Windfall

by Byron TD Smith

  “What’s this?” He pulled a wad of US twenty-dollar bills from the bag. The elastic band holding them together fell off, dried from age, as he waved the stack at Bernadette.

  “That’s your money, Jack.”

  “There should be millions. It should be worth millions now.”

  “Jack,” she repeated, “That’s your money. That’s the money I found. It’s nothing less than what you asked for.”

  He looked askance at the bag, as though it were going to offer him some greater understanding of the situation.

  “You mean, this is DB Cooper’s actual two hundred thousand dollars from 1971?”

  Keller stared at the bundle of cash in his hand. He placed it back into the bag and took out another. It was exactly like the first.

  His voice rose as he spoke. “All these bloody bills are traceable. They recorded the serial numbers.” He threw the bundle into the bag. “I can’t use this. It is worthless.” His face reddened and he made to rise. “You lying bitch.”

  “That’s not all, Jack,” she said, stabbing her finger in the air at the bag. “Keep looking.”

  Keller pulled out bundle after bundle of cash, placing them all on the floor. He pulled out something else: small, black, leather, the size of a pack of cards.

  “What is this?” he asked, unfolding it.

  “It’s his. It’s DB Cooper’s wallet,” Bernadette said. “You see the name, Jack? It’s Wayne Fullarton. It’s not your dad.”

  Keller pulled cards from the wallet and inspected them.

  “I found his family, his brother. He told me about Wayne. They were supposed to be in business together, but Wayne wanted to be an engineer. So he went down south to work for Boeing, and he must have fallen on hard times. Kevin told me a lot of things about Wayne, Jack, but he never once said anything about Wayne having kids.”

  Keller threw the wallet into the bag. He stood, his chest swelling with deep breaths. “You’re lying. My mother told me.”

  Frieda spoke. “It’s your medicine. You’re not taking your pills, so you’re remembering things that aren’t real.”

  Keller blinked at the mention of his pills.

  “You don’t know what’s real,” he said. “Stop lying. Stop trying to confuse me.”

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the stun gun, stepping over the bag and scattered cash, heading for Bernadette.

  She turned her back to Keller and pushed Frieda hard into the bathroom. “Lock the door.”

  Henry and Tess listened from the kitchen. Bernadette talking, about someone called Wayne. Everything went quiet. A tiny voice. Frieda? Then Keller spoke, his voice escalating to a roar.

  Henry couldn’t make sense of the scene. Even the air in the apartment smelled odd.

  Tess whispered something about the stove, but a glimpse of Frieda from around Keller’s wide figure hooked Henry’s attention. Bernadette shouted as Henry ran into the living room, gathering what momentum he could across the short distance.

  His shoulder hit Keller right in the middle of his spine. Both men rolled to the floor. Henry got up first. From his knees, Keller pointed both arms at Henry. In one, the stun gun’s tiny metal teeth grinned; the other ended in a crooked, broken hand.

  Keller rose. “You hit me.” His expression wavered between rage and confusion.

  “This stops now, Jack,” Henry said holding his empty palms up in a pacifying gesture. “The police are outside and they’re going to get you help.”

  “Wait.” Keller looked from the stun gun in his hand to Henry. “Am I the bad guy?”

  Henry stepped forward and reached for the weapon. “It’s okay.”

  Keller backed away, cautious, doubtful. Afraid, even.

  His heel kicked the duffel, still heavy with cash. Keller looked at the bag of lies with disgust. He stood taller and his wide jaw bared its teeth. He pointed at Henry with the stun gun, its two electrical prongs a foot from Henry’s chest.

  “You’re the bad guys,” he growled.

  Tess dove between the two men.

  Time stopped, and Henry had the briefest moment to wonder whether she had simply popped into existence right there. Her nearly horizontal body defied gravity as she reached for Keller’s arm, which held the stun gun. Her mouth opened as she drifted in the air. Keller’s head recoiled as she entered his space. Both of Tess’s hands, wrists ringed with bloody scrapes, locked onto Keller’s hand.

