Found Money

I was forbidden to be within one hundred feet of Melanie, her work, places she normally frequents (there's a list), and her home. HER HOME! That's my home! The HRO (harassment restraining order) cited my address, 5718 Maple Avenue.

I read through the document and see terms like "repeated intrusions", "unwanted acts", and "endangerment of sense of security". I now know I do need a lawyer. The stakes have just been raised.

I call Mike and he says he'll be home shortly. He told me to calm down, and that we'd develop a plan.

First thing Mike did was give me the name of a family law lawyer, Darren King. Mike said he was a no nonsense guy, fairly expensive, and good at his job. Mike had told King's office that I would call him tomorrow.

Mike read through the HRO. After a minute he looked up from the document across the table toward me.

"Did you try to call her?" he asked, and then "did you go to her place of employment!?" He asked a little more urgently.

"I just thought if I could talk to her, we'd be able to straighten things out." I quietly told him.

He's already shaking his head in the negative.

"Didn't I tell you to stay away?" Mike says, and I don't reply.

He warns me about anything that could be construed as stalking. I agree, I'll stay away I tell him.

We spend some time talking about my case. What I should expect and what Darren King will ask of me.

Mike doesn't have anything to do with divorce law, but he does give me a fairly harsh idea of what I may expect in the coming days and weeks. I wonder if my marriage is over. And then I began the process of wondering if that matters any more.

We moved on from the stressful and negative subject we had just been discussing. Our conversation drifts elsewhere.

"Hey," he says, "sounds like Damon Abernathy may get out on parole." He tells me.

"Who?" I ask. I had no idea what he was talking about.

"You know, the guy selling drugs in your neighborhood a year or so ago." He explained. "I told you about him, didn't I?" Mike says.

I stare off into space contemplating this information. My mind immediately goes to the money in the backpack. It almost certainly belonged to the guy getting out of jail. I really hadn't thought of all the ramifications of what could happen once he got out. He's going to want that money back, for sure. Could we be in any actual danger? I sat for a few more moments thinking through the situation.

"You okay?" Mike asked, looking at me with a puzzled expression on his face.

I guess I was acting odd, nervous and guilty, thinking about the money and the drug dealer.

"Yeah, yeah," I told him with a forced smile on my face.

Mike was still looking at me suspiciously.

For the moment we drop the subject of drug dealer Damon Abernathy, soon to be a free man.

Throughout the evening we talked about a variety of subjects including my marriage and legal problems. As much as I wanted to hear more about the subject of Damon Abernathy and his upcoming release from jail, for the moment it was not discussed. I waited.

Finally my need to understand more about what may happen in regards to the money and the drug dealer got the better of me. I casually brought the subject up with Mike.

"This drug dealer," I casually asked, "when's he supposed to be out?"

Mike checked his phone.

"Let's see. Okay here it is, Abernathy, Damon." Mike said scrolling through some kind of document he had. "Looks like he's scheduled to be released Wednesday."

"This Wednesday?" I ask.

Mike still looking at his phone answers.

"Yeah, Wednesday June second," he replies. "The Wednesday after Memorial Day."

"Anything else on him," once again I ever so casually inquire.

"Hmmm," Mike's studying his phone, reading something.

"The parole report says he's applied for residency in Mississippi," Mike tells me reading something from his phone.

"The report states he needs to be in Seattle for a few days and then has requested an allowance to move to Mississippi. He says he's going to work with his uncle in some type of car repair business." Mike adds.

"Will the parole people let him move?" I ask.

"Probably." Mike says. "Any time we can rid of this type of guy, we want too." He tells me.

And then all of a sudden he stops, and looks at me.

"Why all the questions about this drug dealer?" He's eyeing me.

I shrug, as if, no big deal just asking.

"Forget everything I told you, I shouldn't have said anything." Mike says.

I give the sign of zipping my lips, but I'm thinking. I have a pretty good idea what he wants to do for those few days before he moves to Mississippi. Suddenly I'm worried.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Damon sat in his cell. For once in his life, he thought, something had gone right. He stood before them and told them he was a changed man. He told them about working with Uncle Bishop at the body shop in Hattiesburg.

