Blind Luck

by Reggie Stanford

  “I thought as much. For a while now, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “But then why do you stay with him?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Then please explain so I can.”

  “You know that’s not how it works.”

  “No. No I don’t. Your husband is a piece of shit. He beats you. He’s a fucking monster. It won’t stop, even if I do talk to him. I can tell you that right now. It’ll only get worse. He’ll start doing it more frequently, and more violently.”

  “That’s exactly why I want you to talk to him.”

  “Leave him! You can do better! Half the estate is yours. Go your own way!” I was whispering with almost fury.

  How could she not see that she was going to be in danger? But the moment I said it, I regretted it. I knew I had poked a sleeping bear. The air turned icy cold, and she reached into her purse. She pulled out a Smith & Wesson snub-nosed revolver. For a brief second I thought she was going to shoot me. Then she put it down on the table and slid it towards me.

  “This is for in case things get dangerous.” she said. Her smile said she was trying to break the ice, but I felt colder than ever. I shoved the gun back to her before the waitress could see.

  “Put it away. Now.” I commanded her.

  “Just do what I asked. Please. Don’t worry about my choices.” She scooped up her handbag, stood up and left without another word.

  I stayed in the unwelcoming silence, watching her stride towards the glass door. She paid me to talk to her husband, not to give advice on how to handle her relationship. Tomorrow I will talk to her husband and I’m done with the job. I’ll get my payment, and the rest is in her hands. I put five bucks under my cup and left, waving to Suzy on the way out.

 

  * * * * *

  Thursday morning, at about 9:30 I finally got out of bed. I shuffled over to the kitchen and put on a new pot of coffee. I listened to the news while waiting for it to finish. After the coffee I finally felt like something similar to that of being a human.

  A few hours later I was sitting on western side of the city, in a restaurant on the bank of Hudson River.It was a unique little spot. They served anything and everything they could fish out of the water. My man Patrick had brought his black haired girlfriend to this quaint little out of the way place for lunch meeting. They were just a few tables over from me, and the waiter had already brought them their meals.

  The time had come for the show. I wanted to do it here. In front of an audience, where it could be much more embarrassing for him. Maybe his new girlfriend doesn’t even know that he’s married. He wasn’t wearing his ring. I brushed the adrenaline aside, and took some deep breaths before standing up and approaching their table. Time to earn my money.

  * * * * *

  I grew up in the poorer area of Brooklyn. My dad was a construction worker, and my mother was busy trying to raise my siblings and I on her own. We never had much money, but there was always food on the table. I spent a lot of my youth out on the streets. Later I had two options in life: I could either break out and do something with my life, or go downhill, where my life had already been heading. They didn’t have money to send me to a private school, and college was just a dream. The only outlet left for me to have aspirations in was sports. This was when I did whatever I could to get involved with sports. After some trial and error I found I had a talent in boxing. It later on became my way of life, I would eat, sleep and breathe it. It was considered a sport for the poor at the time, but I didn’t care. I was a fully acknowledged boxer for Marcani’s Gym. It wasn’t easy, I didn’t get where I did by doing nothing, but it gave me something to spend my energy on, that wasn’t drugs or violation of law or someone else’s property. If that had been my path, I’d probably be six feet under by now, or in some state prison. Whatever I learned from the gym, I would apply on the streets. Street fights were a commodity in my childhood, until the others learned the price of picking fights with me. I didn’t have anything worth stealing to begin with, but the lost teeth or concussions that it could have came with, made them think twice. I gained some notoriety locally, I went on to be called “The Psycho.” And the more I fought, the more often I defended myself, the more respect I earned. I didn’t take it seriously enough, much to my coach’s dismay: after the winning the national title, I was brutally beaten during a match for the world title. When I was twenty, after I had finished school, I had to find some more serious and better paying job. Now that I think back, I regret it. I wish I had put more effort into it. I was just too interested in having fun back then. I didn’t think of the future, only of the now. I started spending more and more time with my new friends, or to rest up from the party the night before. But I needed the money, so I had to work. It was some stupid mindless task at a factory. I hated it. The job was shit, and the pay wasn’t even shit. One day, someone at the gym asked me to talk to a friend of his, because he owed him money. He offered me more, to get his friend to pay up, than I made in the factory in a week. It got me thinking, why couldn’t I be doing this full time? I was good at it, and it paid me well. Just my presence was usually enough to scare whoever I talked to, into doing the right thing. I was only 5’10” at the time and weighed in at 218 lbs of pure muscle. I had very broad shoulders, and a thick neck. I wasn’t lean, but stocky. I almost never had to resort to violence. If I just showed up, and told them why I was there, money always appeared from somewhere. Either an inner pocket, a safe, the neighbor, a sock... it didn’t matter. I did what was asked, and I was effective. One job always brought another, so I started a business with the same offer. I couldn’t feel bad for the people who needed to pay up. Almost every single case involved thievery to begin with, so their deeds were finally catching up with them. They couldn’t live scot-free forever. Sometimes, they had failed at slots or gambling. But never was the borrower and honest earner, family supporting individual. I got involved with these cases not because I loved sticking my nose in other peoples’ business, but because it earned me an honest living. Personal security, delivering messages, etc. Just as I had done for Mrs. Kirkwood.