  Henry didn’t register the sound of the stun gun. But he caught the flash of its small, blue lightning firing back and forth in thin strings before an explosion slammed Keller and Tess into him.

  He lay on his back beneath them. Tess extricated herself from Keller’s dead weight. Something in the room had changed.

  Did I die and go to hell?

  Tess helped him onto his knees, and he saw the stream of fire spewing from the wall to the kitchen. The sound of the roar from the hole in the wall was as intimidating as the pounding heat. The stun gun had ignited a gas leak. He looked down at Keller’s blackened torso, which had taken the brunt of the initial explosion. Keller’s arms stretched over his head, and his body lay still.

  Tess looked at Henry and he read her lips. “Are you alright?” He nodded.

  Fire cut across the room, blocking them from the main door and the kitchen.

  Henry felt someone tackle him around his shoulders. He recognized the small arms as Frieda’s and kissed one of her hands. “We have to get out of here.”

  Bernadette pointed at the bedroom “There’s a window over here.” They ran over, and Henry looked down. It was right above the once-stacked Adirondack chairs. He looked at the group in front of him: a woman in her sixties, a teenager, and a ninja comic book artist.

  Broken limbs or fire. Nice choices.

  “I have an idea,” he said. “Fred, where’s your cloak? Quick.”

  She ran into the living room, steering clear of the side with the flames, and took her cloak from the couch. Henry followed, grabbing the two wool blankets that he could reach. Frieda tossed her cloak to Henry and he motioned for them to follow him into the bathroom. He knocked the back off the toilet and dunked Frieda’s cloak in. It came out soaking wet and he handed it to her.

  “Put this on. We’re going out the front door.”

  Henry soaked the two blankets in the same manner and handed one each to Bernadette and Tess.

  “Share mine,” Tess said.

  Henry didn’t think twice; he just nodded.

  They crawled into the living room, which was filling with smoke. Henry wondered which was worse: sending Frieda into the flames first or going through without her, unable to make sure she followed?

  “Fred, you’re going first. Keep yourself covered.” The fire didn’t appear to have spread to the door itself, but she would have to run the edge of the jet of flames to get there. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and pulled up her hood.

  Something shot up between them, narrowly missing their faces. Frieda screamed. Keller’s boot slammed down from its kick.

  Henry looked up and saw Keller standing over them wearing a scowl full of rage and grinding teeth. Before Henry could rise, Keller leaped onto him, a mess of limbs. Henry’s hands squeezed Keller’s thick wrists as he scrabbled at Henry’s throat. Unable to grip Henry’s windpipe with his broken fingers, Keller used his bodyweight to crush it closed.

  Lightheadedness crept in. Only the sharp scrape of jagged, uneven bone held him conscious. He couldn’t spare any strength from wrestling the meaty hand holding the knife. Henry tried with his elbow to support some of Keller’s massive weight.

  He wanted to shout, “Run! Run!” But his airway pressed shut, and his vision closed in, like the twisting iris of a camera lens.

  He hoped the others were gone.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Henry’s cheek burned.

  Fire?

  He opened his eyes to see Tess, surrounded by smoke, tears cutting clean streaks down her face. “Get up!” she sh
outed. She held her arm out, palm open, ready to slap him again. He rolled to his hands and knees for the second time that day.

  “Frieda.”

  “Already out,” Tess said. She draped a warm, water-soaked blanket over him. The skin of her arms beneath the cover felt just as wet. They were both drenched in sweat from the heat of the room.

  Henry looked behind him and saw Bernadette kneeling over Keller. He lay on his back, his arms over his head. Bernadette wiped something with the wet blanket she wore across her shoulders. She handled and squeezed it in her right hand, with deliberate motions, before dropping it next to Keller’s side. The blade of a kitchen knife flashed orange and red from the flames.

  Before he could process what he had seen, Bernadette shouted and waved them away.

