watch showed it was just over two and a half hours since he had found the envelope. He swore under his breath. His oversight might have very well cost him the million dollars—and his life!
Irritated with himself he dashed across the street. The address was on the other side of town. There was no way he could walk it so he headed for the subway. Relieved to have been on time for the next departure he jumped on board the train and took a seat directly next to the exit doors. The train wasn’t at all full, yet a very muscular Black man resembling a pro football player squashed into the two seats next to him. Lenny flinched as the man’s big body shoved against his broken arm.
“Hey, watch it!” he said annoyed before popping two more painkillers in his mouth and forcing them down his dry throat without water. As he shut his eyes and put his head back waiting for them to take effect, the sharp prick of an insect on the side of his neck had him swing his left hand across to whack at it. Feeling uncomfortable and squashed next to the man he decided to move to the open seats opposite them but instantly felt dizzy as he did so. Moments later, Lenny fell to the floor.
Every Good Plan Page 2