  CHAPTER 2

  As I was approaching their table I took note of my surroundings. It’s always important to be aware of who and what is around you. Also how far the nearest exit is in case things get hot. You can escape so many awkward and dangerous situations by simply know the fastest way to leave. I checked the guests at the tables next to theirs. None of them seemed to be the “hero” type and they shouldn’t interfere. I had already checked all of the waiters on my way through and knew that they wouldn’t be a problem. And neither would Patrick. He was just a rich motherfucker. It would take a miracle for him to be able to stand up to me.

  They still hadn’t looked up at me by the time I was practically standing next to them. Now that I could see them close up, there was something interesting about his girlfriend but I wasn’t quite sure what it was yet. They were facing each other at a square table. I pulled out one of the extra chairs and took a seat.

  “The table is reserved, sorry.” Patrick said without any hint of knowing what was about to go down. “Who on earth do you think you are?”

  “My name is Roy James,” I started, “and I have some relationship advice for you.”

  I grabbed his neck and slammed his head into the plate. It happened too fast for him to know what hit him. The girlfriend started screaming, and I leaned in closer to him.

  “I don’t give a fuck who you are. If you ask me, you’re just a rich piece of shit.” I enlightened him about my opinion. I made sure he could breathe, but also that his face stayed dipped into the soup. “However, if I ever find out that you even raised your hand in your wife’s direction for anything other than appraisal, I will return, but then a simple talk won’t be all you’re getting. I will break each and every single finger you have touched her with. One by one. And if that’s not enough, then I will do the same to your hand, and so on, until
you learn how to treat a lady. We clear, motherfucker?”

  He let out a grunt of what I figured was agreement and nodded so I let go of his neck, stood up, turned around and started towards the door. The other guests exchanged shocked glances between Patrick and me. Many had their mouths wide open. I was surprised that the food didn’t fall back into their plates. No one shouted after me, no one stood in my way, no one made any move to stop me.

  I got back in my car and went back to my office. I was finally calming down, clearing my head. I felt I could think straight once more. And something was bothering me. Something felt out of place, but I couldn’t place my finger on it. As I was walking to the table, there was something about the girl that had caught my eye. Maybe it was her makeup, or her posture. Something that was exaggerated. Maybe she was a prostitute? But in the end, she was in some way his lover; she could be some bad girl from the streets he fell in love with and then became a regular at her shifts. The only logical explanation is that he fell in love with a prostitute, and now takes her everywhere. This is Brooklyn after all, so nothing should surprise me at this point. In my office, I called Talisha. Her voicemail picked up my call. I left a message telling her that finished what she asked.

  She didn’t call me back until late on Friday night after I had left my office, so she called my home phone.

  “Good evening!” she started “Would you be able to come over? My husband is off travelling, and I would like someone to be her with me tonight. I could use your company.”

  That caught me off guard. I quickly promised her that I’ll be over soon and turned off the TV before the news came on. I went to take a long shower, enjoying the hot water cleaning me from the dirt and stress of the entire week, before putting on some more appropriate clothes for a night out. I grabbed the keys to the Karmann Ghia and left for the estate. The traffic was heavy considering it was a Friday night, so I rolled down the window and enjoyed the fresh air.

  The address which Mrs. Kirkwood gave me was on the south-western part of Station Island. I parked out on the street, and observed the estate. It had an enormous building with two floors, in a Mediterranean style. Just the balcony was at least twice the size of my apartment. There were palm trees by the sides in clay pots the size of bath tubs, obviously handcrafted each. I couldn’t tell if there was anything else special about them; I had never really cared about botany. A lot of the building was covered in glass, and the rest was all brick. Everything was huge: the house, the garden, even the plants. I felt like Gulliver in his travel to the realm of giants. I entered through what I could only imagine to be the main gate. It was put together out of decorative stones, a mixture of different shades of marble. The ends of the gate both had large, well-lit fountains. I walked up the driveway and went around to the right side, where I was told the doorbell would be. As soon as I rang, I heard footsteps, and shortly thereafter, the door swung open.

  “Good evening Mrs. Kirkwood," I greeted her.

  “Please, call me Talisha,” she said, “and do come in.” She gestured past the door.

  The fireplace in the living room was already lit and burning intensely. It gave off a comforting warmth and set a rather quaint mood. I sat down on the leather throw rug in front of the fire, and she took a seat next to me. Talisha shoved a very expensive looking champagne in my direction, and mouthed the word “open” at me with a wink.

  “Would you like me to open this?” I said wearing a clueless face.

  “I would appreciate if you gave it a try.” She said with a sly smile. She had these cute dimple along the sides of her chin.

  I took the metal seal off the top, and twisted the metal protector off and the stopper came out without any effort. The enormous room made the pop almost disappear entirely. I poured champagne for the two of us in the crystal glasses that rested in the table nearby.

  “Let’s drink for this wonderful night,” She toasted raising her glass in the air.