  Tess put her arms around Henry, and they ran in a crouch through the jet of flame to the open door. The hallway was full of smoke, but the sudden drop in temperature made Henry aware of how close they had been to the fire itself. Henry let go of the blanket and they went down the stairs one after the other.

  As they passed Unit 1, Henry pushed his key into the lock and opened the door. “Shima!” The little cat flew past them, and out the front door, with a speed belying his age. They raced after him onto the front lawn.

  Frieda was already there, crying in her hood, attended to by a firefighter. Henry inserted himself between them and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her on top of her head, and she squeezed him back and said, “Shima.”

  Henry spoke. “He got out.” But she wasn’t asking. She had seen the old cat hiding under the hedge dividing their lawn from the next, and she set off after him.

  The firefighter put a dry blanket around Henry’s shoulders. Henry pulled it tight, a chill setting in to his damp and sweaty clothes. “We’ve just shut off the gas. Is there anyone else inside?”

  Henry looked back at the house. He hadn’t seen Bernadette leave.

  She was supposed to be right behind us.

  “Tess, where’s Bernadette?”

  The look of horror on Tess’s face was answer enough. She turned to look back at the house.

  “There are two people in there,” Henry said. “A senior woman and a middle-aged man. He’s dangerous and . . .” Henry looked at Tess. He didn’t know whether she had seen the knife. He didn’t even know what had happened with the knife. “He’s injured,” Henry said.

  Firefighters poured into the house. Almost immediately, Bernadette emerged, wrapped in her blanket, leaning with her elbows into the supporting arms of the men on either side. Coughing, she made her way to a gurney on the sidewalk, where she managed to shout a hoarse, “Frieda.”

  Frieda, with Shima swaddled safely in her wet cloak, walked over to Bernadette. Shima howled his displeasure. Bernadette took an oxygen mask from one of the firefighters and waved him away. Henry and Tess started to approach, but Bernadette gave them an open palm to stay away.

  Henry and Tess sat on their own gurney, their wet blanket traded for two dry ones, as the firefighters sprayed hoses into Bernadette’s suite. Henry watched Bernadette speaking to Frieda, who began to cry, and Bernadette brought her in for a hug. He caught the older woman’s eye; she nodded, and Henry and Tess came closer.

  The foursome sat together and watched the firefighters extinguish the fire. Bernadette sat on the gurney, with Tess, Henry, and Frieda huddled together on the sidewalk. Firefighters brought Keller out and another gurney met them at the front door. As though in one swift motion, they got Keller on oxygen, into an ambulance, and off to the hospital.

  I guess he’s alive.

  A paramedic approached the group. “The fire teams think they have it all out. Sounds like it was contained to just the one apartment. As for you, you’re all clear. No burns, some minor smoke inhalation. All in all, you folks are very lucky. There are still some police who would like to speak with you. We’ve kept them at bay for as long as we could, but we’re going to head back to the hospital at this point.”

  Over the paramedic’s shoulder, Henry could see Sergeant Khatri watching them, arms crossed, waiting.

  “Would any of you like to come in to be looked at further?” This last question was directed at Bernadette.

  Bernadette gave the young man a grin and a bicep flex. “No. We’re fine.”

  After checking in with Frieda and Tess, Henry said, “I think it’s time to face the music.”

  The sergeant exchanged words with the paramedic before approaching the group.

  “Quite a night,” he said. And, to Henry, “you don’t listen very well, Mr. Lysyk.”

  “You’re not the first person to notice,” Henry said. “But you know that you now have the man responsible for everything. The break-ins, Julian’s murder, this . . . whatever this was. All him. But, please, dig into his medical records, will you?”

  “We will.”

  “So,” Henry said, “do I get that ride to the station now?”

  “No,” Khatri said, unsmiling.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’m not here to arrest you, Henry. Not that it’s your lucky day either,” Khatri said, motioning at the house. “I’m letting you know you used your get-out-of-jail-free card today.” His stiff index finger signaled to Henry that there would be no second pass.

  Henry struggled to follow what had just happened.

