Windfall

It was one of those days where you just want to punch a clown in the face. Eugene didn’t know where he might be able to find a clown-for-hire on such short notice, but at that point, he considered it might be worth his time to do some research.

As he walked his normal route to the bus stop, the brisk wind tugging at his scarf, Eugene played the day over and over in his head. That seemed to be a compulsion of his. When good things happened, it was all well and fine; but any time something bad happened, it was all his brain could do to stop re-living it over and over like a broken record. Anger and hatred crashed over him, building off each other until it felt like his mind was drowning in an avalanche of negative thoughts. It didn’t concern him much, though. After all, this must be how most people dealt with their issues.

He sat down at the bus stop to wait and thought about how good it would feel to give his boss a pair of sandpaper underwear. The little prick’s name was Barry. That was his first name. To learn his last name, all you would have to do is look at the large sign out front of the building declaring the name of the company. How else would a snot-nosed kid right out of college land an upper-management gig when Eugene had been climbing the corporate ladder for the better part of two decades? Daddy was the CEO, and daddy didn’t want his precious little boy flipping hamburgers.

The bus pulled up in front of him and Eugene climbed the steps, mindful of the ache in his hip he had been feeling the last couple weeks. He sat down in his usual seat still pondering how Barry had reprimanded him in the break room earlier for something that hadn’t even been his fault. The avalanche continued. Daddy’s boy had known that Eugene had done nothing wrong, but it was all about stroking his own ego in front of the other employees. And Eugene was his favorite punching bag.

It was then that something caught Eugene’s eye. Usually, the seat next to him on the bus was empty, but today a small, black notebook occupied the chair. He looked up and down the bus briefly, but its only other occupants were a pair of lovebirds in the very back who seemed to be intending on starting a family before reaching the next stop. Eugene picked up the notebook and examined it. It fit easily in his hand and seemed completely ordinary except for a spot of red ink on the back cover. His eyes saw it as red ink, even though a dark part of his brain told him it probably was something else. Another snowball in the avalanche.

Shrugging to himself, Eugene opened the notebook and began to thumb through it. Most of the pages were blank. The pages that did have writing seemed to just be a bunch of dates and locations, all crossed out. He was about to put the notebook back and forget about it when he found a page with writing that wasn’t crossed out. At the top of the page, today’s date stared back at him. Below were the words: “Garbage can, corner of 5th and Washington.”

Eugene’s mouth hung open slightly. The corner of 5th and Washington was right down the street from his apartment. He walked by that garbage can every single day. Just that morning he had thrown a muffin wrapper inside. The bus pulled to a stop, and Eugene pocketed the notebook. He got to his feet and disembarked the bus with curiosity temporarily overwhelming the avalanche. Huddling slightly against the wind, he began to beat the familiar path to his apartment.

The corner of 5th and Washington was upon him before he knew it. A quick glace up and down the streets told him that he was alone. Peering into the garbage can, he saw a collection of ordinary refuse, but nothing more. He was on the verge of forgetting the notebook and going home when impulse seized him. He plunged his hand into the garbage can and began to feel his way toward the bottom. Careful not to cut himself on anything sharp, he kept digging toward the bottom until he found it. He pulled his hand out and found himself clutching what appeared to be a small, black bag.

Tucking the bag under his arm, he immediately continued down the street and covered the remaining two blocks to his apartment building. He took the three flights of stairs up to his apartment since the elevator was still out of order. His hip ached, but his curiosity had only grown stronger. His mind now raced with possibilities, creating fantasies of what could possibly be inside the bag.

He locked the door behind him in his apartment and set the bag on the kitchen table. He stared at it as he removed his coat and scarf. Based on the weight of the bag and how the contents felt, his mind was jumping to some wild conclusions. But it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t let himself believe he could possibly be that lucky. Things like this only happened to beautiful people in movies or on TV, not to miserable middle-aged office workers with crappy apartments and IBS. He held his breath as he unzipped the bag.

He had never seen that much cash in his life. Bundles of $20 bills. His eyes widened as he took the bundles out of the bag. He lined up twenty total stacks on the kitchen table. Hands shaking slightly, he took one of the bundles and counted the bills. Fifty. There were fifty bills in each bundle. He didn’t need a calculator to tell him that there was $20,000 in cash sitting on his wobbly kitchen table. Certainly not a huge amount of money by today’s standard, but a windfall, nonetheless. He sat down and breathed hard. Where had the money come from? Who had left it in that garbage can? Who was supposed to pick it up? Why hadn’t they picked it up? Did anyone see him retrieve the bag? Were they watching him right now? The questions kept coming, but all he knew is that he had just been given a rare opportunity; and if he didn’t want to waste it, he had better act fast.

He began to think of the possibilities. He could buy a car so he wouldn’t have to ride the bus every day. He could maybe move into a better apartment. He could give a much-needed boost to his pitiful retirement account. But how would he explain where the money came from? He thought about difficult questions from the bank or the IRS. $20,000 was a small enough amount that he might be able to get away with it. If he played his cards right, this modest amount of money could change his life for the better, but to what limits? It wouldn’t even cover all of the debt he had, and anything he bought would run the risk of investigation. Would it really be worth it?

He then thought of the good he could do with the money. Just down the street there was a homeless shelter that looked like it could use a sizeable donation. The university across town was experimenting a new type of cancer research. God knows the orphanage in which he grew up could definitely use some cash. Maybe this was his chance to finally do some good. Maybe this was a test from above to see if he would make the right choice. But then he thought about Charles.

Charles was a man he had met years back when times were tough. The saying went: “Anything you need, Charles will make it happen. No questions asked.” Eugene had heard stories. Drug deals to teenagers. Shakedowns at local businesses. Missing persons reports. And behind them all, a single name: Charles. His services, however, were not cheap. On the other hand, $20,000 in cash tends to change one’s definition of “cheap”. He had saved the phone number, not believing he would ever use it. It was merely a comfort to know that it was there, waiting for him should he ever need it.

He thought about Barry. He thought about the hell that little twerp put him through on a daily basis. He thought about how much better off the world would be without someone like that. He thought about how much better off his world would be without someone like that. All-in-all, it took Eugene about five minutes to reach his decision. He picked up his phone and dialed the number he thought he would never dial.

The avalanche had started again.

THE END