Lottery

by Kimberly Shursen

  “That’s where Ling’s parents live, right?”

  “Yes,” Caleb said, leading Jenee to the three-foot stucco wall that surrounded the deck.

  “I saw it when we drove it, but can’t wait to see the inside.” Although Ling had told her the house was a quarter of a mile away from the bay, Jenee felt as if she could reach out and touch the water. The seagulls looked like small ‘V’s soaring above them, and the huge, bright orange-red sun was slowly drifting into the bay. The views from every direction were breathtaking.

  “Come, enjoy,” Ling said.

  Jenee’s mouth watered when she saw the tray of smoked salmon, fresh clams, shrimp, and sourdough bread on the patio table, a bottle of wine chilling in a tall silver urn sat beside the table. She nodded at the assorted tropical plants in large containers around the deck. “Did you plant these?” she asked Ling, pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “My mom did,” Ling said. “She has a greener thumb than anyone I know. Wait until you see the green house.” She turned. “Hey, Dad,” Ling said.

  Jenee looked up and saw Ling’s parents in the doorway.

  Ling put her arm around her father’s shoulder. “Come meet Jenee.”

  Sam Jameson had a kind face just like Mei’s, and was just a few inches taller than his wife who couldn’t reach five-foot.

  “My daughter has told us all about her stay in Kansas.” He took Jenee’s hand and covered it with his other hand, his thoughtful eyes gazing into Jenee’s.

  “And the country western dancing,” Caleb added.

  “Well, it’s not San Francisco, but it’s home,” Jenee responded.

  For the next few hours, they chatted on the deck taking turns telling stories about their childhoods and how they’d met their spouses—everyone, that is, except Caleb. Mei even shared what it was like growing up in Shanghai. Caleb spent much of the time staring into space. Even though Jenee had seen Caleb have only two or three glasses of wine, he wasn’t steady on his feet.

  It was after eleven when Ling yawned, stood, and picked up the empty tray.

  “Let me help clean up.” Mei pushed back her chair.

  Jenee started to stand, but Ling put her hand on Jenee’s shoulder. “You stay put and relax. You’ve had a long day.”

  “Okay, but tomorrow I’m no longer a guest.” Jenee settled back in her chair. Ling and her parents had made her feel like she was a part of their family.

  Sam picked up the empty wine bottles and followed his wife and daughter back into the house.

  Jenee looked over at Caleb. “How you feeling about all this?”

  Caleb turned toward her, his eyes cloudy. “All what?”

  “Going to Shanghai. Having Justin and me stay with you? All the adoption stuff.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Anything to keep Ling happy,” he slurred.

  She felt a cold chill. There was something strange about him. She’d felt it all night. She’d even caught Caleb mumbling to himself a couple of times.

  It wasn’t just that she’d overheard his angry outburst when she was on the phone with Ling that made her leery. Now that she’d met him, Caleb O’Toole, he had an aura about him that made Jenee uncomfortable.

  arlyWednesday morning before anyone was awake, Caleb took a cab to the post office on O’Farrell Street and secured a P.O. Box. His next stop was the library. From blocks away, he spotted the American flag flying high above the stately building. The last time Caleb had been here was with Ling when they’d attended a lecture in the Chinese Room.

  Somewhat familiar with the layout, he knew that the café, Latino/ Hispanic Center, and auditorium were all in the lower level. The Chinese Center was the third level, while the administrative offices and the San Francisco Historical Center were housed on the sixth floor.

  With shelves and shelves of books on every floor, public computers were scattered throughout the building. The trick would be to find a computer that wasn’t in use. He waited impatiently for over an hour before he spotted someone leaving, and then quickly took the seat.

  He’d been up all night trying to figure out the best way about to get rid of Price. Caleb had a handgun stored in the attic, but Weber had convinced Caleb that using a gun in public was a bad idea.

  Last night after everyone was asleep, Caleb had snuck into Ling’s office and typed the word ‘poison’ into the browser. After weighing the pros and cons of every drug he found, cyanide seemed to be the way to go as it was tasteless, easy to get hold of, and acted within seconds.