  “And to tell you to stay out of trouble and keep out of police business.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  The sergeant nodded. “Don’t thank me. I told you I knew who you were. That’s not from the papers. My mother has told me more than once what you did for her, and other businesses like her restaurant.”

  “Natali?” Henry was stunned. “That was… What I did for her… It was just the right thing to do.”

  “Well, thank you,” Khatri said, holding out his hand.

  Henry stood and shook the sergeant’s hand, a long-absent calm coming over him.

  Serious now, Sergeant Khatri said, “That’s your one. Constable Tipton still has questions for you, but you can wait until tomorrow. Do you need a ride anywhere?”

  Henry looked back at the motley group sitting on the curb. His cat, his niece, and his friends and neighbors.

  “No, we’re just going to stay with our home, for the time being. We’ll sleep at a friend’s tonight.”

  Khatri left, the paramedics checked in once more before departing, and the firefighters walked in and out of the building like ants.

  The streetlights came on.

  As they answered Constable Tipton’s questions, the odd person would interrupt them. The café across the street brought coffee and sandwiches, someone produced sweaters, and yet another neighbor brought a cat carrier.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The early afternoon sun poured in through the window as Henry, Frieda, and Tess stood around Mr. Benham’s hospital bed. It was a different room than yesterday, although everything looked similar: the bed, the curtains, the brightly painted walls, and the hard, hard floor.

  Henry had planned to call Benham the night before, after returning to Luba’s but he had passed out on the couch after a long, hot shower.

  Henry rubbed the bruise on his forehead as he recounted yesterday’s events.

  “That explains why there were no more police outside my door when I woke up,” Mr. Benham said.

  “Keller’s alive,” Henry said, “but he’s in rough shape. It might be years before he’s back on his feet again.”

  Mr. Benham shook his head in disbelief. “And he’s not related to DB Cooper?”

  “Not at all, it seems. Keller’s just a guy who fell on hard times and couldn’t get the help he needed. He found a community online, and his mind had its own way of trying to make sense of everything. The good news is that he’ll get help now.”

  The mood in the room was feeling down and sad. Henry wanted no more of it. He clapped his hands. “The better news is that the fire department has already said that we can go home. We�
��re heading there after this to check things out.”

  There was a knock on the door. Everyone turned. Henry expected to see Bernadette, so much so that he looked over the shoulder of the person walking in. After a moment, he recognized the man standing in front of him in a suit.

  Henry blinked twice.

  “Alex? What are you doing here?”

  Mr. Benham spoke. “Bernadette’s not coming. She and I spoke last night, and I called Alex to join us this morning.”

  Henry’s hand returned to the bandage. His head turned back and forth between the two men. “How do you know each other?”

  Am I the only one that’s not getting this?

  “Hi, Henry,” Alex said, ignoring the question. “You must be Tess. And, Fred, I’m glad to see you’re taking care of your uncle.” He shook hands with each and addressed them with recognition and inexplicable admiration.

  Mr. Benham gave a weak smile and said, “Close the door. Alex will explain.”

  “Mr. Benham and Ms. Pruner are beneficiaries of the Windfall Trust. Lawyers from my firm have operated as trustees since it started in the seventies. One stipulation of the trust is that, should Ms. Pruner cease to be a beneficiary, the list of beneficiaries changes. The new beneficiaries are the current residents of 1584 Richardson Street.”

  He looked Henry squarely in the eyes and added, “even if you move to Toronto.”

  Tess turned to Henry. “What is he talking about?”

  “Back up a second, Alex,” Henry said. “You’re saying that something has happened to Bernadette?”

  “Correct.”

  “Bernadette was fine,” Tess said, looking at Mr. Benham. One of her palms rose to her chest.

  Henry felt Frieda’s hand slip into his.

  “Ms. Pruner,” Alex continued, “has decided to move to the States. I spoke to her this morning, and she told me that last night she reached out to her sister in Amboy, Washington. Ms. Pruner has been having some health issues. From what I understand, her sister will take care of her.”

  “Mr. Benham, did you know anything about this?” Henry asked.