He was worried that the problem with those two gangbangers after he first got transferred would come up. Damon thought the guards knew it was him that fucked them up. But sounds like nobody said anything. Good.

One thing Damon promised himself, he was never going back to any joint. From now on, he thought, I'm staying away from drugs, gangs and crime. He was going to have a normal straight life. He promised himself. But If something ever happened, where the po-lice came after him again, he told himself, he'd run this time. Never going back, he thought.

Sitting in his cell Damon thought about his plan. I'm going to get me my money from under that house, 5718, he remembered. He'd then walk down to the bus station and take the bus to Jackson. It left at nine fifteen Thursday morning. Two hundred and twenty six dollars and eighty cents. Damon had done the research.

Now just a few more days he thought, and then I get out of this shit hole.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

I had a restless night. I got little sleep. I kept thinking about the money, the drug dealer, the twenty thousand Melanie had spent, and that backpack in my office. One plan I thought up was to use my own savings and replace the twenty thousand. Then put the backpack back under the house.

But I wasn't even allowed to be near my house. If I tried to sneak in and Melanie or even Harrison caught me, I'd be in violation of the restraining order. I don't need anymore legal trouble now. And then my mind started wandering down that pathway, my crumbling marriage, domestic violence charges, and Harrison Locke sleeping with my wife.

That Thursday morning I called right at eight and got a nine thirty appointment with Darren King, the divorce lawyer that same day. I was given a list of documents to bring.

King was a little intimidating. Strong jawed, piercing eyes, all business. I noticed a photo in his office of him in uniform. Ex-military.

One of the documents I provided to King was the legal document that Melanie and I had signed before we were married. King read through it.

"You signed this?" He asked still studying the document.

"Yes, the lawyer we used said that if she has interest in my house and I have interest in her parents vacation house, it would protect the children." I told him.

He looked up at me abruptly.

"You have children!?" He asked.

"No," I explained. "He said it would protect any future children." I told him.

"This lawyer you used ought to be dis-barred." King said.

I explained that even though she had interest in my house, I had interest in her parent's vacation home, that was worth a fortune.

He's shaking his head in the negative.

"Here's the problem with that logic," King told me. "You own and have possession of your house. What I see in this document is that she will 'likely' inherit the family vacation home. But today it's owned 100% by her parents."

"Are you saying, I may lose my house?" I asked, a shiver of panic running through my body.

"To be honest," he says, "I don't know. But you let me worry about that. The domestic violence charge doesn't help our case. I'm going to talk to her attorney, see what we can come up with." He added.

He stood up abruptly, shook my hand, and told me he'd be in touch. That was it.

As I walked out of King's building I thought about my lawyer. Certainly not warm and friendly, but the type of guy you'd definitely want in the foxhole next to yours.

All day Thursday I had a jumble of thoughts. I was not very productive for Microtec. I kept thinking about losing my house, the drug dealer, my failing marriage, that backpack full of money, and Locke and Melanie together.

Shortly afternoon I get a call from my cousin Mike. He's checking in on me.

"How'd the meeting with Darren King go?" He asks.

I tell him and we talk about my mounting problems. Not a word to Mike about the money.

At the end of our conversation Mike gives me another piece of information.

"Sounds like our boy Abernathy is being released next Wednesday, for sure." Mike tells me. "I was down at the jail today and heard something else about this guy." He goes on.

"What?" I ask, maybe a little too anxiously.

Mike pauses, and says, "apparently when he first got in he was approached by two tough gangbangers. There were no witnesses but the reports I heard was Abernathy nearly killed them both, barehanded. Sounds like one dangerous motherfucker."

My blood pressure is now through the roof. Now, at my house, is the money owned by a vicious drug dealer, and he's getting out of prison in a few days.

Mike and I get off the phone and my thoughts are swirling. I need to develop a plan. The problem is I need Melanie to be on board with the plan and currently she's not only not talking to me, legally I'm not supposed to be anywhere near her.

I sit at Mike's kitchen table not even pretending to work for Microtec. All these different scenarios are running through my head. The ending to almost all the scenarios is bad.