  “Hey, buddy,” Caleb heard, turned and saw Weber.

  “Wait a sec,” Caleb whispered. He placed the order for the poisonous drug, and took out a credit card that was in his name only. He’d use it once and then destroy it.

  “Thought I’d pop by in person,” Weber said, waltzing toward Caleb.

  Caleb held up his hand again, signaling Weber to wait, and then took a quick glimpse around to see if anyone was watching. Turning his attention back to the computer, he verified his order and logged out.

  Weber knelt next to him. “You can’t do this without me, O’Toole.”

  Caleb was silent as Weber walked beside him. He hurried down the steps of the library to the first floor.

  “If you don’t listen to me, you’re done,” Weber said smugly.

  Caleb marched out the front door and walked down the street until he came to a convenience store, ducked into a bathroom and locked the door. “I know I need your help,” he said quietly. “But I don’t want someone seeing me talk to you. They’ll toss me in the nut house.”

  Weber had been the one who’d masterminded the murders. He’d been the one who had instructed Caleb to tighten his grip on McKenzie’s neck; taught him to hold the knife, and advised Caleb that poison was the best way to get rid of Price.

  Caleb had finally accepted that he not only needed Weber, but depended on him.

  On Thursday, Caleb had the driver let him off five blocks from the same seedy motel he’d rented before. Wearing a black Stetson, a V-neck white T-shirt, and cowboy boots, the long, straggly brown hair of his wig was pulled back in a ponytail. His mind frayed, he thought of every possible scenario that could go wrong. What if the poison didn’t work? What if somehow Price survived? Or Caleb was caught?

  After he handed the unkempt clerk cash, Caleb carried his duffel up the steps on the bare-threaded carpet.

  Caleb had told Ling that an old colleague from the ad agency wanted to talk to him about a business proposition so he wouldn’t be home until late. He could tell she didn’t believe him. Or maybe he was paranoid. Ling and Jenee gabbed so much that Caleb was invisible, anyway.

  When he opened the door to the hotel room, the odor of mothballs overwhelmed him. A queen-sized bed was pushed into corner; the bent, steel rabbit ears on top of a miniature television sat on a lopsided dresser; two plastic glasses were placed next to an empty ice bucket. He set his bag on the bed and brought out the package he’d taken out of his post office box. Carefully, he unwrapped the package and took out the vial that was cushioned in a wad of brown paper. He held the container up to the light. How could a few ounces of something that looked like water be so fucking deadly?

  Caleb went over the plan with Weber for an hour. It was nine thirty-five when he closed the door and walked out into the dark night. Thunder grumbled around him, as dark clouds chased each other across the slit of a moon. When he reached the Tenderloin, each person was as intimidating as the next. This place was a prison in itself. Devoid of the barbed wire or electric fences, Caleb would gamble that more convicts would leave prison alive than here.

  It had started to drizzle by the time Caleb stepped inside the dark dungeon of a bar. As his eyes adjusted, he saw some of the men were wearing jeans and tight muscle shirts, while others were dressed in gowns and heels. Burly arms were draped over the shoulders of men who’s chests were clean shaven; a tongue caressed an ear; ruby-red lips parted seductively when Caleb passed by.

  He stared straight a
head, wishing he could just turn around and get the hell out of here. Weber, however, kept reminding him he needed to protect himself and his marriage.

  Seeing someone at the end of the bar with a 49ers hat on, Caleb worked his way through the crowd. “Price?” he asked when he reached the man with thinning strands of dark hair combed over to one side to hide a sizeable bald spot.

  “O'Toole?” The man smiled, flashing nicotine-stained teeth.

  Caleb nodded.

  Price looked him up and down. “Look a little different than your picture in the paper last year.”

  “Everyone gets older.” Caleb pulled out the stool, noticing the large mug of beer in Price’s left hand. Would the poison work when it was mixed with so much liquor?