  She was so maigre, so delicate, yet she moved with such ease, it reminded me of a bobcat in the wild.

  “For the night...” I repeated after her and lifted mine as well.

  We talked; she asked a lot of question from me, mainly about my past. I told her about my childhood, about how I experienced Brooklyn back then.

  “What did you want to be when you were a child?”

  “I don’t even know. A boxer? I can’t blame anyone for my failure in that area though except myself. I was a rebellious as teenager, and would skip practices to hang out with friends. If I took it more seriously I could have done something with it, but it’s all in the past and I can’t change a thing now.”

  “Well then how did you become this?”

  “This?” I asked, pretending to be offended, but knowing fully what she was talking about.

  “Whatever you would say you do.” she said blushing a little, trying to clear up her question.

  “Well I solve other people’s problems, so I say I’m just a problem solver.”

  “And you like what you do?”

  “I can’t do, and have never done anything else.”

  “But isn’t it dangerous?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  We kept talking, back and forth, meanwhile the champagne bottle ran dry, so we opened up another one. I started asking more and more questions from her, and she answered.

  “How did you meet your husband?”

  “It’s a long story,” She started. “I met him in school, back in university. We fell in love back then, and stayed by each other’s side. He didn’t come from a very wealthy family either, only about average. Patrick gained his own wealth through international trade. He says he was just ‘at the right place at the right time.’ I won’t let this night be about him too though. Can’t we talk about anything else?”

  Soon after, the second bottle of champagne was gone too. I didn’t feel its effects, except that I was a little numb. Throughout our talk we had slowly crept closer to each other, our legs were touching now. I couldn’t make out what she was trying to tell me with her body language. Her eyes said she was challenging me to a duel, but her hands were inviting me to participate for the ribbon.

  I pulled her close, and kissed her softly. She didn’t resist, instead she kissed me back. The sparks I had been feeling all night suddenly ignited the fire, which had been waiting to roar. The air was hot all around as our feelings and desires emerged, and raged with unstoppable power. We tore the clothes off each other’s body, not wanting to break the kiss for any reason. She had a soft and nimble tongue. She bit my lips gently; it was so passionate that not even Armageddon could have stopped us. I kissed her along her neck and shoulders, down her entire body. Her skin was soft and smooth, like velvet. She was graceful and flexible, like the perfect predator in the jungle. I lost all sense of time and space, we could have made love for hours on end. It started on the couch, but moved to the throw rug, and ended up on a bed. We just laid side by side, drained of all energy, under the sheets. Neither of us could speak as we stared at the ceiling. I could tell Talisha had fallen asleep, by the regularity of her breathing. I watched as her perfect chest rose and fell with how breaths. I just couldn’t fall asleep. I tried crawling out of bed without waking her, and went downstairs naked. I picked out my pants and put them on and walked out to the back balcony. There was a full moon shining in the night sky. It shimmered in the night on the surface of the pool, making it appear lit. I just stood there and stared at the reflection of the light, until I heard footsteps. When I turned around, Talisha was standing in the door. She was wearing nothing but a bathrobe. I smiled when I saw her, and she smiled back.

  “Couldn’t sleep huh?” she broke the ice, and started walking towards me slowly

  “Not really, no.” I replied.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “If it’s morally okay to sleep with my customers.”

  “Any regrets?”

&nbs
p; By this time she had reached me. I pulled her close again and kissed her.

  “Not that I can think of, no.”

  She left back towards the bedroom. I followed her with my eyes, until she was inside. I just stood there and stared at the entrance in front of myself. I shook my head, snapping back to reality, and went back inside too.

  I got the rest of my clothes and left without another word. I didn’t want to fool myself into believing that this could become a working thing, that this could develop into some sort of relationship. Whatever happened had happened, but it won’t ever again. I was sure of this. Even our previous, professional relationship had its days numbered. We were from two very different financial circumstances, a gap that could never be closed. The other problem was that I no longer saw her through professional eyes. It wanted it to be more; I was developing feelings for her, feelings I didn’t want to exist. I did my part of the job; she had already filled out the check, rather generously I might add. Now I get to go and cash it in, and both of our roles in this have been fulfilled, leaving me to sever all ties with anyone affiliated.

  I got in the car, and tried to close the door silently, but in the silence of the night, it still echoed down the entire street. The roar of the engine seemed louder than should be possible, as a sped back home for the remainder of the night.

  * * * * *

  The ringing of the phone stopped me from getting any sleep. I had been sitting in front of the TV trying to watch an abnormally boring movie, struggling to stay awake. Each time my chin hit my chest, I whipped my head up and opened my eyes wide, straining to finish the film.

  When I got to the phone a very familiar voice responded, shakily.

  “Roy, it’s me Talisha.”

  I spent the last three days trying to wipe my mind clear of any memory of her and the entire ordeal. And now, as soon as I heard her voice, everything came rushing back.

  “You need to come here, right now!” she sounded like on the verge of panic. “Patrick has gone completely mad! He’s breaking the furniture and decor, he’s threatening me, and he even hit me! If you can’t come here and stop him, I think he might even kill me. Please! You need help me.”