Finally I came to a conclusion. Here were my thoughts: even though Melanie and my marriage is likely over, and even though she is sleeping with Locke, and further, even though she may be living in my house of which I am now banned, she is my wife. We spent years together and she needs to know about this dangerous drug dealer. I decide this is the right thing to do.

I tried to call her several times, even once through the companies main line and asking for a transfer to her office. Nothing, no reply. I'm sure if she saw it was me she'd let it go to voice mail. I've left messages to call me back, telling her it was urgent.

Finally I decide to go over to our house, my house, and wait. I thought if I got there by six tonight, I could just wait until she got home. I know, I know, I'm in violation of the HRO, but I believe the urgency of the situation warrants the contact.

I was nervous driving to my house in my neighborhood. I needed this to go well with Melanie. I still had faint flickers of hope for our marriage. But we would need to really put some work into it. I was willing to do that. First though, we had to make sure we got the whole found money thing worked out.

When I turned the corner onto Maple I was surprised to see both Melanie and Locke's car already there. I also saw some activity outside. Suddenly my heart starts racing, I figured I'd have some time to prepare for her arrival.

I pulled up and parked a couple of houses down. As I walked down the sidewalk I tried to look as non threatening as possible. That was not hard for me to do. But I did remember the drunken night when much of this started. I had a goal. I needed to talk to Melanie alone about the money. And she had to know the danger of Damon Abernathy.

One house away Locke notices me.

"Melanie," he yells, summoning her from the house.

She walks out wheeling a suitcase down the driveway. When she sees me she stops. There is a look on abject negativity on her face. She is mad.

I now notice other luggage at Locke's feet.

"You are in violation of your restraining order," she shouts at me.

I turn back toward Melanie.

"Melanie, Mel," I say, "I've got to talk to you. It's important. Can we just have a few minutes in private?" I ask.

"Get the fuck out of here!" She is now furious and screaming at me.

"You fucking woman beating loser!" She screams. "I am going to take this house," she points at my house, "I am going to press charges, and then I am divorcing you!" she yells.

"Mel," I beg, "just give me a minute."

"I don't know what I ever saw in you." She says, "you're business failed, you whine all the time, and you're lousy in bed." She adds. "Get away from me!"

At that Locke steps toward me.

"Melanie," he says calmly while looking at me, "let me take care of this. Go inside, this won't be long." He tells her.

I'm stunned, this could not have gone worse, and now Locke's approaching me.

"I've got to talk to Melanie," I say to Locke, "it's extremely important." I tell him, already looking past him toward the house and Melanie.

"Listen pal," Locke says to me.

He has one arm around my shoulders firm and on the border of painful, he's leading me away from the house and Melanie.

"I'm going to tell you what's going to happen here tonight." He says, arm tightly around my shoulders, looking at me.

I say nothing.

"Number one you're going to get in your car and go to wherever you live now. Number two, I'm going to load up Melanie and my luggage into my car and we are going to have a nice stress free long weekend away from here."

I'm straining to turn around and see if I can get to Melanie, but Locke's grip is too strong.

"And then JD, during that long weekend, I'm going to fuck your wife. Over and over." He says.

His obscene words shock me and I turn and look at him.

"Finally, when we get back I'm going to move in to your house, but it will soon be our house, that is Melanie and my house. I really like it. You did a nice job of fixing it up," he tells me. "I really have been enjoying the new deck. I'm surprised someone like you could do that nice a job." He adds.

"Now," he says, anger in his voice, "get the fuck out of here. Loser."

And with that he shoves me back in the direction of my car.

I sit for a few minutes in my car stunned by Locke's words. Melanie's angry words too. I watch them loading luggage into his SUV.

I make a U turn and head back down the street the other way.

My mind is numb. What Melanie's had said to me was so angry and insulting. And that fucking prick Locke talking about my house and my deck.

Suddenly I went from stunned and feeling sorry for myself to being angry. More pissed off than I have ever been. Mad at Locke certainly, but even more so, furious at Melanie.

It would serve them both right if the violent drug dealer took out his vengeance on the two of them I thought.

Wait a minute. Wait just a minute.

I suddenly had a thought. So strong were these thoughts I actually had to pull the car over and sit for a minute. I started developing a plan. An action plan.