  Price glanced Caleb’s hands. “Where’s the dough?”

  “Couldn’t get the funds today. Thought we’d talk about where I could deliver it in a couple of days.”

  He flashed Caleb an arresting look. “That wasn’t what we talked about.”

  “Look,” Caleb said flatly, “it’s difficult to sell stock that quickly.”

  Weber reminded Caleb to stay calm.

  Price glared into Caleb’s eyes. “You killed my fuckin’ sister, man. You think you can just murder someone and not pay a price? ”

  Caleb doubled up a fist. Did Price know his sister was a useless piece of—

  “Do not comment,” Weber directed. “Stick to the plan.”

  Caleb collected himself. “Like I said, I’ll have it in a couple of days.”

  “So, where you gonna drop it?” Price downed the beer and raised his hand for another.

  “The money?” Caleb paused. “You tell me.” The smell of cheap cologne and perfume danced through the air.

  “Garbage can. End of pier 42.” Price turned and shouted at the bartender, “Hey! ‘Nuther for me and one for my friend.”

  Caleb stared down at the bar top. “You’ll be there?” He had to play the game or Price would get suspicious.

  “I’ll be there, but you won’t see me.” Price paused. “That pier is pretty quiet, and they don’t pick up the garbage until early morning. Wrap the money inside plastic and put it in paper bags. I’ll find it.”

  This guy was a pro. Plastic bags inside paper bags? He was a piece of work. Caleb noticed Price eyeing him.

  “You queer?” Price guffawed.

  Caleb felt his anger start to boil. “I’m married.”

  “Don’t make a difference. For me, I prefer an occasional roll in the hay with a slut or two. Don’t matter if it’s a man or women. But definitely not into that bonding shit.”

  The last thing Caleb wanted was to make small talk.

  The bartender set a mug of beer in front of Caleb and Price.

  “After Thursday, this is over,” Caleb stated when the bartender was out of hearing range.

  Caleb cringed when Price slapped him on the back like they were buddies.

  “Be right back,” Price said, hopped off the stool and headed toward the back of the bar.

  Suddenly, the lights went down, the stage-lights went up, and men in long, sequined gowns complete with hot pink boas adorning their beefy necks and double chins sauntered onto stage to Sonny and Cher’s You Got Me Babe.

  Caleb had seconds to do what he’d come here to do. Taking in a deep breath, he quickly reached into his pocket, took out the vial, closing his palm around it.

  “Act normal,” Weber warned.

  Caleb glanced around casually. Everyone appeared mesmerized by the show. He stood and cradled his left arm around Price’s glass, sheltering it from anyone’s view. After he dumped the contents into the glass, he shoved the container back into his pocket. His eyes scanned the dimly lit saloon again, but even the bartender’s eyes were glued to the lip-syncing sextet.

  A few seconds later, a brawny Price bullied his way through the throng of men and hoisted himself back up on the stool. “What time?”

  “Huh?” Caleb’s heart was beating out of control.

  Price leaned toward him. “What time will the money be there?”

  “Around eleven p.m.” Caleb took a sip of his beer. “And then this is over.”

  “Just don’t try anything funny, big shot. I’ve got friends in high and low places.”

  Smug son-of-a-bitch deserved what he was about to get. Caleb stood. “It’ll be there.” When he reached the door, he turned back around briefly and saw Price chugging the beer. According to what Caleb had read, Price would start to choke, and then be dead within a couple of minutes. There was no antidote for cyanide.

  When Caleb stepped out on the street, a loud clap of thunder greeted him, followed by a heavy downpour.

  By the time he reached the hotel, he was drenched. He took off his disguise, and towel dried his hair and face. He didn’t feel as remorseful as he had when he murdered an innocent man. Price was a maggot and of no use to anyone; especially Caleb.

  “Same routine as last time,” Weber told him.

  “I know.” Peeking out the door, when Caleb didn’t see anyone, he took the stairs that led to the back door.

  After he tossed the duffel with the disguise inside up into a dumpster, Caleb dropped the vial on the cement, and then stomped it into a million pieces.

  Weber sighed. “One less casualty to deal with.”

  It was almost two in the morning when Caleb tiptoed into the master bedroom, took off his clothes and placed them on the chair.

  He slipped into bed and rolled over on his side. A year ago he’d been down and out, not knowing whether to flee before the bookie found him, or commit suicide. And now he was fucking wealthy, but right back where he started; looking over his shoulder, wondering who was onto, or after, him.

  “But you’re in charge now,” Weber whispered.

  He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk to Weber right now. He’d never been so exhausted.

  He was running, his heart pounding in his chest. Down a dark alley … through a back door …. racing down a hall … out another door. Fuck … the guy had a gun. Caleb was going to have a heart attack.

  “I’ll blow your brains out, O’Toole and then go after that sweet piece of Asian tail.” Caleb heard.

  Running faster… struggling for breath … no one around to help … the footsteps behind him grew louder.

  Caleb raced down the pier, dropped to his knees, and slid into the freezing cold water. Holding his breath as he maneuvered his way to underneath the wooden slats, he swiped the water out of his eyes … tilted his head back and saw shoes above him. Oh god … please … don’t let—

  “O’Toole, I see you,” a deep voice bellowed. Price leaned over, his hateful, beady eyes locking with Caleb’s.

  “Caleb.” He heard faintly, his heart about to explode. A hand grabbed his shoulder … he struggled to get away …

  “Caleb!”

  He shot up from the bed, coiling a fist. “I’ll kill you, you mother fucker!”

  “Stop!” Ling cried, cowering.

  Caleb stared at her wide-eyed for a couple of seconds, the perspiration stinging his eyes. “Oh, God.” Caleb let out his breath. “Jesus, I’m sorry.” He ran his hand over his hair soaked with perspiration. When he reached out to touch her, Ling hurriedly scooted away from him, her expression fearful. “Wait a minute,” he tried to explain, “I was having a bad dream.”

  “You were going to hurt me,” she whimpered, noticeably trembling.

  “I would never hurt you.”

  “You were crying out … I was trying to wake you up.” Ling wrapped her arms around herself.

  “I was running from someone.”

  “What is happening to you?” Ling asked tearfully.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He cradled his face in his hands. “The dreams are all so damn real.”

  She looked away.

  “Ling?” He reached out his hand for hers, but she turned away.

  “You’re having an affair,” Ling whispered, not looking at him.


  “What?” He sat up straight. She’d blind-sided him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t want your money,” she said adamantly.

  “My money? It’s our money.” He blew out a breath. “Is that what you thought? That I wanted a divorce? And I was afraid you’d take the money?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Oh, God, honey, I have no desire to be with anyone else.” He turned and pushed his back into the headboard. After a few silent seconds, Caleb looked over at her. “Give me your hand.”

  She turned her head toward him and shook her head, the terror still in her eyes.

  “Please.” He held out his hand.

  Reluctantly, she unfolded her arms and put her small hand in his.

  “When your father gave me your hand in marriage, I promised forever.” He brought her palm to his lips. “I intend to carry out that promise.”

  “Then what’s happening to you? To us?” Ling pleaded.

  “I”—he looked up, trying to think of something—“I don’t want to burden you.”

  She scooted toward him. “Burden me with what?”

  “Tell her your dad’s dying,” Weber intervened.

  “I … I heard from my dad.” Bowing his head, he rubbed his eyes with two fingers. “A few weeks ago.” Caleb turned toward Ling. “Cancer.”

  “What?” She sat up straight, her eyes wide. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “You have so much going on … I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “But Caleb”—Ling put a hand on his shoulder—“that’s what marriage is all about.”

  He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just that my dad and I were never close, and it looks like we never will be.”

  “Do you want to go see him? Because we can cancel this trip if—”

  “No,” Caleb said firmly. “They’ve given him six to eight months. I’ll go when it gets worse.”

  “Where is it?” Ling asked. “The cancer?”