As I sat on the side of the road in my car halfway back to Mike's condo the outline of the plan materialized. Now I started filling in the details. I had to think of all the moves I needed to make. If this worked out, it could be perfect.

Finally driving the rest of the way back to the condo I thought about Melanie. Could I say I hated her? At this moment the answer to that question would be far closer to yes than no.

When I got to the condo Mike was there.

"Where've you been?" He asked with something slightly more than curiosity in his voice.

"Just running errands." I tell him.

Obviously I can tell him nothing about Melanie and Locke. Especially now.

We discuss a little more my meeting with Darren King and then move on to more neutral subjects.

I hate keeping things from Mike, but now, with all he's told me about Damon Abernathy, I really have to be careful. If my plan goes together the way I want, really all hell's going to break loose, and Mike and I have to be far away from all of it.

"Sounds like you're in a little better spirits tonight." Mike says.

"Yeah," I said, "working with Darren King and letting the pro's handle things is really the right thing to do." I say. "Thanks for all the help with all that. Well, I better get some sleep, early day tomorrow. Good night cuz." I called to him.

It was still a little dark out when I pulled up to my house in Ballard. The black SUV was gone, as I expected. I walked up to the front porch as if I owned the place.

Which I did.

I put my key into the lock and... it wouldn't open. What, I thought, and tried it again. I stood there for a moment. Then it struck me, that bitch had changed the locks! Fuck.

I walked back to my car. My plan went out the window. Fuck, this would've been so good. I took off heading down my street.

And then a thought crossed my mind. Did she do it? I bet she didn't? I went completely around the block and parked once again in front of my house. This time I walked to the back yard.

I walked across my new deck, the deck that fucking Locke seemed to like so well. And then pulled out the key for the multipoint lock on the new French doors. Yes! That stupid bitch forgot about these doors.

In the house I was curious about its condition with Melanie and Locke living here, but I was on a mission. I quickly went in to the office. I got what I needed and left.

I drove back to Mike's and sat in the parking garage. I was sweating, nervous and excited. So far, so good. Now I needed to wait till nine o' clock. I had my route laid out.

I sat and waited. All of a sudden my phone buzzed. I nearly had a heart attack, it startled me.

It was Darren King.

"Quick update." He told me. "Spoke to your wife's lawyer. Nice guy, not a great lawyer." He adds. "She's going after the house. Not sure she can get it, but there's a chance. It may get expensive." He says.

I'm speechless. First off he surprised me with the call, but then the reality of possibly losing my house was shocking, I didn't say a word.

"JD, just hang in there," he tells me. "I will handle this. I've got a few ideas. Just wanted to keep you up to date."

And with that, he hung up. I never said a word. My mission became all that more critical. At ten of nine I took off. Each stop took me roughly ten minutes. It was another ten minutes or so between stops.

I figured I'd have to do a little tomorrow. But that should all work.

Saturday afternoon, my running around completed, I now needed a couple of hours of privacy.

The gods must have felt sorry for me, my luck continued. As I was entering the condo Mike was exiting, golf clubs over his shoulder, dressed for the fairways.

He asks me if I want to play, but I beg off. He'll be gone at least three hours, perfect.

I bring the old red backpack that I had retrieved from my house into the spare bedroom at the condo.

I had visited different banks all day Friday and part of the morning Saturday. I'd gone to twenty-two separate branches. At each bank I had cashed larger bills to get ninety-nine ones.

I now unbanded the stacks. I took out most of the hundreds in each stack and replaced them with one dollar bills. The stacks all looked the same but instead of ten thousand dollars in each stack, they would have approximately eleven hundred dollars.

And I now had a big wad of cash. Approximately one hundred and ninety thousand dollars worth of drug money. I hid it in my suitcase in the closet.

I still had things to do Sunday morning. Once again I was back at my house, early, still a little dark out, not quite morning.

First thing was to get back in the house and return the newly stacked bundles of cash to the filing cabinet. It all looked the same as before. It's just that the stacks now were each a lot less money.

And then I opened the vent cover and climbed back under the house. Same dirty, dusty environment under the house, maybe a few more spiders than last time.